Pierre weekly free press. (Pierre, S.D.) 1889-19??, 1915-07-29

peated over and over again.
I'm not saying Mary did a wise
thing in running away like this ad-
united Adam. 1T has caused a lot OF
there are in Corinth. They're bound
to say nasty things. But she would
1t. The only decent thing Jack Pay
could do was to see her through
with it. He loves her. He couldn't
anything else"
Eric shut his paws with a snap.
She's got me to reckon WITH" he
grated. She'll come back to Corinth,
or I'll know the reason why"
She'll come back if you insist, but
L wouldn't insist too vigorously, if l
We're you" was Adams contentious
advice.
h next morning. after having lis
ter declarations of his uncle and
aunt, Eric left the breakfast table to
redeem his promise to Joan. He had
promised to call her up on the tele-
phone the instant he arrived in Co
rinth. Other ~distracting events had
put this tender obligation out of his
thoughts. A servant in the Bright
nome Informed him that Miss Joan
was out of town and would not return
until the end of he following week.
He was annoyed and puzzled by his
extraordinary piece of news. Joan, in
her last letter, had said she would
be fairly hanging over the phone, wait
ing to hear his dear voice.
His appointment with John Payson
was for II o'clock. Adam Carr had
arranged it, apparently without con-
sulting the New Yorker.
Eric had been at once struck by the
changes in his uncle and aunt. They
were white of hair, grey of face. and
more than ordinarily smileless. Signs
of deep suffering lay in their eyes.
Heavy ines marked the gaunt, ascetic
face of his uncle: his shoulders dropped
far more than his rigid. upright figure
might have suggested. He looked a
man Of rs, instead of IS or ga. Mrs.
Blagden's hair was perfectly white. A
strange, sad Sweetness-the reflection
of far off %girlhood's gentleness-had
come into her face. Her voice was soft
and charged with a curiously vibrant
note, altogether unfamiliar to Eric,
whose strongest recollection vas Of
sharp, incisive tones that bore no re-
lation to love.
She moved with a certain listness-
ness, and yet there was ever the un-
DERIVING suggestion of alertness, Of
eagerneSS. He observed that she never
passed the grim old hall clock with
out glancing at its face; for an in
slant her manner suggested the atti-
tude of one listening-just a fitting
impression-as if she were trying to
catch a sound not distinguishable to
other ears. Her somber black dress
bore no touch Of color save the ivory
cross that hung suspended from her
neck at the end of a string Of heavy
jet beads.
He had told them hat he did not
hold them responsible for the step
Mary had taken, and they seemed
grateful. Something in the manner of
these unconpromising natures gave
him to understand that they had soft
ened, at least toward him; that the
steel edge had worn away; that visit
full, hungry hearts were being laid bare
that he might see them plainly and
forget not to touch them gently.
Il shall bring her back, Aunt Rena,"
he had said.
"She will be welcome, Eric" said his
aunt, and he was surprised by the sim
pie appeal that went with the words.
w acted as we thought best. If we
were ~wrong-well, we cannot always
be right, try as we may
"They tell me that Joan is away
from home" he said, On his return
from the telephone.
His uncle was standing at the win
dow, looking out over the wet lawn,
a gaunt, frail figure, poignant with re-
serve.
Horace turned. She's off on a cruise
with young Sallonsby and his party"
~"Sallonsby? You don't mean the Sal
lonsbys, of Boston?"
paul Sallonsby. I think you knew
| him at Cambridge. He has come into
a fortune. His father died a year and
a half ago, leaving So Oo, 900 and over
to each of his children. Paul has been
seeing a great deal of Joan. I e. He
has taken a party to the West Indies"
''They left last week. added Mrs.
- TI.- ,.~~1& t. Al~ L--N
Dor here for two days"
Eric was dazed. He could hardly
believe his ears. Joan a not men
toned young %Sallonsby in any of her
letters, nor had she spoken Of a con-
templated cruise. 1t was more than
strange that she should go away at
the very time he was expected home.
it mean? Was it possible-but no!
| She could not be anything out constant.
He could swear by the pure light in
her eyes. And yet, she had gone away.
Vaguely dismayed-in addition to the
depression that was already upon him,
through the dim parlor and sitting
| room, torn by many emotions. The
prim rooms, so unlike those to which he
had become accustomed in Paris and
elsewhere, seemed to be narrower, more
/ confined than before he went away.
Iney appeared TO SHRINK IN size, even
as he stood in them, the walls draw.
ing closer about him, the ceiling com
ing down as if driven by a great, slow
moving press. An atmosphere Of op
pressiveness surrounded him. All the
brightness seemed to have been swept
out of life. Something dead pervaded
the house. from top to bottom.
The same damask sofas and chairs
stood in their accustomed places in the
parlor. The brussels carpet, with the
big. well-remembered pattern, lay be
meath his feet, as new as the day II
was first put down, rs years ago. The
old portraits n oil paintings still
hung suspended by silken picture cords
relics of an obsolete grandeur. Over
by the window which looked out upor
the front yard and the street at the
bottom of the knoll stood a chair tina,
somehow was out Of place in his mem
Dry. 1t was drawn up close to the side
of the window. and faced the ligh,
though screened from outer view by
the heavy, Immaculate lace curtains
that always had been there.
immaculate? He crossed over, strucl
by an unusual aspect. One of the cur
tains hung straight and prim. but ths
other, next to the chair, was slightly
crumpled, eve soiled along the innel
edge.
A careful hand had been drawing Il
aside for years! Every day someon,