Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1918-03-01
customary GOODNESS. you will not re-

from his pocket. He extended 1t to-
wards her.
IT have made over this property to
your he said, land when you see my
lawyer he will advise you as to a GER
tain amount you will receive each
month. AS to your brothers, they must
shift for themselves. l have done my
full duty by all of you. The burden
of your extravaganza, the lack of any
consideration on your part Is crushing
me. Good-by."
She nodded her head carelessly and
with eager eyes ~traversed the docu-
ment she had taken from the envelope.
A single sigh escaped the man for
whom she had never shown the slight
est affection. Then he set his lips
sternly and left the house.
What was there left to live for he
asked himself, and could not answer:
He took with him a few thousand dol
lars, all that was left of the fortune
he had once possessed. In a measure
a certain relief was realized as he left
the vicinity of his former home, and a
few hours later the city.
Whittier should he go? He had no
relatives, few friends. By what freak
of fancy or vague influence of purpose
Arthur Wayne felt himself drawn back
to his native village, he did not seek
to comprehend. All that was left to
him was old time memories. He reach
ed his boyhood's home. Like some
restless wrath he wandered about the
little town to find it strange and
changed. No n recognized him, and
his spirits were too low to have him
seek to remind those who had forgot
ten him of acquaintanceship in the
past years.
All the time, however, somehow the
central figure in his mind was a girl
he had known thirty years ago. She
had waved him good-by in tears from
the railroad platform the suspicious
day when he had left to seek his for
tune in the great city. How clearly
that fair face returned to his memory !
How lovely it still seemed; after the
lapse of the years! He took a chair
next to that occupied by the proprietor
of the hotel where he had registered,
the morning after his arrival. He ask
ed him some questions. The replies
made Wayne sadder than before.
He learned that Edna Burrows had
never married. She had died five years
agone, the good angel of the village.
She had adopted a sweet little orphan
child who had been the solace of
her lonely years, and Gladys Martin
now lived in the old home with a maid
en- lady who was a boarder.
"a good girl, a worthy girl. this
Gladys" the %garrulous hotel keeper
told Wayne. "And engaged to.a model
of a young man. one Bert Whiting,
who is working diligently to accumu-
late sufficient to support a wife,"
1t seemed like treading on sacred
ground to Wayne, as he entered the
gateway of the home where he had
first known Edna Burrows. There was
the same vine EMPOWERED porch. In
the garden, grown to a titan now, the
great beech tree with the rustic bench
beneath which he and Edna had often
sat. A strange peace spread over his
spirit. The front door was open. He
knocked, once, twice. No one respond
ed. Wayne advanced and tapped on
an inside door. No n answered the
summons. he looked into the room
beyond and stood transfixed.
Upon the wall was a steel plate
framed portrait of himself. He recog-
nized it as one that had beer published
in a magazine at the time he'had been
elected president of a city trade ex-
change. Nearby was a faded photo
graph of Edna Burrows, as she had
been when she was a girl. A footstep
sounded, a young girl humming a
cheerful tone, came tripping down the
hall. She halted in surprise, but said /:
81 was in the garden and did not
hear you knock. VIII you be seatedT'
and then she started and mutely gazed
from the visitor to the portrait on the
wall.
Arthur Wayne had no need to tell
Gladys Martin who he was. For over
an hour he sat as in a dream, listening
to the soul condolences of the sweet
voiced hostess, revealing to him that
all through the years he had been to
dead Edna Burrows a fond, cherished
link of the past. Gladys told Wayne
how her foster mother had kept trace
of his advancing career in the city,
proud of him, silently worshiping at
the shrine of the love she had never
confessed.
1t was within the week that Arthur
Wayne grew into a strange period of
coma and restfulness. He visited this
peaceful shrine daily. One day he
opened up his plans, his hopes, to the
sympathetic Gladys. He vas homeless
and lonely. He told her he wished to
turn over to her the little remnan of
his fortune, and, when she married,
tarry with herself and her husband for
the rest of his days.
One morning Gladys came into the