The Fairmont West Virginian. (Fairmont, W. Va.) 1904-1914, 1912-08-17

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TIE non wa raid sho phy 1i1ian.
not mat she did It then sbtl that shs
had not done Il before. FORA short
lime It appeared as Il her lines might
be seriouS, hut youth. yigot. 4 strong
body and a good consultation, u heart
nov free from care and apprehension
and q great desire totliye and love
and be loved. worked wonders. !
Newbold had enjoyed no opportunity
for private conversation with the .wo.
man he loved, which was perhaps Just
as well. He had the, task Of readjust.
ing himself to changed conditions; not
only to a different environment, but to
strange and unusual departures from
his long cherished view points. (
J. He could no longer doubt Arm
strongs final testimony to the purity
of his wife, although he had burned
the letters unread, and! by The same
token he could no longer cherish the
dream that she had loved him and him
alone. Those words that had pre-
coded that pistol shot had made 1t
possible for him to take Enid Matt.
land as his wife without doing violence
to his sense OF honor or his self.re-
spect. Armstrong had made that
much PREPARATION. And Newbold could
not doubt that the other had known
what would be the result Of his speech
and had chosen his words deliberately;
score that last action to his credit. He
was a sensitive man, however; he
realized the brutal and bcastlike part
he and Armstrong had both played be-
fore this woman they both loved, how
they had battled like savage animals
and how but for a lucky interposItIon
he would have added murder to his
other disabilities.
He was honest enough to say to him.
self that he would have done the same
thing over under the same circum.
stances, but that did not absolverhis
conscience. He did not know how the
woman looked at the transaction or
looked at him, and he had not enjoyed
one moment alone with her. In all
that had transpired since that morn.
Ing in the hut, the four had naturally
and inevitably remained inseparably
together.
They had buried Armstrong in the
nnow, Robert Maitland saying over
him brief but fervent petition In
which even Newbold Joined. Enid
Maitland herself had repeated elo.
quently to her uncle and old Kirkby
that night before the fire the story Of
her rescue from the flood by this man,
how he had carried her in the storm
to the hut and how he had treated her
since; and Maitland had afterwards
repeated her account to his brother in
Denver. ST.
Maitland had insisted that Newbold
share his hospitality, but that young
man had refused. Kirkby had q little
place not far from Denver and easily
accessible to 1t, and the old man had
gladly taken the younger one with
him. Newbold had been in a fever OF
anxiety over Enid Maitland's illness,
but his alarm had soon been dispelled
by the physicians assurance, and
there was nothing now left for him
but to wait until she could see him.
He inquired for her morning and even.
ing at the great house on the hill;
he kept her room a bower Of beauty
with priceless blossoms, but he had
sent no word.
Robert Maitland had promised to let
him know, however, so soon as Enid
could see him, and 1t was in pursuance
OF telephone message that he was, In
the library that morning.
He had not yet become accustomed
to the world; he had lived SO long
alone that he had grown somewhat shy
and retiring; the habits and customs
of years were not to be lightly thrown
aside in week or month. He had
sought no interview with Ehid's father
heretofore; indeed had rather avoided
It, but on this morning he had asked
for 1t, and when Robert Maitland
would have withdrawn he begged him
to remain.
"Mr. Maitland" Newbold began, ~
presume that you know my unfortu.
nate history"
II have heard the general outlines
of IT, sir, from my brother and Others
answered the other kindly.
II need not dwell upon 1t further
then. Although my hair is tinged with
@E