Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1912-01-04
PAGE SEVEN

so that l could do it,. used to meet
him late. | would get up out of bed
when mother was asleep and dress
myself and sit at the window until I
heard him come up the street. Then
1 would steal down and catch him on
his way to the stables. IL had q
good reason for this. Elwood He
knew I would be there. and IT brought
him home earlier and not quite So
so full of liquor. If he was very bad
he would come up the other way. and
I would sit waiting and crying till 3
o'clock struck. then creep into my bed
and try to sleep. Nights and nights
1 have done this. Nothing else in life
seemed so important. for it did hold
him back q little. but not so much as
if he had loved me more. He loved
me some. but he couldn't have loved
me very much or he would have sent
me some word or seen me. if but for
a minute. since Adelaide's death. And
he hasn't-he hasn't-and that makes
it harder for me to acknowledge the
watch I kept on him and how I know
he never went through our grounds
for the second time that night. He
went once about 9. but not later. I
am certain of this. for I was looking
out for him till 3 in the morning. If
he came back and then returned aft
erward to town it was through his
own street. and that takes so long
he would never have been able to get
to the place they said he did at the
time they have agreed upon. I know
that he needs some one to come out
boldly in his cause. and I want to be
that some one. and 1 will be-. too,
whatever happens to me. tiff I must"
she family added.
I was dumb, but not from lack of in
terest or from unsympathetic feeling
for this brave hearted girl. The sig
n%ifcance Of the situation was what
held me speeches.. Here was help for
Arthur without my Drawing all the
horrors of Carmel's downfall by any
impulsive act Of my own. For a mo-
ment hope in one burning and new
ing flame scared high in my breast. 1
was willing to accept my release in
this way. I was willing to shift the
load from my own back to the delicate
shoulders of this shrinking but ardent
girl. Then reason returned if consid-
GRAFTON halted. and | asked myself:
"But is the help she offers of any prac-
teal worth? Would her timid declara-
lions. trembling as she was between
her awe of her parents and her desire
to serve the man she loved. weigh in
the balance against the evidence &C.
cumulated by the district attorneys"
1t seemed doubtful. She would not
be believed. and I should have to back
up her statement with my own hither-
to suppressed t~estimony-a woman to
be sacrificed whichever course l took.
Such native chivalry as remained to
me urged me to spare this little friend
of mine. Then Carmers image rose be-
fore me, glorious, impassioned, driven
by the fierce ourush Of some mighty
inherent force into violent deeds un-
dreamed of by most women, but when
thus undriven. gentle in manner, ele-
waited in thought, refined as only a few
rare characters are refined, and my
heart stood still again with doubt and
1 could not say: at is your duty to
save him at all hazards. Brave your
father, brave your mother, brave pub
lie opinion and possibly the wrecking
of your whole future, but tell the
truth and rid your days of doubt. your
nights of remorse." I could not say
this. So many things might happen to
a v Arthur, to save Carmel, to save
the little woman before me. I would
trust that future. temporize a bit and
give such advice as would relieve is
both from immediate fear without
compromising Arthur's undoubted
rights to justice.
Meanwhile something must be said
at once. AS soon as she looked my
way again I spoke:
ELLA. this is no easy problem you
have offered me. l can s%ympathl-
with you, possibly as no one else ca
word or by message. Your father is
the nan to appeal to in case interior
ence becomes necessary and you must
speak. You have not quite the same
fear of him that you have of your
mother. He's a just man. You may
shock bis fatherly susceptibilities, you
may even lose some of his regard, but
he will do the right thing by you and
Arthur. Will you?"
II will try. T could only tell father
on my knees. but I will do it Tiff I
must. Now I must go. You have
been good, only I asked too much"
And with no other farewell she left
me and disappeared up the walk.
I fingered till I heard the faint click
of her key in the door she had secret
ly made her own; then I moved on.
AS I did so I heard a rustic some
where about me on street or lawn. I
never knew whence it came. but I felt
assured that neither her fears nor mine
had been quite unfounded-that a lis
tener had been posted somewhere near
us and that a part, if not all. we had
said had been overheard. I was
furious for an instant: then the sooth-