Atlanta tri-weekly journal. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1920-19??, 1923-02-08
CHAPTER vi
DnOhS IL

WHETHER the fever had run its
w course, or whether Steele had really
been instrumental in saving the girls
life. will never be known but certainly the
crisis was passed that night.
Afterward when the girl was peacefully
sleeping, DR.. Henderson met Steele in the
hall and held out his hand.
II think you should take the credit for
the case, old man." he said, with the priv
1lege of the old family physician. Earlier
this evening didn't think she had a chance,
and I think she owes her life to you,
strange as it may seem"
She'll live, then?'' There was a strange
eagEernesS in his voice.
Yes, she'll live, with proper care, of
course. She's frail little thing and she's
evidently been up against it. It's incon-
ceivable what some women go through and
the suffering they endure"
Steele nodded brusquely He did not
want to talk, and least of ell did he want
to discuss the case. He wanted to be as
sured of only one thing, and that was that
she would live 1t was the only thing that
mattered. ,..<
AS for Mrs Steele, she lay awake for a
long time that night trying to face things
in her own mind. She could not account
for Johns queer attitude, but she deter
mined before she fell asleep not to let him
suspect her fears. 1t would be the surest
way to precipitate crisis, and perhaps
after all there was no foundation for her
suspicious. They had all been overweight
and not quite normal, and Johns feeling for
the waif might be nothing at all but an
intense pity.
John settled the matter himself by tele-
phoning up from the office the next after
noon and saying that he was going away
unexpectedly on business, and Marcia drew
a long breath of relief. How foolish she
had been to worry All that was necessary
now was to get the girl we'll again, and
then they would all wash their hands of
her. Marcia forgot entirely that queer
glimpse of the future she had had on the
preceding evening when, with bated breath,
she had stood in the sickroom and watched
John as he had held the girl against his
breast; but she was to remember 1t later
and to think of it as something uncanny,
as she was to think of great many other
things about Anne Temple.
Anne made a charming convalescent and
in spite of herself, Marcia grew fond OF
the girl but she found it impossible to get
beyond a certain point in the talks that
took place between them.
On the second day after the fever had
abated Marcia came in and sat down be-
side the bed. After a few preliminary
remarks she began to ply the girl with
questions, but to most of them Anne gave
evasve answers
Her name was Anne Temple. No, there
was no one who needed to be notified, no
one who cared what became of her; she
was alone in the world. Marcia was clever
enough not to press her point that first
day, but when she returned to the attack a
day or SO later she met with the samer e.
suits, and when she became insistent there
appeared in the girls eyes a look Of such
abject fear that Marcia became frightened
and desisted. The girl was still in too
delicate a state to be unduly excited, and
Marcia had no desire for a setback. She
wanted to be rid of Anne as soon as pos
sible and nothing would be gained by
frightening her. But in the girls reticence
Marcia read some fearful secret. Buried
deep in Annes heart there lurked some
sinister happening of the past, some expe-
rience that belied the childish purity of the
girls features, and brought that look OF
terror to her eyes.
What it was Marcia could not imagine,
and certainly the girl seemed to have no