Cut Bank pioneer press. [volume] (Cut Bank, Mont.) 1909-current, 1914-09-25
N-contlnued.

Nora, as she stood in the full morn
Ing sunlight, was like to gladden. the
eyes of all mankind. She was beauti
full, and all adjectives applicable would
but serve to confuse rather than to
embellish her physical excellence. She
was as beautiful as a garden rose is
needing no defense, no ramparts OF
cloying phrases. The day Of poets lie
gone, otherwise she would have been
sung in cantos. She was tall, shapely
deep-bosomed, fine-skinned. Critics
In praising her charms, delved into
mythology and folklore for compari,
sons, until there wasn't a goddess left
on Olympus OF on Northland's icy
capes; and when these images became
a little shop-worn, referred to certain
masterpieces of the old fellows who
had left nothing more to be said in
oils. Nora enjoyed it all.
She had not been happy in the selec.
ton of her stage name; but she had
chosen Eleanora da Toscana because
she believed there was good luck in
1t. Once, long before the world knew
of her, she had returned home from
Italy Unexpectedly. Molly, here's
Nora, from Tuscany" her delighted
father had cried; who at that time
had a nebulous idea that Tuscany was
somewhere in Ireland because it had a
Celtic ring to 1t. Being filed with love
OF Italy, its tongue, its history, its
physical beauty, she naively trans
lated Mora from Tuscany" into Ital-
Ian, and declared that when she went
upon the stage she would be known
by that name. There had been some
smiling over the pseudonym; but
Nora was Irish enough to cling to it.
BY and by the great music-loving pub
lie ceased to concern itself about her
name; 1t was her fresh beauty and
her wonderful voice they craved to see
and hear. Kings and queens, en-
perors and expresses, princes and
prtncesses-what is called royalty and
nobility In the newspapers freely gave
her homage. Quite a rise in the world
for a little girl who had once lived In
q shabby apartment in New York and
III barefooted on the wet asphalts:
summer nights!
But Nora was not recalling the
happy scenes of her childhood: in
deed, no; she was still threatening
Paris. Once there, she would not lack
for reprisals. To have played on her
pity! To have made a lure of her
tender concern for the unfortunate
Never would she forgive such base.
ness. And only a little while ago she
had been as happy as the nightingale
to which they compared her. Never
had she wronged anyone; she had been
kindness and thoughtfulness to all
with whom she had come in contact.
But from now oni Her fin.
gers frightened round the bars. She
might have posed as Dido when she
learned that the noble Aeneas was
dead. War war; woe to the moths who
huttered about her head hereafter!
All, but had she been happy? Hell
hands elid down the bars. Her ex.
preston changed. The mouth drooped
the eagle-light in her eyes dimmed
From out the bright morning, some.
where, had come WEAKNESS, and with
this came weakness. and finally. tears
She heard the key turn in the lock
They had never come so early before.
She was astonished to see that her
Taller did not close the door as usual.
He put down the breakfast tray on the
table. There was tea and toast and
fruit.
"Mademoiselle, there has been a ter
rible mistake" said the man humbIv.
"Ah! So you have found that out?"
she cried.
Eyes. You are not the person for
whom this room vas intended" Which
was half a truth and perfectly true.
paradoxical as 1t may seem. Eat your
breakfast in peace. You are free,
mademoiselle."
'Free7 You will not hinder me if I
walk through that door,"
mo, mademoiselle. On the con
trary. l shall be very glad, and SO will
my brother. who guards you at night.
| repeat, there has been a ~frightful mis-
take. Monsieur Champeaux !"
"Monsieur Champeaux?" Nora was
bewildered. She had never heard this
name before.