The Grenada sentinel. [volume] (Grenada, Miss.) 1868-1955, 1914-05-01
The Hollow =
BID 3 Of Her Hand
George Barr MoCutCheOn
.HXHD G.. OQ<11NT/

! ting-room? Who can put herself in
the place of that despairing. hunted
creature who knew that blood was on
the hands with which she ate, and
whose eyes were filled with visions Of
the death-chair?
So great was her fatigue that long
before she finished the meal her tired
lids began to droop, her head to nod
in spasmodic surrenders to an over
towering desire for sleep. Suddenly
she dropped the fork from her fingers
n sank back In the comfortable
chair. her head resting against the
soft, upholstered back. Her lids fell.
her hands dropped to the arms of the
chair. A fine line appeared between
her dark eyebrows-indicative Of pain.
For many minutes Sara Wrandall
watched the haggardness deepen In
the face OF the unconscious sleeper.
Then, even as she wondered at the
act, she went over and took up one OF
the slim hands In her own. The hand
of an a%ristocrat! 1t lay limp In hers.
and helpless. Long. tapering fingers
and delicately pink with the return Of
warmth.
Rousing herself from the mute con
temptation Of her charge. she shook
the girls shoulder. Instantly she was
awake and staring, alarm in her dazed.
bewildered eyes.
You must 90 to bed" said Mrs.
Wrandall quietly. Don't be afraid.
No one will think of coming here"
The girl rose. AS she stood before
her benefactress. she heard her muir
mur as II from afar-off: Just about
your size and figure" and wondered
not a little.
You may sleep late. I have many
things to do and o will not be dis
turbed. Come. take off your clothes
and get into my bed. Tomorrow we
will plan further"
But, madam" cried the girl. Il
cannot take your bed. Where are you
to-"
IF feel like lying down. I shall
lie there beside you"
The girl stared. Lie beside me?"
yes. Oh. l am not afraid of you.
child. You are not a monster. You
are Just a poor. tired"
oh. please don't! Please!" cried
the other, tears rushing to her eyes.
She raised Mrs. Wrandall's hand to
her lips and covered it with kisses.
Long after she went to sleep, Sara
Wrandall stood beside the bed, look
Ing down at the pain-stricken face,
and tried to solve the problem that
suddenly had become a part OF her
very existence.
1T is not friendship" she argued.
fercely. 1T Is not charity. 1t is not
humanity. It's the debt I owe. that's
all. She did the thing for me that !
could not have done myself because
l loved him. l owe her something for
that"
Later on she turned her attention
to the trunks. Her decision was made.
With ruthless hands she dragged gown
after gown from the innovations" and
cast them over chairs. on the floor,
across the foot Of the bed; smart
things from Paris and Vienna; bal
gowns. tea gowns, lingerie, blouses
hats. gloves and all OF the countless
things that a woman of fashion and
goes abroad for that purpose and nc
means INDUCES herself in when she
other to speak Of. From the closets she
drew forth New York "tailor-suits" and
other garments.
Until long after six o'clock she
busted herself over this huge pile o.
costly raiment, portions Of which she
had worn but once or twice. some moi
at all, selecting certain dresses, hats
stockings. ETC.. each Of which she lait
carelessly aside; an imposing pile o.
many hues, all bright and gay and gilt
tering. In another heap she laid the
somber things Of black; a meager as
sortment as compared to the other.
Then she stood back and surveyed
the two heaps with tired eyes a curl
Gus. almost s~cornful smile on hel
lips. "There!" she said with a sigh
THE black pile is mine. the gay pill,
Is yours" she went on, turning TOWARD
tho sleeping girl. What a ~travesty!'
Then she gathered up the soiled gar
ments her charge had worn and cas-
them into the bottom Of a trunk. which
] she locked. Laying out a carefully Sc
) lected assortment of her own garment
for the girls use when she arose., Mrs
! Wrandall sat down beside the bed an,
waited. knowing that sleep would no
! come to her.
, CHAPTER III.