Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1915-07-28

as mucn at home IN the NIllSOn uOuSo
as in her own. But never, never any
where in the house, was there lndlca-
ton of the existence OF brother, so
like Arthur that under normal condl'
lions it would have been difficult to
tell them apart Even when she used
to go up to the garnet with Mrs. Eli
son, to aid her in rummaging some old
trunk, there came to light none of
those trif1ing knickknacks which any
mother would have secretly chung to,
no matter to what depth her flesh and
blood had fallen. Never had she seen
among the usual amateur photographs
one presenting two boys. Once she
had come across photograph OF a
smooth-faced youth who was in the
act of squirting along the top OF an
engineers tripod. Arthur had laugh
ingly taken it away from her, saying
that it represented him when he had
had ambitions to build bridges.
To build bridges. The phrase awoke
something in Elsa's mind. Bridges.
She sat up in bed, mentally keen for
the first time since dinner. 81 have
built bridges in my time over which
trains are passing at this moment. l
have fought torrents, and floods, and
hurricanes, and myself"
He was Paul Ellison, son and broth
er, and they had blotted him out Of
their lives by destroying all physical
signs of him. There was something
inhuman in the deliberateness Of 1t,
something unforgivable.
They had made no foolish attempt
to live under an assumed name. They
had come from New York to the little
valley in order to leave behind the
scene Of their disgrace and all those
who had known them. Arthur was an
inveterate traveller. Half the year
found him in Europe, painting little,
writing little less, frequenting the
lesser known villages in France and
Italy. He did not care for horses, for
hunting, for sports of any kind. And
yet he was sturdy, clear-eyed, fresh
skinned. He walked always; he was
forever tramping off to the pine-hood.
ed hills, with his painting kit over his
shoulders and his camp stool under
his arm. Later, Elsa began to under
stand that he was true scholar, not
merely an educated man. He was be.
sides linguist of amazing facility,
pianist who invariably preferred as
his audience his own two ears. Ar
thur would have been a great drama
fist or great poet, if . If he
had fought for prizes coveted by man.
kind, if he had thrown aside his
dreams and gone into the turmoil, if
he had taken up a mans burden and
carried it to success. Elsa, daughter
of man who had fought in the great
arena from his youth to his death,
Elsa was not meant for the wife of a
dreamer.
Paul Ellison. What was his crime
in comparison to his eXpiation of it?
He had built bridges, fought torrents,
hurricanes, himself. No, he was not a
scholar; he saw no romance in the
multifarious things he had of neces-
sity put his hand to-; these had been
daily matter-of-fact occupations. A
strange gladness seemed to loosen the
tenseness of her aching nerves.
Then, out of the real world about
her, came with startling distinctness,
| the shrek Of parrot. She would
have recognized that piercing cry any
where. 1t was Rajah In the next
room, and she had not known that
Warrington (she would always know
| him by that name) was stopping at
the same hotel! She listened intently.
Presently she heard muff1ed sounds: a.
| clatter Of metal. A few minutes later
came softer tinkle, scurry of patter-
ing feet, then silence.
Elsa ran to the door and stood mo-
tionless by the jamb, waiting, ethereal
~ white in the moonshine. She, should
have gone back to bed, but thrill Of
/ unknown fear held her She saw War
rlngton, fully dressed, issue forth eau
tiously, glance about, then pass down
the gallery, stepping with the light
ness of q cat.
She returned hastily to her room,
threw over her shoulder kimono, and
went back to the door, hesitating there
for breath or two. She stepped out
upon the gallery, walked as far as
Warrington's door, and paused there.
The gallery floor was trellised with
moonlight and shadow. She saw some
thing lying in the center of a patch of
light, and she stopped. The light was
too dim for her to read; so she re-
entered her own room and turned on
the light 1t was Warrington's letter
of credit. She gave low laugh, per-
haps bit hysterical. There was no
doubt of it. Someone had entered his
room. There had been struggle in
which he had been the stronger, and
the thief had dropped his plumber. CAS-
a matter of fact, the Chinaman, find
ing himself closed in upon, had thrown
the letter of credit toward the railing,
in hope that it would fall over to the
ground below, where, later, he could