Evening star., 1911-08-27

true bearings, that and the careless chatter
of the people of their set, in which Mrs. |
Cheyne was leading. Cortland had guessed
the truth, the truth that she had been SO |
resolutely hiding from herself. She loved |
left, had always loved him, and would until |
the end of time. Like the chemist who for
months had been seeking the solution of a |
problem she had found the acid that had
magically liberated the desired element. |
The acid was jealousy, and, after all danger
Gus vapors had passed, love remained in
the retort, elemental and undeflled. The sim |
plicty of the resolution was as beautiful as |
it was mystifying. Had she by some for
tuitous accident succeeded in transmitting |
some baser meta into gold, she could not
have been more bewildered.
OF course, Jeff could not know. To him |
she was still the craven image, the pretty |
idol, the symbol of what might have been.
How could he guess that his idol had been
made flesh and blood; that now she waited
for him, no longer symbol of lost illusions, |
but just woman-hIs wife?
CHE raised her head at last, sighed deeply, |
- and put the photograph in the drawer of
the desk. AS she did SO the end of small
battered tin box protruded. She remem
bered it at once; for in it Jeff had always
kept the letters and papers that referred to
his birth and babyhood. She had looked
them over before with Jeff; but it was al
most with feeling of timidity at an intru-
sion that she took the box out and opened it
now.
The papers were ragged, soiled, and
stained with dampness and age, and the torn
edges had been joined with strips of court
plaster. There were two small portraits,
taken by photographer in Denver. Ca
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and looked at them with new interest. One
of the pictures was of a very young woman
of about Camilla's age, in black, beaded jer
sey waist and a full overskirt. Her front
hair was done in what was known as a
"bang," and the coils were twisted high on
top of the head. But even these disfgure-
ments- according to the lights of a later
generation not diminish the attract
iveness of her personality. There was no
denying the beauty of the face, the wistful
eyes, the straight, rather short nose, the
sensitive lips, and the deeply indented, well
made chin; none of the features in the least
like Jef's except the last, which, though mar
rover than his, had the same firm lines at
the angle of the jaw. 1t was not weak face,
nor a strong one; for whatever it gained at
brows and chin it lost at the eyes and mouth.
But Jeff's resemblance to his father was
remarkable. Except for the old fashioned
collar and string tie, the queerly cut coat,
and something in the brushing of the hair,
the figure in the other photograph was that
of her husband to the life. She had discov-
cred this when she and Jeff had looked into
the tin box just after they were married. and
had commented on it; but Jeff had said
nothing in reply. He had only looked at the
picture steadily for moment, then rather
abruptly taken it from her and put it away.
From this Camilla knew that the thoughts
of his mother were the only ones Jeff had
cared to select from the book of memory and
tradition. OF his father he had never spoken
nor would speak. He would not even read
again these letters his mother had kept, |
wept over, and handed down to her son. that
the record of mans ignominy might be
kept intact for the generations to follow her.
1t was therefore with a sense of awe, of in
trusion upon the mystery of sisters TRACE
dy, that Camilla opened the letters again
and read them. There were eight of them in
ALL under dates from May until October, |
1873, all with the same signature, "Ned.'
AS she read, Camilla remembered the whole |
sad story, and with the face of the woman
before her was able to supply almost word
for word the tender, passionate, bitter, |
torglvlng letters that must have come be- |
tween. She had pleaded with him in May |
to return to her; but in June, from New
York, he had written her that he could not |
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