Macon beacon. [volume] (Macon, Miss.) 1859-1995, 1912-12-13

NOhA0h = IAN SoA VI hCA.
"Yes, l could. With but little effort
l could make these two hands as hon.
est as the day is long"
II have my doubts" smiling a little.
Suppose, for the sake of an argu-
ment, suppose Fortune accepted me?"
Mrs. Chedsoye's good humor re-
turned. She knew her daughter toler-
ably we'll; the child had a horror of
men. Poor Horace! Do you build
upon that?"
Less, perhaps, than upon my own
bright invention. My suit, then to be
brief, is r~ejected?"
"Emphatically. / have spoken"
"Oh, well; the feminine prerogative
shall be mine. the last word. Good
night; dormi bene!" He bowed
grandly and turned toward his own
room.
He possessed that kind of mockery
which was the despair of those at
whom 1t was directed. They never
knew whether his mood was one of
harmless fun or of deadly intent. And
rather than mistake the one quality
for the other, they generally pretend
ed to ignore. Mrs. Chedsoye, who
had a similar talent, was one of the
few who felt along the wall as one
does In the dark, instinctively. To-
night she recognized that there was
no harmless fun but a real desperate
ness behind the mask; and she had
held in her temper with a firm hand.
This was not the hour for a clash.
She shivered a little; and for the first
time In the six or seven years she had
known him, she faced a fear Of him.
His great strength, his reckless cour-
age, his subtle way of mastering men
by appearing to be mastered by them,
held her in the thrall of a peculiar
fascination which, in quiet periods,
she looked upon as something deeper.
Marriage vas not to her an ideal state,
nor vas there any man, living or dead,
who had appealed to the physical side
of her. But he was in the one sex
what she was In the other; and while
she herself would never have married
him, she ragged inwardly at the posi-
bility of his wanting another woman.
To her the social fabric which holds
humanity together was merely a con-
%venience; the moral significance
touched neither her heart nor her
raind. In her the primordial craving
for ease, for material comforts, pref
ty trinkets and gowns was strongest
developed. 1t was as if this sense had
been handed down to her, untouched
by contact with progression. from the
remote ages, that time between the
fall of Roman civilization and where
modern civilization began. In short
a beautiful barbarian, whose intellect
alone had advanced.
Fortune was asleep. The mother
went over to the bed and gently shook
the slim, round arm which lay upon
the coverlet. The child's nature lay
revealed as she opened her eyes and
smiled. 1t did not matter that the
smile instantly changed to a frowning
inquiry. The mother spoke truly
when she said that there were times
when she stood in awe of this, her
flesh and blood.
MY child, l wish to ask you a ques-
ton, and for your own good answer
truthfully. Do you love Horace?"
Fortune sat up and rubbed her
eyes. mo" Had her wits been less
scattered she might have paltered.
The syllable had a tinality to it
that treasured the mother more than
a thousand protestations would have
done.
Good night" she said.
Fortune lay down again and drew
the coverlet up to her chin. With her
eyes shut she waited, but in vain. Her
mother disrobed and sought her own
bed.
Ryanne was intensely dissatisfied
with himself. For once his desperate
mood had carried him too far. He
had made too many confessions, had
antagonized a woman who was every
bit as clever and ingenious as him.
self. The enterprise toward which
they were moving held him simply be-
cause 1t was an exploit that enticed
wholly his twisted outlook upon life.
There was a forbidding humor in the
whole affair, too, which he alone saw.
The possible rewards were to him of
secondary consideration. 1t was the
fun of the thing. 1t was the fun of
the thing that had put him squarely
upon the wide, short road to perdi-
ton, which had made him first a
spendthrift, then a thief. The fun of
the thing; sinister phrase! A thous-
and times had be longed to go back,
for he wasn't all bad; but door after
door had shut behind him; and now
the single purpose was to get to the
end of the road by the shortest route.
He did not deceive himself. His
desperate mood was the result of an
Internal rage against himself, a rage
against the weakness of his heart.
| Fortune Chedsoye. Why had she not
| crossed his path at that time when he
might have been saved? And yet,
would she have saved him? God alone
knew.
He heard Jones stirring In his room
| next door. Presently all became still,