Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-07-09
WHO WAS BELLE CARLTON
Continued from page 6


it was the beauty of a tigress, there was
strange electric force in her glance, in her
mysterious smile.
II won't help you till you tell me what 1t
all MEANS was his answer.
She kept her gaze on him steadily, and
spoke as if to herself. Il hardly know how
to tell you-it's such great responsibility
"a family's good name in your power-but
must have help" Still she stared at him.
EENTON turned away his head, embar-
raised. He was on the point OF refusing
her outright, handing over the jewels, and
making his escape back into the peace of
commonplace things. There was something
sinister about it all. 1t was too dangerous.
AS he looked abstractedly toward the door,
it opened and man entered. Fenton felt
his blood run cold. Who was the man? At
first he did not know, and yet there was
something familiar about him, in his furtive
walk rather than his face, which stirred
vague memories. The man passed. gave a
blank stare at Fenton-and Fenton recog-
nized him!
1t was Mangus O'Shea, with whom he had
lived in South Boston, whom he had always
been told was his own uncle. The man had
grown old; but, by the small reddish eyes
and the broken black teeth, Fenton knew
DlII AS lIlc illSlllliotll JdSoSd
it was as if a chill wind had swept after him,
making Fenton shiver with apprehension.
At this look at OShea, the first for SO many
years, Fenton saw him as cruel and evil
thing, man to shun and dread. 1t was as
if his own subconscious mind had been for
years bordering problem and needed only
this encounter to fan hidden Goals of thought
into fierce, flaming idea. He was sure now
that O'Shea was not his uncle, sure that the
Irishman knew the secret of his birth, had
done him some fearful wrong perhaps. His
look was criminal; Fenton, with his pockets
sagging with precious stones, felt his peril
increase every minute.
If the woman opposite him had noticed
the episode, she did not show it. Her eyes
were still upon Fenton; but her thoughts
seemed far away. Now she appeared to
awake and cast some horrid apprehension
from her. She leaned forward and touched
his hand.
@Lsten!" she said. "I'rn going to tell you
why and how much need you. If you have
any chivalry in your nature, you cannot re-
fuse me-
With this preamble she began her story.
THE STORY OF THE DEAD FARE
7 AM going to make you my confdant in
two secrets,-one, my lovers, | hoped
uCVtI " lllS olilSl ID my oWh.
hoped to keep that forever also; but it
doesn't matter now. l have negro blood in
my veins; l am an octoroon. Will that kill
your sympathy? hope not; but have to
tell you-it will explain everything.
"Perhaps you have noticed it already.
Have you suspected me, under my powder,
under my wig-this horrible thing that I've
worn SO long, Well, my one only friend
never suspected it, l know. Perhaps he
wouldn't have cared if he had. | like to
think so-for he loved me.
"Gordon Brewster rescued me from hell.
Do you know what it means to have negro
blood in your veins, mixed with white, to
have sensibility, refinement surely have
at,-and to be forever outside the pale?
can mingle freely with neither my own
people nor yours. One sort is too low, the
other too high, for me. have college edu
cation-I studied for four years at Hampton
Institute; after that tried to teach. Then
for three years was alone in New York, see
ing no one. l wrote special stories for the
papers, never going near the offices, and
supporting myself fairly well. took little
apartment on East 33d-st., with a colored
maid-I was afraid of any other.
at doesn't matter how l met Gordon
Brewster. There is no need of your knowing
that part of my life is sacred. But, in
spite of everything, we fell in love. Can you