Alma record. (Alma, Mich.) 1878-1928, 1915-06-17

Warne, trembling In every limb. Then
came the dim echoes OF a commotion
In the direction of the bridge. ham
mering. voices, and among these lat
ter accents OF excitement and OF dis
tress
from the tower, A man rushed from
the direction OF the bridge. downward
bound. lie shouted TO a person scud-
ding by him from the opposite direc-
ton
over hundred killed-it's q fright
full wreck"
After that for nearly a week Warne.
fugitive. half mad. haunted with
constant terror and remorse, scarce
knew what he did He had slept while
train dashing by unsignaled, had
gone down to wreck and ruin! Obi
he could figure II all OUT a collision
at the bridge. and his the blame. his
the sinful, wicked fault.
Then Canada, to hide far away from
friends and the law, for was he not q
murderer? And Elsie! an anguishing
memory in his heart of hearts.
Coward. craven. poltroon, Ronald
Warne called himself score of times
the music like a man. Then a rest
less longing for old scenes and back
to a city where he was little known
All the finer artistic instincts Of his
nature were blunted and inert. Now,
after idleness abject poverty, he had
secured work
1t was cheap, unworthy labor for q
man of his former attainments-en-
larging photographs In the crayon
line-but it occupied him, 1t kept the
wolf from the door.
1t was dull monotonous work, but
| there was even more than he could do.
The lonely room he occupied was a
safe hiding place to which his work
was sent regularly from the firm en-
| ploying him.
One day there was a shock In the
dusk Of early evening a yelled lady
was ushered into the poor excuse for
studio By the landlady.
Mr. Wayne spoke the latter,
this is a young lady who sent some
work to your firm and you have it.
She is 10 leave the city tomorrow,
and wishes to hurry up the order, If
possible"
A great gasp broke from the art
lists lips as his visitor cast aside her
| veil
1T is a picture of a relative" she
| began. and then-"Oh Ronald"
| Yes, fate had thus strangely thrown
/, Elsie Barker across his path again
/ for it was she-the same sweet-faced
maiden of old, but richly attired. In
her gentle tones was manifest inter.
| est, the warmth of genuine friendship,
| perhaps something more.
| She stood rooted, spellbound. Then
a plying look crossed her face. He
hung his head, self-condemned She
| advanced and took his hand
| Ronald" she said. and her tones
stirred his Utmost heart-"what does
| II all mean?"
| What did it mean?-crime, murder!
He shrank from her, abject and
crushed In broken tones he qua
vered his miserable story.
"Oh, why did you not come to
me?" she cried. 1T was not your
fault. The wreck was on the road that
crosses ours just beyond the bridge
and was caused by one of their own
broken rails. Our trains went through
all right, and even the truth about
my father was not learned. Poor
dear friend, what have you not suf
feredl"
Innocent a great load was lifted
from Ronald Warne's mind. Like q
child he sank to chair. like a child
he wept
Father is no longer with the road,
went on Elsie. Are you not glad
we inherited quite a fortune, and
and"
She paused there Then their eyes
met. Her face was pleading, tell-tale
When she went away from the dim
studio. she left kiss upon his lips