The Watertown weekly leader. [volume] (Watertown, Jefferson County, Wis.) 1912-1917, 1914-11-03
mo-" He Said, In Answer to Her Look,
"He Won't Rouse Again."

mo-" He Said, In Answer to Her Look,
"He Won't Rouse Again."
couch and laid her lips on the pallid
forehead.
Tit was Sassoon, Monty" she
said, and her voice broke on the first
lie she had ever told.
Thank God!" he gasped. He strug-
gled to raise himself on his elbow,
then suddenly the strength faded out
and he settled back.
Her cry brought the doctor, but this
time the restorative seemed of no
avail, and after time he came and
touched her shoulder. With a last
long look at the ash-pale face on the
settee she followed him from the room.
In the yellow parlor he put her into
chair.
"he won't rouse again"
81 will wait" she told him, and he
left her shutting the door with care
full softness.
But the slight figure with it's silver
hair, sitting there, was not alone.
Ghosts were walking up and down.
Not the misty wraiths Johp Valiant
had at times imagined went fitting
along the empty corridors, but faces
very clear in the sunlight, that came
and went with the memories so long
woven over by the shuttle of time
evoked now by the touch of key that
her hand still clenched tightly In it's
palm.
There welled over her in tide those
days of puzzle, the weeks of waiting
silence, the slow inexorable months Of
heartache, the long years that had
deepened the mystery of Beauty Vail
ants exile. In the first shock Of the
news that Sassoon had fallen by his
hand, she had thought she could not
forgive him that broken faith. She
and his promise to her had not weighed
In the balance against the idea Of
manly "honor!" But this bitterness
had at length slipped away. HE will
write" she had told herself, "and ex-
plain" But no word had come Whis-
pers had fitted to her-the tale of
Sassoons 1ntoxication-stingin barhs
that chung to Beauty Valiant's name.
That these should rest unanswered
had filed her with resentment and
anger. Slowly, but with deadly surety,
had grown the belief that he no longer
cared. In the end there had been left
her only pride-the pride that covers
its wound and smiles. And she had
hidden her wound with flowers. But
In the deepest well of her heart her
love for him had rested unchanged,
clear and defined as moss in amber,
wrapped in that mystery of silence.
In the little haircloth trunk back In
her room lay an old scrap-book. It
held few leaves torn from letters and
many newspaper clippings. From
these she had known of his work, his
marriage, the great commercial sue
cess for which his name had stood
the name that from the day of his go
ing, she had so seldom taken upon her
lips. Some of them had dealt with
his habits and idiosyncrasies, hints Of
an altered personality, and aloofness
OR loneliness that had set him apart
and made him, In a way, stranger to
those who should have known him
best. Thus her mind had come to
hold double image: The grave man
these Swallowed forth, and the man
she had loved, whose youthful face was
In the locket she wore always on her
breast. 1t was this face that was
printed on her heart, and when John
Valiant had stood before her ON the
porch at Rosewood, 1t had seemed to
have risen, instinct, from that old
grave.
ITO BE CONTINUED