Rural Retreat times. [volume] (Rural Retreat, Va.) 1892-1918, 1912-11-15
CHAPTER I.
Into the MaeLstrom.

their shadows before, but certainly |
had no intimation when | left my office
IN the afternoon of April twelfth, of
the maelstrom of mystery and tragedy
into which | was about to plunge.
was worried and anxious, it is true,
nut only as every young man is who
llnds himself for the first time deeply
ID love. There was no portent of evil,
no foreshadowing of the terrible chain
OF events that all but destroyed my
belief in my fellow-man, and left its
mark so deep upon my memory that
DO not believe time ever can wholly
pface it.
Even now that it is all ended, and
the shadow which hung so heavily
over the household of my sweetheart
has been dispelled and the hand whose
devillsh ingenuity brought shame and
grief and wreck to so many innocent
lives is paying the penalty behind
prison bars-even now l shudder at
the sight of anything yellow. A scrap
OF yellow paper wildly recalls-and
fear always will recall-the painful
events of the last few weeks.
had been waiting ever since my re-
turn from court for telephone mes
sage that had not come-the word
from Louise which felt would decide
my fate. | had written to her the
night before, asking if l might go to
her in the afternoon to speak on a sub
ject of Importance. l knew she would
understand the object of my letter,
though all that / had asked was that
she would telephone me earlier than
four whether she would be at home.
From my window l had watched the
great hand on the Metropolitan tower
clock creep slowly to twelve. AS the
chimes began to sing the hour of four
| felt that | could bear the suspense
40 longer. Message or no message,
would go to her at once. Before the
vibrant note of "On-n-n-n-e'' had died
away l closed my desk with bang.
AS the fourth stroke reverberated
stood with hat and overcoat on, my
hand on the knob of my Office door,
hoping yet to hear my telephone ring.
lmpatiently I waited a minute and
then dashed toward the elevator. The
telephone, learned afterward, rang
almost the minute I was out of the
room and Louises voice called fran
tically for me, but I was not there to
hear.
1t was only a short walk up Madison
avenue to the home of General Far
IRISH, the father of Louise With the
doubt that possesses every lover on
Guch a mission as this, | walked it,
now laggardly, as misgivings filles my
heart, now quickening my pace as
hope routed my fears. AS l turned
the corner into the street where the
Parrish home is situated my steps
were leaden. What right had to ask
Louise Parrish to be my wife? The
daughter of man worth many mil
lions, girl of exquisite beauty and
Of many accomplishments, one who
could choose husband where she
willed-what right had to hope that
she would ever consent to become the
wife Of q struggling young lawyer
such as 1? To be sure, my family was
of the best. With my earnings and
the modest little fortune my father
had left me would be able to provide
for her. But as yet, though my pros
poets were bright, l amounted to moth
ing in my profession. 1t would be
years before | could hope to give my
wife the Injuries to which Louise Far
IRISH had been accustomed
On the other hand, l felt that with
Louise as my wife | could do great
things. | loved her with great love.
felt that her affection and companions
ship would be inspiration enough for
any man to conquer the world
hoped that she loved me. ! recalled
the trifles which seemed to show, at
least, that she found pleasure in my
society tried to comfort myself, too,
by remembering that General Parrish
was a self-made man, that when he
married he was as poor as |, IL not
poorer knew that he liked me and
had confidence in me. Was it then,
after all, asked myself, presuming
in me to hope that Louise would lis
Ten TO me anu IHdC ueT IdluST WOuiu
consent to her becoming my wife
yet, why had she not telephoned?
AS / dragged my hesitating feet
across the street was aroused from
.-iy reverie by the rush of an automo-
bile that all but knocked me over.
With an angry imprecation at such
reckless driving glanced up and
recognized the man who occupied it.
He was standing beside his chauffeur,
as if ready to leap out. 1t was Doc
tor Wilcox, a noted practitioner who
attended the Parrish family, and whom
had met at their home. ! plunged
forward in anxious dismay as | saw
the machine halt before the Parrish
door and the doctor jump out and run
up the steps,
My first, my only Thought, was OF
Louise. What could have happened?
She must be ill-desperately ILL., as the
Doctors haste suggested. Did not this
explain her failure to telephone? Could
1t be that she was dead? What