The Topeka state journal., 1919-11-07
EVENING STORY.
In the Small Hours.
BY DORA NOLAN

BY DORA MOLGAN.
Little Mrs. Parity was alone in her
cottage house and the small hours had
come She had never been quite alone.
with no other human presence under
the same roof, before in her life, tho
she was past forty. Almost always
her mother had been about, even in
the days before Justine's austere.
scholarly husband had very suddenly
lain down his studies twelve years ago
and gone on an unexpected journey of
research into the mysteries of that
hereafter with which he had SO deep
1y concerned himself in life. But the
mother, with one of those sudden at
tacks of wanderlust which sometimes
manifest themselves with increasing
years, had insisted on going alone to
visit a niece at a considerable distance,
leaving Justine. in the company of the
dependable old servant, Hannah. But
Hannah, too. had a niece, and the
niece had a family which elected this
particular time to undergo a riotous
and comprehensive attack of influ-
enza. Blood is thicker than water,
and there was nothing for it but that
Hannah should go the niece and grand
nieces and grand-nephews. So JUS
tine lay alone and heard the clock
strike half past twelve and one and
half past one. And then heard a
strange. rasping sound at the living
room window.
To appreciate just what followed
one must remember that Justine Par
try, at forty-two looked scarcely more
than thirty-she had been the pretti-
est girl in the big public school and
the beauty life had been sheltered
how it had been sheltered. There
had always been money modestly
enough among the F1oyds; and Vic
torian ethics: and religion. And when
Justine's mother married a Floyd she
became a Floyd. Justine's life had
been ordered and serene and physi-
cally, at least, wholesome. She was
very young still. Also she was might
ly afraid.
Again the rasping sound at the liv-
ing room window, and a little creaking
noise. Then Justine's hypefsensitized
ears heard the untious whisper of the
window cords as a sash was raised.
She held her breath in terror. This
was no Pigment of her Imagination
no nerve created illusion. Somebody
was breaking into the house-was
even then in the next room. A GRIM
inal, a burglar, one of those desperate
evil creatures she had read about but
never really feared because she never
really realized that they could possi-
bly, enter the lives of quiet, unadyen-
turous people like herself.
Justine did not at all follow the pre-
scribed course for heroines of bur-
glaries as depicted in the movies. She
did not quietly arise, open bureau
drawer, take therefrom an automatic
pistol, switch on the electric light and
calmly command the intruder to ''sit
down." She lay as still as she could
and trembled very much and found it
so hard to breathe quietly that she
thought she should die then and there
and so escape from situation out of
which there seemed no other possible
way. The only other thing she could
think of was the telephone-and the
phone was in the front hall and there
was no way of reaching it save thru
the living room-whereN the burglar
was. Justine covered her head with
the bedclothes and quaked inwardly
and outwardly.
Even then she could hear the whir
of the window shade as the burglar
pulled it down after him, and when
he struck his foot against chair and
sibilantly cursed Justine identified the
very chair he had encountered and
shrank at the profanity, of which in
her life she had heard very little in
deed-and never under a roof. Then
she heard his steps coming nearer
and nearer-and nearer; till they
stopped just outside her door, which
stood ajar.
Justine knew the door opened, care
fully, slowly, tho she could not hear
it. And all of sudden it became i'm
possible for her to remain there, like
an ostrich, with her head hidden and
her eyes blinded. while fearful dan
ger. death most likely crept upon her
in the dark. She threw back the COW
ers, opened wide her eyes and stared
into the binding glare of a flashlight.
Good God Almighty"
It was not profanity. 1t was the
voice of a terrible shock such as when
death flashes out of a moonbeam, or
an awful anguish springs out of the
| heart of a rose. In Justines room it
was not quite dark. From a street
! lamp outside a little light filtered in.
! She could see the form of the man, as
the flashlight crashed to the floor.
/ lean up against the wall; and that he
had hidden his eyes in the hollow of
| his arm.
| Three words only had he spoken
but heart of Justine Parity leaped
| back a quarter of a century. HSteve."
she walled. The man never moved
| White. shaking. Justine reached for
! the ,negligee robe beside her. covered
| herself. sprang out of bed, drew the
window shade and, with hands that
! almost refused to the bidding of her
will snapped on the electric light, to
reach which she had almost to touch
| the motionless form of the intruder.
Then she looked at him.
She had been right. There is some
/ thing that persists thru the spiritual
decay of many years. some essence
that never quite dies. when the person
ality to begin with, is pronounced
enough. 1t was Steve. Steve. strange
! ly altered, middle aged. all the charm
of his youth long ago gone. great
| seams in the once brilliantly smiling
face, all the light departed out of the
deep fine eyes. unkempt, shabby, worn
but Steve. Justine hadn't seen him
! for twenty years-hadn't heard of him
Observation-Disclosures
! In ~A n 4