The Mobridge news. [volume] (Mobridge, Walworth Co., S.D.) 190?-1917, 1914-05-29

I'm hat single exclamation the major
seemed to have exhausted his vocahr
larry. He was looking at the ground
1t was the doctor who spoke at last
In a silence that TO the man In the
doorway weighed like a hundred at
mospheres.
No" he said bluntly. Certainly
not. What put that into your head"
When he was alone in the library
Valiant opened the glass door and
took from the shelf the morocco case.
The old shiver of repugnance raj owe
him at the very touch Of the leather.
In the farthest corner was a low com
mode. He set the case on this and
moved the big tapestry screen across
the angle, hiding IT from view.
.
In the great hall at Damory Court
the candles in their brass wall -sconces
blinked back from the polished par
quetry and the shining fi%re-dogs, fill
ing the rather solemn gloom with an
air Of warmth and creature-comfOrt.
Leaning against the newel-pOst, Va
liant gazed about him. How different
il all looked from the night Of his
coming,
He began to walk up and down the
floor, teasing pricks OF restlessness
urging him. He opened the door and
passed into the unlighted diningroom.
On the sideboard set a silver loving
cup hat had arrived the day before
IN a huge box with his books and
kniCk-knacks. He had won II at polo.
He lifted 1t. lingering it's carved han
dies. He remembered hat when that
particular score had been made, Kath-
arine Fargo had sat in n OF the
drags It tie sideline.
But the memory evoked no thrill.
Instead. the thought of her palely-cold,
pa~ssionless beauty called up another
mobile thoroughbred face instinct with
quick Hastings Of mirth and hauteur.
Again he felt the fierce clutch of small
fingers, as they fought with his in that
struggle for his life, Each line Of
that face stood before him-the arch
ing brows, the cameo-delicacy Of pro-
file, the magnolia skin and hair like a
~brown-gold cloud across the sun.
He stepped down to the graveled
drive and followed it to the gate, then,
bareheaded. took the Red Road.
Along this highway he had ratified In
Uncle Jefferson's crazy hack-with
her red rose In his hand. The musky
scent Of the pressed leaves in the book
in his pocket seemed to be all about
him.
The odor Of living roses, in fact, vas
in the air. 1t came on the scarce
felt breeze, a heavy calling perfume.
He walked on, keeping the road by the
misty infltrating simmer Of the
stars, with a sensation rather of Gid
ing than Of walking. 1t occurred to
him that If. as scientists say colors
emit sound-tones, scents also should
possess a music of their own: the
honeysuckle fragrance, maybe-soft
mellow fluting as of diminutive wind
Instruments; the far-faint sickly odor
of lilies-the upper register Of faery
v%iolins; this spicy breath Of roses
blending, throbbing chords like elfr
echoes Of an Italian harp. The fancy
pleased him; he could imagine the
perfume no In the air carried with
it an under-music, like a ghostly harp
ing.
1t came to him at the same instant
that this was no mere fancy. Some
where in the languorous night a harp
was being played. He paused and lis
tened intently, then went on toward
the sound. The rose scent had grown
stronger; 1t was almost in that heavy
air. as If he were breasting an ETHEREAL