The Ekalaka eagle., 1916-01-28

ration which was not wholly admira-
Bile. He solemnly stretched out his
hand. Sonny, you're great man. he
declared. II wish l had your cheek.
Shake..'
FarGuhar smiled politely, deprecated
the compliment and evaded the point
at issue and shortly afterward con-
veyed himself out Of the room on the
plea that the invalid had done enough
talking. It was fortunate for him that
the language of the eye cannot be put
In as evidence, for Lucian knew that
he had detected in Farquhar's too can
did orbs a tacit acknowledgment of all
the deceit wherewith lie was desirous
of charging him.
Next morning in country and city
mon awoke to a white, silent world un-
der dome of blue, immaculate sky.
There was no wind, and the breath Of
horse and rider hung still in the air
after Noel Farquhar as he rode up to
Burnt House. A huge sweep Of bare,
White country lay outspread, sparkling
In the sun. The hedges were so thickly
thatched with snow that they did not
break the even whiteness of the pros
pert The miserable little group of
black, wooden cottages, Farquhar's
goal was discernible a great way off.
They were so lonely that when Far
qular rode back an hour later only his
own tracks, black where the crushed
snow had melted, confronted him upon
the road
The day passed, and several BESIDES
and a week later the soiled rags Of the
snow still fingered under hedges and
by tussocks in the fields when Far
qnhar took another morning ride, this
time in the direction of Fanes. The
house lay low. Its i shaped facade,
built Of bright red brick and orna-
mented with facings Of freestOne and
with diagonal bands of dark brown
crossing one another, looked across
shaven laws and wide gravel paths to
a stream formally laid out with cas-
cades and little islands in summer
bright with roses. Some noble trees
sprang from the lawn, in particular a
most beautiful silver birch whose
slight, tapering branches sustained a
colony of ragged black blots. which
We're the nests Of the rocks Of Tanes.
The birds took toll from all the or
chards around and were almost as we'll
hated as their owners.
Mr.. Fame had thin. tall figure. with
STOPPING shoulders and forward thrust
ing head. A pair of keen. cold eyes
looked suspiciously forth from under
penthouse brows. Self suticiency had
compressed his lips, selfish study had
followed his cheeks, and his thin, even
voice. precise in enUnciation even to
pedantry, was the true index Of a
steadfastly unamiable character. The
Fanes enjoyed great unpopularity. Fa-
ther, son and daughter, they We're all
Stunned like lepers. Old Fame had
married abroad. No one heard his
wife's maiden name. and when he
came back as widower nobody cared
to ask. The two children grew up as
they would. The son, Bernard, was
notoriously poacher. The daughter
was beauty. wild rider, untutored
and untamed, and shared, so it was
said, her brothers. heinous crimes in
the preserves. 1t was this business
which shut off the young Fanes from
the society Of their peers. Once in
past years they had made their appear
ance at the first meet of the season,
but they never went again and thence
forward avoided society more scrupu-
lously than society avoided them.
All this happened before Noel Far
quhar came to the Lilacs. He had more
than once tried to make friends with
young Fame and had been snubbed for
his pains, and thus to this hour mat
ters stood. Nobody knew much about
them, but they possessed fearsome
reputation. which caused nervous la
dies to skip nimbly over fences when
they saw Bernard Fame approaching
on his big black horse.
Eumenes Fame received in his IL
brary, long, low room walled with
books. One case held tier on tier of
novels in their native French, both old
and new: another was devoted to the
ology and put a row of Blairs most
un-Christian sermons across the middle
shelf as a gilded breastplate against
the assaults Of modern hcresies. Mr..
Fame was ferocious Calyinist. Over
the nantel hung an old design in black
and white. which represented the last
day, small queue of saints in stained
glass attitudes ascending the celestial
mountains under the convoy of woolly
angels, a large corps Of sinners being
hailed out of their tombs by demons
armed with three pronged spears,
which they used as toasting forks. His
satanic majesty was gleefully direct
ing their operations amid tongues of
realistic fame. On the cardboard
mount of the picture the following
verse was inscribed in youthful round
hand:
Perdition is needful: beyond any doubt
He'll fire is a thing that we can't do with
Saltpeter and pitchforks with birthstone