The Richmond climax. (Richmond, Ky.) 1897-1914, 1911-12-20
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the SITUATION ana the actors that en-
abied him so to present it to the inter
ested little group OF officers that he
almost made them see it as it trans
pired.
And what" asked the captain, when
the final word had been said. do YOU
propose to do now, Mr.. Charnock?"
1t was the first time that he had
been so addressed and the man start
ed. He had heard Mr.. whitaker
words as one in dream. He had been
going over that dreadful scene on the
sands. His heart was lacerated and
torn again. He was blind to every.
thing but the past He saw her face
dimly in the present. He could see
nothing of happiness in the future.
i don't know" he answered.
But surely this has not made any
difference IN your feelings?"
Il can't tell. The difference is in
her. not in me-"
she made frightful mistake" said
the captain, impressiyely, but she has
nobly atoned, and"
She's not what / thought she was
said the man, "and IL love her, love
her now not because, but in spite, of
what she is, and there is a difference. "
Miss Brenton," interposed Whitta-
ker at this juncture, has settled the
matter herself. She says that she will
have no mans pity, no mans con-
tempt, that no man shall marry her
on suffrance, and that"
Right" said the surgeon, who was
a man Of very few words and general
ly good ones.
My young friend" broke in the
chaplain. "if might advise"
But this" returned the islander,
with herceness, 'is not a matter for
advice. don't know the world or its
customs. / must appear strange to
you men. But l take it that a mans
choice of wife, a mans settlement
of his future is not a thing that he
brooks counsel over At any rate.
want none of IT,"
Come with me-" said the chaplain;
I'VE viii talk it over. l have lived
in the world" he went on, gently.
Perhaps / can help you. Have we
your permission to withdraw, Capt
Ashby?"
Certainly" said the captain.
Pardon me a moment, chaplain"
interposed Whitaker: but the young
lady has asked that some of US go
ashore to take her deposition as to
the matters that have been alleged
concerning our friend here. Capt
Ashby, will your"
Certainly, Mr.. Whitaker, / will go.
And if you will accompany me, DOCTOR
and you, chaplain, shall be glad. Mr.
Whitaker. you are a notary public
and can administer the necessary
oaths."
Very good, sir" returned Mr.. Whit
taker. The other gentlemen bowed
their acquiescence. The lady said
she would like to be undisturbed until
evening"
AT two bells in the second dog
watch then have the cutter called
away" returned the captain.
BEG pardon, captain" said the sur
geon, but do you or any of you know
this lady to be Miss Brenton?"
NO" said the captain, II don't
know her. Do you, Mr.. Whitaker, or
you. chaplain"
We'll, then" said the surgeon, as
both the officers shook their heads, 1T
will be necessary to have some one
ashore who does know her in order to
swear to her identity to make her
deposition worth anything"
There is Langford." said Whitta-
ker. "he knows her"
Very good" said the captain; "send
boat over to the yacht and present
my compliments to Mr.. Langford. Ask
him If he will meet us ashore at quar-
ter after five O'Clock. Say to him also
that should be glad to have him dine
with me tonight at seven. Chaplin,
will you and Mr. Charnock take lunch
con with me Iater2"
Now, to go back to the island. The
woman stood on the strand proudly,
resolutely. sternly erect, without
sign of unbending until the boats
reached the sides of the two ships.
Even then she kept herself in the
bonds of a control Of steel She turned
slowly, walked up the beach, entered
the grove Of palms, mechanically found
the path and plodded along it, stin
erect and unbending. until the wind
ings Of the trail and the thickening OF
the grove hid her from any chance
watchers on the ship.
Then came the moment of yielding
As II the tension had been suddenly
released. she reeled, staggered; her
heart almost stopped. Her instinct
was to throw herself prone upon the
grass, but she recovered herself in
time and, with the natural inclination
of the troubled toward the place. how
ever rude and humble it may be. that
is called home, she summoned her
strength and dragged herself on
through the trees over the hill
whence a backward glance would have
given her sight Of the ships. but she
never took it--down the other slope
across the beach and to the cave
which had been her haven for these
three years.
Then, and not until then, did she
give way completely. She threw her
self down upon the sand in the cool
shadow of the great rocks in what to
her had suddenly become weary
land, and outstretched her arms as II
to clasp the earth to her breast in de-
fault Of the man she had dreamed Of
and trusted, she had loved and lived
for, and lay there q silent, shuddering,
wretched figure.
Her crushing disappointment At his
failure to rise to the measure Of her
ideal Of him, the total end OF her
dream Of happiness, the breaking OF
all her hopes, the closing Of all her
ambitions. the tearing asunder Of her
heartstrings Whelmed her in agony
She had thought that never could nu-
manity experience more than the pain
superinduced by the horror OF her po-
sition upon the ship, but that pain 70
the present was like caress. For 70
ali that old horror was added new
sense Of loss. OF DISAPPOINTMENT and
despair. She had not loved before;
now she did. and the sorrow and an
euish we're measured by the depth and
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