Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1914-08-20
CHAPTER XXI.
Renunciation.

The grim posse that gathered in
haste that afternoon did not ride far.
It's work had been singularly well
done. 1t brought back to Damory
court, however, a white bulldog whose
broken leg made his would-be joyful
bark trail into sad whimper as his
owner took him into welcoming arms.
Next day the major was carried TO
his final rest in the myrtled shadow of
st. Andrews. At the service the old
church was crowded to its doors
Valiant occupied a humble place at
one side-the others, he knew, were
older friends than he. The light of the
late afternoon came dimIy in through
the stained-glass windows and seemed
to clothe with subtle colors the voice
of the rector as he read the solemn
/ service. The responses came broken
| ly, and their were tears on many faces.
Valiant could see the side-face of
the doctor, its saturnine grimness
strangely moved, and beyond him,
| Shirley and her mother. Many glanced
at them, for the majors will had been
opened that morning and few there
| had been surprised to learn that, save
for a life-annuity for old Jereboam,
he had left everything he possessed
to Shirley. Miss Matte Sue was be
side them, and between, wan with
weeping, sat Hickey Snyder. ShirIey's
arm lay shelterirgly about the small
shoulders as if it would stay the pas
| sion of grief that from time to time
shook them.
! The evening before had been further
darkened by the child's disappearance
/ and Miss Matte Sue had sat through
| half the night in fearful anxiety. 1t
was Valiant who had solved the riddle
In her first wild conjunction, Hickey
| had gasped out the story of her meet
| ing with Greet King, his threat and
/ her own terrorized silence, and when
| he heard of this he had guessed her
| whereabouts. He had found her at
| the Dome, in the deserted cabin from
which on a snowy night six years ago,
| Shirley had rescued her. She had fed
| there in her shabbiest dress, her toys
and trinkets left behind, taking with
her only a 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. I was a coward.
! ought to stay here in Hell's- Half-Acre
| forever and ever!" 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. It
made his own heartache more unbear-
able Such 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
/ ner even paIer than II 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-
/ ltghtenment. 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
]
| for am a stranger with thee, and a
| sojourner; as all my fathers we're. Q
| spare me little, that I may recover
my strength before go hence. -
| The intoning voice fell DULY on his
| ears.
l To so away! To pass out of her
Now, 1t is likely that our "&" will
/ become obsolete. lust as We has be-