The Mena weekly star., 1916-09-07
"Of whom-of what ?"

May I read it?'
 Not now"
 He took 1t from her, and she did not resist. The roughness in his voice and manner shook her as no gentleness. no pleading could have done. This man was indeed afraid, and this fear. linked with that great strength of purpose. was at once terrible and pathetic She did not move, and he read the letter to the end in silence. Then he tore 1t de- hberately across and across, and the pieces tiuttered to the ground.
 "I know all that--I guessed it." he said brutally. "Yet out there on the plateau you told me that you loved me-"
 She rose and faced him.
 "I do love you" she said firmly. "T am not ashamed to tell you so--even now. for love like mine cannot hurt you But in those days it was all diff ferent I believed that we were equals that we were two outcasts who had erred, not meanly or wickedly, but recklessly, and that we were fighting our way back to the thing we had lost. You were my comrade in exile, and I was yours. That was what believed. But it was not true. You had lost n0thing-and now your exile is over."
 And so you meant to desert me? Had fate not brought me back here. should have had to hunt the world over for you"
 "I thought that you would under stand-that 1t was just"
 What? That when was dying. hunted and friendless, a veritable worthless scamp, as you believed, you condescended to love me, to go forward shoulder to shoulderswith me and make life worth living. Now that I have come into my own, that I appear more worthy of happiness, am to be left to march the desert alone. Is that jus tice?"
 'Richardr'
 Haven't I had enough of the desert haven't you had enough? If you leave me now" His voice steadied. He smiled wryly. I'm not threatening, dear. By this time have learned your lesson; there shan't be any more throw ing down of weapons. Whatever hap pens-whether you stand by me or not -I shall go on. But it will be hard going on-and 1t might have been a glory"
 She turned to him with a gesture of helpless pain.
 Richard-my dear-don't you un- derstand? It is fear of dimming that glory that drives me away from you. What am l? What should I be to you? A drag-a heavy burden. Even If would I cannot go back into the old life. The world has passed judgment on the woman I was-the doors are shut against her Only insignificant little Gabrielle Smith can go her way in peace"
 'I care nothing for the worlds judg- ment," he interrupted quietly "Nor do you. If there is anything behind those closed doors worth having which I doubt-we shall batter them in. And it Is not to the woman who was that am speaking. I do not ask her to go back anywhere. ask her to go on with the life which we began to- gether two years ago when she helped a desperate, intoxicated boy up Mrs. Terriers stairs-incidentally back to reason and self-respect. From that night we have been comrades" The grim laughter in his eyes faded. He held out his hand as though to take herS .hen let it drop. leaving her free. And from that night I have loved Gabrielle smith," he went on gently. ''That was something you did not quite realize when you meant to leave me. Under one shape or another I have loved you all my life. Only when you first came did not recognize you. You hid behind the little gray shadow of yourself and I followed the mirage over the desert. And I suffered badly --uatil found you the reality of all believed in--the oasis. Do you think am going to let you turn me out into the loneliness and desolation? You know that shall not, Gabrielle" He paused an instant, watching her. He saw the light dawn heEind the mist of pain, and then he took her hands and held them wlth joyful strength. You saved my life twice." he said. And you saved something greater than my life-my faith. That is a bond be- tween us no one-not even you--can break. We belong to each other as a man and woman belong to each other perhaps once in a generation. You dare not deny a union so glorious, so sanctifed."
 She looked at him with steady radi. ant eyes.
 Do you believe thatT
 "As you do.''
 T have not dared to believe until now"
 And now?"
 You have given me courage to be- lieve my own heart. Richard"
 He did not kiss her or, for a mo- ment, speak. Yet what then passed be- tween them was beyond words. above all tenderness. He led her at last to- ward the inner room.
 "Come with me now, Gabrielle"
 Within the hush had deepened. All life, all feeling seemed to draw to- gether an awed expectancy about the little figure lying quietly in the midst of the great bed. Even the wiz. still aWrv cOuld not take frorn fha r,aaoc