Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1917-08-17


| troll of himself.
"Were you thinking about that wom-
am" he asked sternly.
"What woman?"
"The woman whom we sheltered
here, the woman whose shameless pic
ture Is on the cover of that book"
| John swung round on his heel.
"Stop that, Stephen 70 he said men
acingly.
"Why should TT the older man re-
torted. 'Take up that paper, If you
want to read a sketch Of the life of
Louise Maurel. See the play she made
her name in-La Gioconda'!
| "What about it?"
| Stephen held the paper out to his
brother. John read a few lines and
dashed it into a corner of the room.
| There's this much about it, john"
| Stephen continued '"The woman played
that part night after night-played it
to the life, mind you. She made her
reputation In 1t. That's the woman
we unknowingly let sleep beneath this
roof! The barn is the place for her
and her sort"
Johns clenched fists were held firm
ly to his sides. His eyes were blazing.
"That's enough, Stephen!" he cried.
"No, it's not enough !" was the fierce
reply" "The truths been burning In my
heart long enough. It's better out.
You want to find her a guest at Rayn-
ham castle, do yOu?-Raynham castle,
where never a decent woman crosses
the threshold! If she goes there, she
goes WellT
An anger that was almost paralyz-
ing, a sense of the utter impotence Of
words, drove John in silence from the
room. He left the house by the back
door, passed quickly through the or
chard where the tangled moonlight lay
upon the ground in strange, fantastic
shadows; across the narrow strip Of
field, field now of golden stubble; up
the hill which looked down upon the
farm buildings and the churchyard.
/ He sat grimly down upon a great
bowlder, filed with hateful sense of
unwreaked passion, yet with sheer
thankfulness in his heart that he had
escaped the miasma Of evil thoughts
which Stephens words seemed to have
created. The fancy seized him to face
these half-veiled suggestions of his
brother, so far as they concerned
himself and his life during the last
few months.
Stephen was right. This woman who
had dropped from the clouds for those
few brief hours had played strange
havoc with Johns thoughts and his
whole outlook upon life. The coming
of harvest, the care of his people, his
sports, his cricket, the early days upon
the grouse moors, had all suddenly
lost their interest for him. Life had
become task. The echo Of her half
hooking, half-challenging words was
always in his ears.
He sat with his head resting upon
his hands, looking steadfastly across
the valley below. Almost at his feet
Hay the little church with its grave
the laborers' cottages, the bailiff's
house, the whole little colony around
which his life seemed conferred, The
summer moonlight lay upon the ground
almost like snow. He could see the
sheaves of wheat standing up in the
most distant of the cornfields. Beyond
was the dark gorge toward which he
had looked so many nights at this
hour.
Across the viaduct there came a
blaze of streaming light, serpentlike
trail, family heard whistle-the Scot
fish express on its way southwark
toward London. His eyes followed 1T
out of sight. He found himself think
ing of the passengers who would wake
the next morning in London. He felt
himself suddenly acutely conscious of
his isolation Was there not something
almost monastic in the seclusion which
had become a passion with Stephen,
and which had its grip. too, upon him
waste OF life, burying of talents?
He rose to his feet. The half-formed
purpose of weeks held him now, def
mite and secure. He knew that this pill
grimage of his to the hilltop, his rapt
contemplation of the little panorama
which had become so dear to him, was
in q sense valedictory.
II
After oil, two more months passed
before the end came, and it came then
without moments warning. 1t was
a little past midday when John drove
! slowly through the streets of Market
Ketton in his high dogcart, exchanging