Abbeville progress. (Abbeville, Vermilion Parish, La.) 1913-1944, 1913-04-12

she herself would never have married
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
mind. 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 Ct this, her
flesh and blood.
MY child. | 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. No" Had her wits been less
scattered she might have paltered.
The syllable had a finality to 1t
that treasured the mother more than
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 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 forbidding humor in the
whole affair. too, which he alone saw.
The possible rewards were to him of
secondary consideration. II 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 vet.
would she have saved him? God alone
knew.
He heard Jones stirring In his room
next door. Presently all became still.
To sleep like that! He shrugged,
threw off his coat, swept the cover
from the stand. found a pack of cards,
and played solitaire till the first pallor
of dawn announced the new day.
Reclining snugly against the para
pet, wrapped in his tattered arbiyeth.
or cloak, his head pillowed upon his
lean arm, motionless with that pre-
tended sleep OF the watcher. Mahomed-
El-Gebel kept his vigil. Miles upon
miles he had come. across three bleak,
cold, binding deserts. on camels, in
trains, on camels again, night and day,
day and night. across the soundless,
yellow plains. Allah was good to the
true believer. The night was chill,
but certain fires warmed his blood. All
day long he had followed the accursed,
lying giaour, but never once had he
wandered into the native quarters of
the city. Patiencei What was a day,
a week. a year? Grains of sand He
could wait Inshallai