The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1916-12-14

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know his fault that puzzled the girl
more than all that had gone before.
Il cannot understand how you can
ask such q question. since IL has been
the constant subject OF discussion in
all our letters!" she replied, sitting up
with asperity n drying her ears.
She was on the verge of growing angry
with him for his petty, wilful misunder-
standing Of words whose meaning she
felt he must know well.
II do ask it." he said quietly, and.
believe me, l have a good motive In
doing so"
She looked at him In surprise. 1t
was impossible to be angry with those
kindly eyes, ever though he did persist
in a wilful stupidity.
We'll, then, since you wish IT
stated once more 1 will tell YOU"
she declared, the tears yelling again
into her eyes. you first demanded
that l marry Observation-Disclosures
any pretense whatever of caring for me
with a hidden threat in your demand
that If l did not, you would bring some
dire. calamity upon me by means that
were already in your power. You took
me for the same foolish little girl whom
you had delighted to tease for years
before you went abroad to live. And
when l refused you. you told me that
you could not only take away from my
mother all the property which she had
inherited from her brother, by means
Of a will made just before my uncle's
death, and unknown except to bis
lawyer n you; but that you could
and would blacken my dear dead
fathers name and honor, and show that
every cent that belonged 10 mother
and Jefferson and myself was stolen
property. When I challenged you to
prove any such thing against my hon
n,o1 Nl~ .v~.. ALI -
threatened to bring out a terrible story
and prove it with witnesses who would
swear to anything you said. You knew
my fathers white life, you as much as
owned your charges were false, and
yet o dared to send ME q letter from
a vile creature who pretended that she
was his first wife, and who said she
could prove that he had spent much
of his time In her company. You knew
the whole thing was a f~alsehood, but
you dared to threaten 70 make this
known through the newspapers if / did
not marry you. You realized hat l
knew that, even though few people and
no friends would believe such a thing
of my father, such a report in the
papers-false though 1t was-would
crush my mother to death. You knew
that I would give my life to save her,
and so o a me in your power, as
you have me now. You have always
wanted me In your power, just because
you love to torture, and now you have
me. But you cannot make me forget
what o have done. I have given my
life but I cannot give any more. If it
is not sufficient you will have to do
your worst"
She dropped her face into the little
wet handkerchief, and Gordon sat with
white, drawn countenance and
clenched hands. He was fairly trem-
bling with Indignation toward the villain
who had thus dared impose upon this
delicate flower of womanhood. He
longed to search the world over for the
false Bridegroom; and, finding, give him
his Just dues.
And what should he do or say?
Dared he tell her at once who he was
and trust to her kind heart to forgive
his terrible blunder n keep his secret
till the message was safely delivered?
Dared he? Had he any right? No, the
secret was not his to divulge either for
his w benefit or fora any Others. He
must keep hat to himself. But he
must help her in some way.
At last he beganGdo speak, scarcely
knowing what he was about to say:
1T is terrible, terrible, what you have
told me. To have written such things
to one like you--in fact, to any one
one earth-seems to me unforgivable.
1t is the most inhuman cruelty I have
ever heard of. You are fully justified
wrote such words to YOU"
Then, why did o write them % she
burst forth. "And how can you sit
there calmly and talk that way about
it. as il you had nothing to do with
the natter"
Because l never wrote those letters"
he said, looking her steadily, earnestly,
in the eyes.
"You never wrote them!" she ex-
claimed excitedly. "You dare to deny
it%"
II dare to deny It," His voice was
quiet. earnest, convincing.
She looked at him, dazed, bewildered,
indignant, sorrowful. But you cannot
deny it," she said, her fragile frame
trembling with excitement. II nave
the letters all in my suit case. You
have the last awful one-the one In
which o threatened fathers good
name-here in my hand bag. l dared
not put it with the rest, and 1 had no
opportunity to destroy it before leav-
ing home. l felt as If / must always
keep 1t with me, lest otherwise it's
awful secret would somehow get out.
name signed to the words you say you
did not write!"
While she talked, her trmebling fling
ers had taken a folded, crumpled letter
from her little handbag, and this she
reached over and laid upon the arm' Of
his chair.
Read it," she said. "Read it and see
that you cannot deny it,
II should rather not e it," he said.
"I do not need to cad it to deny that
I ever wrote such things to you.'
but / insist that you rea it," said
the girl. =
eff YOU insist ! will read it," he said.
taking the letter reluctantly and open
ing it.
She sat watching him furtively
through the tears which he read, saw
the angry flush steal into his cheeks
as the villainy of a fellow man was re-
vealed to him through the brief, coarse,
cruel epistle, n she mistook the flush
for one of shame.
Then his true brown eyes looked up
and met her fearful gaze steadily, a
fine anger burning in them.
And you think i rcote that!" he
said, a something in his voice she could
not understand.
What else could I think? II bears
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