Coulee City dispatch. [volume] (Coulee City, Wash.) 19??-19??, 1916-11-09
All rishts reserved The Bobbs-Merriu ca

LIE uOOT lcdQIuS lllIO Iue inner rOOIu
opened and closed She lifted her head
and went on writing. Her hand shook
but when Farquhar stood beside her
she looked up. and her face was white
and fearless.
at is nearly finished he said al
most beneath his breath. "She is try
ing to ask for you"
81 will come at once"
"Wait one moment l wanted to
leave them alone together for little.
You understand"
Eyes, of course"
Both were silent. She studied him
wistfully Without the ragged beard
and In these clothes he seemed once
more the man as she had known him
in the London days-the reckless, head
strong soldier, without restraint, with
out fear. Only as she looked closer
she saw the grave ennobling lines
which men gather on the road through
suffering. Suddenly he lifted his eyes
to hers. They puzzled. almost fright
ened her in their dogmatic composure.
MY father goes south tonight with
the troops" he said. "He will suppress
the risings and make treaties, and the
work on his great road will be finished
That is his own wish. We have spoken
together and | have understood, as
know you will We have each to work
out our own salvation in our own way
| Out there in the desert he may find
| peace"
"And you?"
MY pardon and release were con-
| firmed an hour ago. 1t was his own
request, and they could not refuse. In
few weeks l shall go back to Eng
land. My father has given me the
rough memoranda Of his plans. shall!
, work them out in detai-if possible to
perfection. They will be offered in
due course to the government | hope
that even now may serve my coun-.
try"
II know you WILL" The old fire
flashed into her voice, but she did not
look at him. She felt the piercing
eyes on her face; they seemed to reach
the innermost thought in her. They
sflenced an empty phrase that she was
forcing to her lips.
Perhaps l am disturbing you," he
said abruptly. "You are writing let
ters?"
eyes"
ITO whom?"
She looked up with touch of fierce
defiance.
"Have you a right to ask?"
II don't know-I am afraid"
"Of whom-of what?"
"Of you-of my happiness"
She was silent an instant, battling
with weakness.
THE letter is to you. Richard
May | read it?"
"Not now"
He took it 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
old not move, and he read the letter to
the end in silence. Then he tore 1T de-
llberately across and across. and the
pieces futtered to the ground.
II know all that guessed it," he
said brutally. "Yet out there on the
plateau you told me that you loved
me-
She rose and faced him
II do love you," she said firmly. II
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. l 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
was yours. That was what believed.
But it was not true. You had lost
nothing-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"
81 thought that you would under
stand-that it was just"
"What? That when I was dying.
hunted and friendless, a veritable
worthless scamp, as you believed, you
condescended to love me, to go forward
shoulder to shoulder with me and make
life worth living. Now that l have
come into my own, that appear more
worthy of happiness, am to be left to
march the desert alone. Is that JUS
tice?"
'Richardp'
Haven't had enough of the desert
haven't you had enough? If you leave
me now" His voice steadied. He
smiled wryly. "Pm not threatening,
dear. BY this time have learned your
lesson; there shan't be any more throw
ing down of weapons. Whatever hap