The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-07-24
White Cat,
Copyright. 1910. by Bobbs.
 Merrill Co.

me-" she said hurriedly. You have taken me into your home-and helped me through these dreadful days-and will never forget it. Neverw
 "I am not yirtuous," I replied, look ing down at her. II couldn't help it. You walked into my life when you came to my ofice-was it only last week? The evil days are coming, suppose, but just now nothing matters at all. save that you are you. and I am r.
 She dropped her veil quickly, and we went back to the car. The presaic world wrapped us around again. There was a heavy odor of restaurant coffee in the air. People bumped and jolted past us. To me they were only shad- ows. The real world was a girl In black and myself, and the girl wore betrothal ring which was not mine.
 Mrs. Butler came down to dinner that night. She was more cheerful than I had yet seen her. and she had changed her mournful garments to something trife less depressing. With her masses of fair hair dressed high and her face slightly animated, I realized what had not done before, that she was the wreck of a very beau tiful woman.
 She used cane when she walked, and after dinner in the library she was content to sit impressive. detached, propped with cushions, while Margery read to the boys in their night nursery and Edith embroidered.
 Fred had been fussing over a play for some time, and he had gone to read E to some manager or other. Edith al- ready was spending the royalties.
 ''We. could go little ways out of town," she vas saying, land we could have an automobile. Margery says theirs will be sold, and certainlysit will be bargain"
 Near me Mrs. Butler had languidly taken up the paper. Suddenly she dropped 1t, and when I stopped and picked it up noticed she was trem- bling.
 'sfs it true?" she demanded. 'Ts Rob- ert Ciarkson deadP'
 "Yes," assented. "He has been dead since Sunday morning-a suicide"
 ''I'm glad. glad," she said. Then she grew weak and semi-hysterical, laugh ing and crying In the same breath. When she had been helped upstairs for in her weakened state it had been more of a shock than we realized Margery came down, and we tried to forget the scene we had just gone through.
 It was strange to contrast the way in which the two women took their similar bereavements. Margery repre- sHnted the best type of normal Ameri- can womanhood, Ellen Butler the neu- rasthenic; she demanded everything by her very helplessness and timidity. She was a constant drain on Edith's ready sympathy. That night while [ closed the house-Fred had not come ln--I advised her to let Mrs. Butler 60 back to her sanatorium.
 At 12:e0 was still downstairs Fred was out, and I waited for him, being curious to. know the verdict on the play. The bell rang a few minutes be fore 1 and went to the door. Some body in the yastibule was tapping the door impatiently with his foot. When I; opened the door was surprised to dnd that the late visitor was Wardrop. His eyes were sunk deep in his head, his reddened lids and twitehing mouth told of little sleep, of nerves ready to snap.
 sI'm glad it's you" he said, by way of greeting. T was afraid you'd have gone to bed"
 "It's the top of the evening yet" replied perfunctorily as led the way into the library. Once inside, Wardrop closed the door and looked around him like an animal at bay.
 .sI came here." he said nervously, looking at the windows, "hecause I had an idea you'd keep your head. Mines gone: I'm either crazy or I'm on my way there. Knox. there are people fol- lowing me wherever I go; they eat where eat: if doze in my chair they come into my dreamsw He stopped there, then he laughed little wildly. 'That last isn't sane, but it's true. There's a man across the street now, eating an apple under lamp post"
 Suppose you are under surveillance" said. "It's annoying to have de- tective following you around, but it's hardly serious. The police say now that MT. Fleming killed himself, That was your own contention"
 Suppose I say he didn't kill him. self?" slowly. Suppose I say he was murdered? suppose-good God-sup- pose I killed him nyself~
 I drew back in stupefaction, but he hurried on.
 "For the last two days I've been wondering-if I did 1t! He hadn't any weapon. T had one-his. I hated him that day. had tried save him and couldn't. My God, Knox, might have gone on my head and done it-and not remember it. There have been cases like that"
 His condition was pitiable. looked around for some whisky. but the best could do was little port on the side board. When came back he was sit ting with bent head. his forehead on his palms.
 Cro Be Continusd.1
 AN OLD KEY-BUT USEFUL.