Evening star., 1924-03-16

quarter of a century. OF course l
don't feel it so much now-not nearly
SO much. I'm numbed. You do get
ed. Nobody knows me. Naturally i
don't call myself Crazy" He turned
at last sharply to face Philip and said
with a sort of explosion: 'If l wasn't
numbed 1 should have smashed this
plate-glass window with my fists long
before I'd finished telling you my
story"
A T this point there was a thud just
outside the sunroom, in the
lounge. Philip gave an involuntary
cry. For an instant he thought 1t
was the executioner in a fit-astound-
ing delusion on his part!
The thud was the noise of the fall
of Philips young wife. Girlishly re-
penting her resolution to dine alone
and leave Philip to recover unaided
from his madness. Ethel had quilted
the dining room, crossed silently the
silent lounge, and, intinidated and
enthraIled by the disclosure of Mr..
Crary to the window, had hidden her
self behind the wall which separated
the sunroom from the easternmost
part of the lounge.
She had withstood the terror of the
recital as long as she could, and then
had faltered and dropped in the
arched opening between the rooms.
She lay there with her lovely raiment
and jewels all disordered, and her
face as dead white as the faces of the
officials at the execution where the
criminal was not executed. Mr..
Crary saw her first and pointed to
her. Philip turned in obedience to
Mr.. Crary's soaring finger. He sprang
from his chair to the archway and
knelt beside her, not in the least
knowing what to do.
let her lie. She'll come round in a
minute" said Mr.. Crary proudly, with
his unmoving lips.
Philip was himself ready to faint
under the fearful shocks of Mr..
Crarys tale with it's tremendous
moral for the jealous. Mr.. Crary had
put Philip in terror of the possibili-
ties of his own instincts. The hus-
band felt as though he had Just es-
capped a catastrophe for which none
but himself could have been blamed,
and as though the catastrophe avoid
ed might recur soon or late in the fu-
ture if he did not watch over himself
might and day. He was nearly stun
ned by the revelation Of himself to
himself.
And also he was exquisitely and
profoundly touched by the yielding
compunction of his wife, who, after
leaving him to his folly, had out of
sheer loving good nature come back
to wheedle and cajole him out of his
folly.
He stroked her cold cheek, marvel
ing at the fineness of it and at the
complex and delicate perfection of the
Organism which was she.
And the empty lounge brooded with
its rosy lamps and its f1ickering fire,
Indifferent and yet warmly indulgent,
upon the group. And outside the
cleaning motor cars glided in curves
dSqIHSI tuS SAiISCEIHS ClcCIIlC UACh .
ground of. the promenade and the
piers. And through the glass wall of
the dining room walters attentive
and deferential could be seen passing
to and fro. And there was not a
sound.
And Mr.. Crary contemplated with
pride what he had done, the stu
pendous impression he had made, the
mighty lesson he had taught. After
IA quarter Of a century Of martyrized
subsection Mr.. Crary had risen sud-
denly to majesty, to domination. to
sovereignty. He had imprinted him.
self upon his fellow creatures. He
was saved from futility. The sublime
horror of his tragedy clothed him. He
lived again.
Returning life-blood tinged the
young girls cheeks. Philip kissed
them with tender violence. His pas
sion was to shield and cherish her, to
surround her with protective affection.
His passion was by extraordinary
deeds Of devotion to earn her forgive
mess.
I'm all right" she murmured
feebly.
He picked her up in his arms.
[Lfght! Light as down! He carried
|her on swiftly toward the lift, the
: y