Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1914-09-22
CHAPTER XXI.
Remuneration.

The grim posse that gathered in
haste that afternoon did not ride far.
Its work had been singularly well
done. 1t brought back to Damory
court, however, white bulldog whose
broken leg made his would-be joyful
bark trail into a 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 dimly III through
the stained-glass windows and seemed
to clothe with subtle colcrs 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. Shirley's
arm lay shelteringly 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 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. l was coward.
| ought to stay here in He'll 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. 1t
made his own heartache more unbear-
able. Such a little time ago he had
felt that arm about him!
He leaned his hot head against the
cool plastered wall, trying 70 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. It 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
her even paler than in the wood, the
blush shadows deeper under her eyes
Those delicate charms were in eclipse.
And II was he who was TO blame!
1t came to him with a stab of en-
/ lightenment He had been thinking
only OF himself all the while. But fer
her, it was his presence that had now
become the unbearable thing. A cold
sweat broke on his forehead. ".
for l am a stranger with thee, and q
sojourner; as al my fathers we're. Q
spare me a little. that / may recover
my strength before go hence. .
The intoning voice fell DULY on his
ears.
| To so away! To pass out of her