The Madisonian. (Richmond, Ky.) 1913-1914, 1914-06-30
LAUREN STOUT

her only string of blue glass beads
that had been Shirley's last Christmas
present
LET me stay!" she had walled. I'm
not fit to live down there! It's all my
fault that it happened. / was coward.
1 ought to stay here in Hell's-Half-Acre
forever and ever!p Valiant had car
ried her back in his arms down the
mountain-she had been too spent to
walk.
He thought of this now as he saw
that arm about the child in that pro
tective, almost motherly gesture. 1t
made his own heartache more unbear-
able. Such a little time ago he had
felt that arm about him!
He leaned his hot head against the
cool plastered wall, trying to keep his
mind on the solemn reading But Shir-
ley's voice and laugh seemed to be
running eerily through the chanting
lines, and her face shut out pulpit and
lectern. 1t swept over him suddenly
that each abominable hour could but
make the situation more impossible
for them both. He had seen her as
she entered the church, had thought
her even paler than in the wood, the
blush shadows deeper under her eyes.
Those delicate charms were in eclipse.
And it was he who was to blame!
1t came to him with a stab of en-
lightenment- He had been thinking
only of himself all the while. But for
her, it was his presence that had now
become the unbearable thing. A cold
sweat broke on his forehead. q" E.
for l am a stranger with thee, and a
sojourner; as all my fatheks were. o
spare me little, that 1 may recover
my strength before go hence. :"
The intoning voice fell duly on his
ears.
To go away! TO pass out of her
life, to a future empty of her? How
could he do that? When he had part
ed from her in the rain he had felt a
frenzy of obstinacy. 1t had seemed SO
clear that the barrier must in the end
yield before their love. He had never
thought of surrender. Now he told
himself that flight was all that was
left him. She-her happiness-noth-
ing else mattered. Damory court and
it's future-the plans he had made-the
Valiant name-in that clarifying in
slant he knew that all these, from that
May day on the Red road, had chung
about her. She had been the inspira,
ton of all.
LEAD, kindly Light, amid the encircIing
gloom"
The voices of the invested choir
rose clearly and some one at his side
was whispering that this had been the
majors favorite hymn. But he
scarcely heard.
When the service was ended the
people filed the big yard while the
last reverent words were spoken at the
grave. Valiant, standing with the rest,
saw Shirley, with her mother and the
doctor, pass out of the gate. She was
not looking toward him. A mist was
before his eyes as they drove away,
and the vision of her remained waver-
ing and indistinct-a pale blurred face
under shining hair.
He realized after a time that the
yard was empty and the sexton was
locking the church door, He went
slowly to the gate, and just outside
holm Lusk. They had not met since
the night of the ball. Even in his own
preoccupation, Valiant noted that
Lusk's face seemed to have lost its
exuberant ycuthfulness. 1t was worn
as if with sleeplessness, and had a
look of suffering that touched him.
And all at once, while they stood look
ing at each other, Valiant knew what
the other had waited to say.
81 won't beat about the bush," said
Lusk stammering. I've got to ask
you something. 1 reckon you've
guessed that THAT Shirley"
Valiant touched the young fellows
arm. Yes" he said, Il think know"
Its no new thing, with me-" said
the other hoarsely. TITS been three
years. The night of the ball, 1 thought
perhaps that don't mean to ask
what you might have right to resent
but 1 must find out. Is there any
reason why shouldn't try my luck?"
Valiant shook his head. NO." he
said heavily, there is no reason"
The boyish look sprang back to
Lusk's face. He drew a long breath.
why, then l WILL he said. Tim
sorry if l hurt you. Heaven knows l
didn't want tot"
He grasped the others hand with a
mans heartiness and went up the road
with swinging stride; and Valiant
stood watching him go, with his hands
tight-clenched at his side.
=
A little later Valiant climbed the
sloping driveway of Damory court. 1t
seemed to stare at him from a thou
sand reproachfuI eyes. The bachelor
red squirrel from his tree-crotch
looked down at him askance. The
redbirds, flashing through the hedges,
fiuttered disconsolately. F'ire-Cracker,
the peacock, was shrieking from the
upper lawn and the strident discord
seemed to mock his mood
The great house had become home
to him; he told himself that he would
make no other. The few things he had
brought-his books and trophies-had
grown to be a part of it, and they
should remain. The ak should not be
laid to the walnut grove. AS his ia
Their had done, he would leave behind
him the life he had lived there, and
the old court should be once more
closed and deserted. Uncle Jefferson
and Aunt Daphne might live on in the
cabin back of the kitchens. There
was pasturage for the horse and the
cows and for old Sukey. and soFe
acres had already been cleared fol
planting. And there would be the
swans, the ducks and chickens, thu
peafowl and the fish.