Williams news., 1916-05-11
have fought torrents, and hurricanes, and myself,"

hurricanes, and myself"
 He was Paul Ellison, son and broth CT, and they had plotted him out of their lives by destroying all physical signs of him. There was something inhuman in the deliberateness of it, something unforgivable.
 They had made no foolish attempt to five 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 a little, writing a 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, a pianist who invariably preferred as his audience his own two ears. Ar thur would have been a great drama tist 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 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 6 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- 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 shriek of a parrot. She would have recognized that piercing cry any where. It 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 chatter of metal. A few minutes later came softer tinkle, scurry of batter ing feet, then silence.
 Elsa ran to the door and stood mo- tionless by the jamb, waiting, ethereal ly white in the moonshine. She should unknown fear held her. She saw War rington, fully dressed, issue forth cau- tiously, glance about, then pass down the gallery, stepping with the light ness of 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 patch of light, and she stopped. The light was too dim Tor her to read; so she re- entered her own room and turned on the light It 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. GAS 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 recover it) Elsa pressed it to her heart as another woman might have pressed a rose, and laughed again. Something of his; something to give 1 her the excuse to see and to speak to him again. Tomorrow she would