The Celina Democrat. (Celina, O. [Ohio]) 1895-1921, 1913-07-04

htand the pressure In the end. H'
had thrown everything to the winds
and had told her how he loved her.
Out there In the moonlight In the
rose arbor, the scent OF the flowers
the southern night wind, the proxim
ity OF the girl, her eyes shining like
stars out OF the shadows In which
they stood. the pallor OF her face, the
rise and fall of her bosom, the fiutter
ing OF her hand as unwittingly or wit
tingly, who knows, she touched him
had intoxicated him. and hts love and
passion had broken all bounds, and
he had spoken to her and she had an
swered. She loved him. What did
that mean to him now?
Sometimes woman's love makes
duty easy, sometimes 1t makes IT hard
Sometimes It is the crown which vic.
tors wear. and sometimes It is the
pail that overshadows defeat.
What Edith Varney knew or sus-
pected concerning him, he could not
| tell. That she knew something, that
she suspected something, had been
NfAANhNf bhN hAhNbF1A hEA hhOWlthkt
and suspicion. they were not sufficient
ly powerful or telling to prevent her
from returning love for love, kiss for
kiss. But did she love him in spite
of her knowledge and suspicion? The
problem was too great for his solu-
ton then.
These things passed through his
mind as he stood there by the window,
with his hand on his revolver, wait
ing. 1t was all he could do. Some
times even to the most fiery and the
most alert of soldiers comes the con-
viction that there is nothing to do but
wait. And II he thinks of it he will
sympathize with the women who are
left behind in times of war, who have
little to do but wait.
The room had suddenly become his
world, the walls his horizon, the cell
ing his sky. At any exit he would find
the way barred. Why had they left
him in the room, free. armed, his re-
volver in his hand?
None but the bravest would have
entered upon such career as he had
chosen. His nerves were like steel
in the presence of danger. He had
trembled before the woman in the
garden a moment since; the stone
walls OF the house were no more rig
idly composed than he in the drawing
room now. 1t came to him that there
was nothing left but one great battle
in that room unless they shot him
from behind door or window or por-
there, giving him no chance. II they
did confront him openly he would
show them that If he had chosen the
secret service and the life of spy he
could fight and die like a man and a
soldier. He held some lives within |
the chamber of his revolver, and they |
should pay did they give him but a
chance.
In the very midst of these crowding |
and tumultuous thoughts which ran |
through his mind in far, far less time |
than 1t has taken to record them,
he heard a noise at the window at the
farther side of the room. as If some
one fumbled at the catch. Instantly
Thorne shrank back behind the por-
1eres Of the window he was guarding,
not completely concealing himself but
hid as TO be unobserved
except by careful scrutiny in the dim
light. Once more he clutched the butt
If his revolver swinging at his waist.
9e bent his body slightly, and even
he thought of Edith Varney passed
rom his mind. He stood ready, pow
'rful, concentrated, determined. con-
ronting an almost certain enemy
With the fierce heart and envenomed
dance of the fighter at bay.
He had scarcely assumed this posi-.
lon when the window was opened,
nd a man was thrust violently
through into the room. At the first
lance Thorne, as yet unseen, recog-
lied the newcomer as his elder broth
r, Henry Dumont Unlike the two
amous brothers of the parable, these |
wo loved each other. I
Thorne's muscles relaxed, his hand {
I'LL clutched the butt of his revolver,
g was still alert, but here was not
n enemy. He began at once to faith
m something at least of the plan and
le purpose of the people who had
'apped him. In a flash he perceived
lat his enemies we're not yet in pos
ession of all the facts which would
arrant them in laying hands upon
m. He was suspected, but the final
'idence upon which to turn suspicion =
to certainty was evidently lacking
g could feel although he could not
o them, that every door and window A
ID eyes solely for him, and that he
as closely watched for some false
owe which would betray him. The
an for which he had ventured so
lch was still possible; he had not h
t failed. His heart leaped In his v,
east. The clouds around his hori- ~
n lifted a little. There was yet a =,
that he could succeed, that 10
could carry out his part Of the cum
Ugly devised and desperate under n
King. the series of events Of which 81
IS night and the telegraph office m
re to be the elimination. ~
A less cautious and less resource IN
man might have evinced some he
otion, might have gone forward or Ia
,ken to the newcomer, would have Ar
least done something to have at wi
cted his attention, but save for that
axation of the tension, which no or
} could by any possibility observe, tn
Orne stood motionless, silent, wait co
(; just as he might have stood and Gu
tied had he been what he seemed SUI
the newcomer been utterly un- bo
'wn and Indifferent to him. an
Ienry Dumont had been thrust vio- ito