The Washington times., 1912-07-06
THE TIMES DAILY SERIAL STORY.
THE PRINCE OF PRETENSE
BY --
STEPHEN CHALMERS
Copyright. The Frank A. Munsey Co.

"whisht, lassw cautioned the shep-
herd, while the smuggler growled.
THE moors have ears this night. 1t
was not the prince. I'll be thinking
he is safe-somewher we will
find him waiting us at Morag, or on
the way.
who was it?" reiterated Margaret,
but more quietly.
"It was the major--the one with the
bruised face, who woud ha' burst into
your room. He was killed by the
sword, and there was story pinned
on his breast. What 1t means we none
of us know, but 1t was perfectly plain
that Prince Charlie killed him in fair
fight.
"He-he killed a man." said Margaret
in a low fearful whisper.
"Imphm" hummed the shepherd, fear
ing that he had divulged too much for
woman's ears.
There was silence. Presently Mar
garet asked quietly:
What was-what was the story?"
1.-The captain here has 1t, and he can
tell you If he will. 1t is all mysterious
to Us, but no doubt there was cause.
Leastways, the Red Mole took the pa
per off, because 1t was in the nature Of
confession and showed too plainly
who killed Major Fitzwilram. Princes
are rash. and loyal mep must curb rash
nes for them"
What was the confession?" persisted
Margaret.
McHendrick made no answer. but in
| the darkness he looked toward the huge
shadow of the smuggler.
Grant laughed, and said, from men,
Here lies one who, for the good OF
mankind. were better thus. I, Charles
Edward, killed him in a private and
personal quarrel This paper is laid on
his breast in loving memory, not OF his
virtues, but of those that he destroyed
1t is signed Charles Edward Fool!"
"Murdered" said cool, calm voice
| In AHaF. raf' N.l
The door of the room opened and Mrs.
Grant entered.
"Will ye not lie down, lass?" she
asked, in her kind but wearied voice.
She was a small woman, and her face
depicted unspoken sorrow.
NO" said Margaret stonily. " can
not"
"Ye are fretting?' said the woman.
place that only my husband can tell OF.
None can ever find him. If they could
find that place Oh, Lord, how long,"
she suddenly said monotonously. ut is
through to the ship. The tide is low
Just right for safety. VIII ye not
sleep?"
To Margaret's ears the words came
without meaning. What did it matter to
her that cheat, liar, an imposter, a
murderer, had been smuggled through
the hills to some place where smugglers
carried on their secret business. and
the Bay of Morag would carry off
Charles Edward Casimir? What was It
to her? And why did she sit there, in
stead of obeying the woman's wish that
she rest? She was waiting for some
When the door opened and Charles
Edward Casimir stood before her. she
knew that she had been waiting for
Him, The knowledge that her heart still
loved the ideal of him made her furious.
"Well?" she said bitterly. Have you
come to tell me that you have added
murder to your crimes?'
No" said he. sadly. 1T was his life
| woman, years ago, as suspect he
would have murdered another. But why
talk about that which I cannot ex-
plain and which 1t will not help you
mo. 1t would not help" said Mar
garet, with hard laugh.
She turned her back on him, because
his face was good to look upon at that
moment. IT, was sad. but frank yearn-
Ing, yet resigned. And Margaret knew
that she loved and hated him: hated
him because she loved him.
| Il know what ! seem to you, he said,
from depth of respect and sorrow.
But you saw me at my worst. II ever
you met me again, you could not fail
| to see me in a better light and think
better of me. I will not presume to ask
you to think well of me, now or ever;
but, Margaret. out of the necessity Of
self-respect and what your esteem
means to me, even If love does not com
pei me back, l shall come again. Good
by!'
He turned to go, but fingered on his
Sstep, as If hoping against hope that she
| would have one word of kindliness for
the lonely path that he was to travel.
But the one word she uttered was far
from kind in its imperative, angry ut
terance:
| 60"
Five minutes later, Captain Kilby,
with a cooked pistol in his right hand,
threw open the door of the room and
| boldly stepped inside.
Charles Edward Casimir-" he be-
gan sternly, half raising the pistol.
Then he stopped.
The Prince of Pretense was not in the
room. The only occupant was a girl
seated at a table, with her face buried
in her arms and her shoulders shaking
with her convulsive sobs.
| She did not look up as he entered.
She did not seem to hear the door open.
Kilby stepped out and quietly drew
the door after him.
"Gone!" he said half aloud And a
look of relief and gladness crossed his
face.
4 Continuation Of This story VIII
be Found In TOmOrrOW's