The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1915-11-20

hear it, an incipient paralysis laid hold of her. The solid earth seemed to sink from under her, leaving her in midair
 'sDi, is it you?'
 Useless to run.
 'What are you doing up here?" the man asked impetuously and at once N lost the 7advantage- of the terror his appearance had inspired in her.
 This demand from the man she had seen but once in six years, from whom she had hidden with unfaihng vigf- lance, yet always keeping track of him, kfndled anew the old fires in her heart fear, anger, pity, wonder and con tempt
 Have you any right to ask that?@ q believe I have.,' His voice tow and smooth
 He knew women, this. handsome rogue; knew the hearts of them as a violinist knows the strings of his in strument-upon which string to play this moment or that, what tempo upon the dry and taut, e'damp and loose.
 Here were taut strings, necessitating a light, soft touch of the bow. AL ways he had found it to be so-when woman's voice rang high with emotion mans voice should gentle her-or when hers was low and Ehrobbing mans should suddenly dominate.
 He was withal rather an unusual young man, depending for every move he made upon the mathematics of chance 4eYou may think have no right, Di;ayet I have, even if ever so : little-''
 x -.Not one iota, Donald smeadY'
 ''Mr. Hanchett-A4r Hanchett, if you please.''
 q wonder under how many names you have gone in these six years!"
 "A good many, Df'
 "And how many lies have you told ito other poor women ?'
 YCount theA planets. 1T have often marveled over the breeding quality of the first ne1 A stone upon still waters who knows where the ripples end7 When first we practice to decefver There's a deal of truth in those old chaps, the poets. Well, lying came nat ura1Iy. As other lads were taught pa triotic odes from fourth readers, I was taught to lie. Lord, but I'm accom- plishedi What are you doing up here in this God forsaken holeY
 ssIt is not God forsakenE nE-quietly
 Perhaps it is my outlook. To me . all places are more or less God for saken. After all, Di, I have some ex- cuses.''
 . "once upon time you had-not now"
 You think. then, that, I've had my chanceY'
 "I know it. I tried to- help you. There was a time wheniI would have I given my hearts blood to help you, but you lied to me and tricl1ed meI'
 And now?" He crushed the eager ness which sprung with the question.
 T would not turn my hand to save you from prison" She uttered the words without heat.
 He knew that she meant ihs
 aThat, as my beloved father would say, is a haymalxer flush on the jaw. What an old prize fighter he must have been! DfA in your heart you know you wouldn't let me go to prison.''
 'T would. It might be the saving of you.''
 Dear little Methodist--or is it Pres byterian? Repentance? What word, smuggest of the snug; rolling eyes, clasped hands and lying Iips.''
 Do you never think? Do these things never return to haunt you-the broken lives, the knavery, the dishon- orY'
 T don't believe in ghosts, Di. Be sides, it is easy to shoo them away
 "Yeu are really incapable of telling the truth
 Well, yes-sometimes they come knocking
 tsThey follow from room to room: bolts and oak panels are nothing; but presently I remember Nvhere the whis- ky stands on the sideboard, and poof! they go scrambling out the way they came.'
 And when the horror of drunken ness is gone?''
 "Oh, then it's morning; sunshine and work to do. wish I could see your face" He struck a match. r She did not finch. The flame burn ed till it nipped his thumb and finger, then he dropped the writhing stick ment and went out. Good nerves, Di Not afraid of anything, are you?''
 She did not answer.
 Well, there never was any coward ice on your side or mine
 'sMoral?'
 Physical. I have the courage of my crimes, you the courage of your vir- tues. Chaste Diapar' He laughed. 1 ''Do you real...e that you are one of the two living things I 1ove?"
 'fThe other?'' TI Irony. eh? Myself, you would sug gest? No. Truth is. Di despise my self as heartily as you do''
 Quickly he caught her by the shoul- 1 ders. What is this man ,Cranford doing? Is he making love to you7 1 Answerr' He shook her
 She put her strong fingers under his and flung him back
 'sAh! You love himy' I /@Don't touch me again, Donald" she said quietly. : There's a long. score against him Well, well, if hurt comes to him, dt not put all the blame on me- I'm no alone The batter is in Kingston. l. 1