The Press., 1922-07-06
A Disturbed Decision

By A. W. PEACH

mediately comes pretty near to dis solving that happiness. So 1t seemed to Richard Marsh HIS he read and re- read the letter upon his desk. Beyond his windows the white winter lay with its ancient friendliness over the viI- lage square. His office was ,cOZy and warm, but he shivered.
 The preceding evening he had gone to the little cottage at the end of the broad street where Avery Wells lived with her pleasant-faced mother, and there, in the hOmelike quiet of the cot tage living room, he had looked into Avery's dark eyes and asked the Ques- tion as bravely as he could, which she had answered in a whisper.
 He had spent most of the night dreaming In his rooms, building cas- ties. He loved the village, and the village people trusted him. His fu- ture did not promise glory and gold,
 but 1t did promise happiness with Avery to share 1t with him. And now, from beyond the grave, Brinner had reached with bitter ingenuity to wreck a dream he could not share.
 Marsh turned to the letter. It was from a law firm In Philadelphia. It said in precise phrases that Edgar Brinner had died, that in his will a beQuest of $1OO,00O was made to Miss Avery Wells, that the firm wished him to take charge of the matter, to notify Miss Wells himself as the will di- rected.
 Something of an idealist, yet prac- ticsl in his acceptance of facts he knew that as far as he was concerned two things were plain; he could not marry Avery if she accepted this money bequeathed to her by his old and bitter rival; yet that sum of money meant for her and her mother independence and comfort, the re- moval of worry, after long years of se- were and frugal living. It meant for them a bright future, which he could not offer them.
 Primer" Marsh said a bit sadly, "yOu knew finally that she loved me. You were sOured and embittered by her decision. You knew could not marry her If were to see everywhere the things your money made possible. How you made that money l know, and 1t smells, but can't tell her that. l wonder what you want in willing that was to notify her that l was 10 take charge of the fund?" He thought a moment, then leaned back with a low mutter. Ut would be easy forge her name, and since ! am to notify her and don't, could keep that money. ] wonder if you wanted to tempt me {" try itY''
 One thing he was sure of: if Avery knew how he felt, she would not ac- cept the beQuest, and her own sense would make her acceptance of It im- possible; but there was her duty to her mother, whose years had been hard and laboriOus ones, while Wells was building up his little business. That was a duty to consider. Then, too, Marsh reasoned, "I cannot ask her to give the fortune up; and Brinner knew l would not. Funny, how dead man in his grave can tangle up the living"
 Under the stress of his suffering his thinking became a bit hazy, but he came to a decision. He heard the jingling sleighbelIs, the hearty greetings aS men came into the post office below him; faint as they were they were clear enough to make him think of the wholesome, friendly li:e of his village. With the thought n hiS 10O9Sfnn hn NUn11J1 friend in northern city mad written to him repeatedly to join him where was wide and money ready. He would go. refuse to assume charge of the fund and shut the door quietly but firmly in his little house of dreams.
 A week passed. He did not see Avery, aud pleaded as an excuse that he was very busy. He was-in the grievOuS business of slowly sundering all ties that bound him to the home of his hOyhOOd and his manhood
 Sometimes he was doubtful of the wisdom of his purpose. at times when his great longing for Avery broke through the barriers his Judgment had set, at times when the dream castles lOOmed so brightly on the hills that they seemed almost real. But ever and anon he returned once more to his decision.
 Then came the incident that clinched the matter. A friend had come in, his voice athrill with the news. "Dlck, what do you think? Brinner has left Avery $1O0.OOO! What makes you start? The news? should think it would. And, say, Avery Is going to accept 1t
 "NO?"
 "I stopped in to get her to sing at the church fair, and she told me about lt-said she would. She was happy Us lark over It." His friends face grew sober. 'I suppose this will make B little difference with you, hut not serious"
 Serious !" Marsh laughed bitterly. his mind whirling at the thought of her acceptance round and round. He had hoped in dim way she would refuse the money. Serious? No. ex- cept am now closing my work I'm  going to leave the village for good 7"
 The realization dawnihg upon him that he had given himself away under the strain. he swore his friend to silence, and he heard him poun.lin" down the stairs. mul lr,'i''" Us he went
 He turned to his desk. Dusk came town over the village with it's sugges- ion of peace; the hOmelights began % gleam and smile along the street through the snowy shadows. He oOked up just once, then down, and lid not trust himself to look agaIn-a nome along that friendly stretch had been part of his dream.
 He did not hear Avery until she stood beside him, slight. graceful and nysteriously pretty in her winter furs. I Her eyes were dark and tender as hey rested upon him. He started as le saw her, speaking her name in 
 Then she spoke, and the office filled with pleasant music