The Washington herald., 1914-10-25

from the city. He had spoken his mes
sage to Philadelphia, he had spoken to
New York, and for a week the papers
had spoken only of him. And for that
week, from the sight of his printed
name, from sketches Of him exhorting
cheering mobs, from snapshots Of him
on rear platforms leaning forward to
grasp eager hands, Helen had shut her
eyes. And that during the time he was
actually in Boston she might spare her
self further and more direct attacks
I upon her feelings she escaped to Fair
I Harbor, there to remain until, on the
/ first Of May at midnight. he again
would pass out Of her life, maybe for
ever. No one saw in her going any
| significance. Spring had come, and IN
( preparation for the summer season the
/ house AT Fair Harbor must be opened
and set N order. and the presence there
. of some one of the Page family was
easily explained.
[ She made the three hours run to
( Fair Harbor in her car, driving If her
u. self, and as the familiar land-falls fell
/ into place, she doubted if it would not
I have been wiser had she stayed away.
Z For she found that the memories of
more than twenty summers at Fair
Harbor had been wiped out by those
I of one summer, by those of one man.
( The natives greeted her joyously; the
7 boatnen, the fishermen, her own
! Crooms and gardeners, the village
postmaster, tire Oldest inhabitant They
welcomed her a. though they w=re nfr
( vassalS ard she their queen. But it
was the one man she had exilcd from
| Fair Harbor who at every turn wrung
| her heart and caused her throat 20
tighten. She passed the cottage where
! he had lodged. and hundreds of years
| seemed to have gone since size used 10
wait for him in the street, blowing
noisily on her automobile horn, calling
: derisively to his open windows. "
( On the second day of her stay she
I found she was passing these places
purposely, that to do so she was golng
out of her way They no longer dis
tressed her. but gave her a strange
I comfort. They were old friends, who
I haG known her in the days when she
was rich in happiness.
I But the secret hiding place-their
very own hiding place, the opening
/ among the pines that overhung the
J tumble of rocks and the sea-she could
not bring herself to visit. And then,
on the afternoon of the third day wien
I she was driving alone toward the light
house, her pony, of his own accord,
| from force of habit, turned sruartly
into the wood road. And again from
force of habit, before he reached the
| spot that overlooked the sea, he came
to a full stop. There was no need to
make him fast. For hours, stretching
over many summer days, he had stood
under those same branches patiently
waiting.
On foot, her heart beating trenu-
lousy. stepping reverently, as one en-
tiers the aisle of some dim cathedral,
Helen advanced into the sacred circle.
And then she stood quite still. What
she had expected to find there she
could not have told, but IT was gone
| The place was unknown to her. She
| saw an opening among gloomy pines,
/ empty, silent, unreal No haunted
I house, no barren moor, no neglected
| graveyard ever spoke more poignanty,
more mournfully, with such utter hope
/ lessness. There was no sign of his or
of her former presence. Across the
!! open space something had passed its
hand, and it had changed. What had
been a trysting place, a bower, nest,
| had become tomb. A tomb, she ielt,
! for something that once had been
brave, fine, and beautiful, but which
now was dead. She had but one desire,
to escape from the place, to put it away
| from her forever. to remember it, not
as she now found it, but as first she
had remembered it, and as now she
must always remember it. She turned
softly on tiptoe as one who has intrud-
ed on shrine.
But before she could escape there
came from the sea a sudden gust of
wind that caught her by the skirts and
drew her back. that set the branches
tossing and swept the dead leaves rae
ing about her ankles. And at the same
instant from just above her head there
beat upon the air a violent, joyous tat
too-a sound that was neither OF the
sea nor OF the woods, a creaking,
swiftly repeated sound, like the hutter
OF Gagged wings.
Helen turned in alarm and raised her
eyes-and beheld the sailorman-
Tossing his arms IN a delirious well
come, waltzing in a frenzy of Joy. call
/ ing her back to him with wild beck
onings, she saw him smiling down at
her with the same radiant, beseeching.
worshiping smile. In Helen's ears
Latimer's commands to the sailornan
rang as clearly as though Latimer stood
before her and had Just spoken Only
now they were no longer jest; they
were a vow, a promise, an oath OF al
legiance that brought to her peace, and
pride, and happiness.
so long as l love this beautiful
lady," had been his foolish words, you
will guard this place. 1t is life SEN
tence" !"
With one hand Helen Page dragged
down the branch on which the sailor
man stood, with the other she snatched
him from his post OF duty. With a
Joyous laugh that was a sob, she
clutched the sailorman in both her
hands and kissed the beseeching, wor-
shipping smile. .-.
An hour later her car, on its way
to Boston, passed through Fair Har-
Dor at a rate of speed that caused her
chauffeur to pray between his chatter
ing teeth that the first policeman would
save their lives by landing them in iail.
At the wheel, her shoulders thrown
forward, her eyes searching the dark
places beyond the reach of the leaping
headlights Helen Page raced against
time, against the minions OF the law.
against sudden death, to beat the mid
night train ON of Boston, to assure the
man she loved of the one thing that
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