Evening star., 1911-08-27

around her again.
"No-not that" she said brokenly. at
wasn't that l wanted, Cort. You don't
understand. | needed you; but not that
way
He Strengthened slowly as her meaning
came to him. "You were only-fooling
only PLAYING with me? | might have
known
4No, | wasn't playing with you. l
couldn't bear to lose you; but, she stam-
mered resolutely, "now | must! You've
got to go! | don't know what has happened
to mel haven't any heart-1 think-no
heart-or SOUL"
He had turned away from her, his gaze on
the dying log. "Why couldn't you have let
me go without this?' he groaned. at
would have been easier for both of us.
She sat up slowly, still struggling to sup
press the nervous paroxysms that shook her
shoulders. Forgive me, Cort! You-you' Il
get along best without me- I've brought you
only suffering I'm bird of i'll omen, which
turns on the hand that feeds it. | was
thinking only of myself. wish l could make
you happy: you deserve it, Cort. But |
can't she finished miserably, Il can't!"
He did not move. 1t almost seemed as
though he had not heard her. His voice
came to her at last as though from a dis
tance Il know!' he groaned. God help
you! You love him!
She started up as though in dismay, and
then leaned forward on her knees and buried
her face in her hands in silent acquiescence.
When she looked up moment later he was
gone.
Chapter XVII. Old Rose Leaves
CAMILLA wrote nothing to Jeff about
- her illness. 1t was nothing very serious,
the doctor said; only fashionable case of
nerves. The type was common; the medl
cine, rest and quiet. He commended his
own sanatorium, where he could assure her
luxury and the very best society; but Ca
milla refused. She wanted to be alone, and
so she denied herself to callers, cancelled all
her engagements, and took the rest cure in
her own way. She slept late in the mornings,
took her medicine conscientiously, put her
self on diet, and in the afternoon, with only
her maid for company, took long motor rides
in the country to out of the way places on
roads where she would not be likely to meet
her acquaintance.
She knew what it was that she needed. 1t
wasn't the strychnia tonic the doctor had
prescribed, nor even the rest cure. The more
she was alone the more time she had to think.
1t was in moments like the present, in the
morning hours in her own rooms, that she
felt she could not forget. There was no
longer the hum of well bred voices about
her, no music, the glamour of lowered lights,
or the odor of embowered roses, to distract
her mind or soothe her senses.
In the morning hours Jeff seemed present
with her in the flesh. Everything about her
reminded her of him,-the desk at which he
he had worked, with its pigeonholes full of
papers in the reckless disorder that was
characteristic of him; the corncob pipe he
had refused to discard; the cheap tobacco in
its cotton bag beside Government report
on mining, and the specimens of ore FROM
the Lone Tree that he had always used as
paperweights; the brass bowl into which he
had knocked his ashes, and the photograph
in its jeweled frame of herself in sonbrero
and kerchief, taken at Myers Photograph
Gallery in Mesa City at the time she had
taught school, before Jeff's dreams had come
true.
She took the picture up and examined it
closely. 1t was the picture of a girl sitting
on a table, lariat in one hand and quirt in
the other and the background presented
Mesa Citys idea of an Italian villa with
fluted columns, backed by some palms and
vista of lake. How well she remembered
that gray painted screen and the ornate
wicker chair and table that were its inevi-
; table accompaniment! They had served as
background for Pete Alulrennan in Prince
Albert coat when he was elected Mayor; for
Iacl Williams the foreman of the Law l.