Evening star., 1927-11-30

that some one else had been the
right one!
1 His face was set In lines like
i chiseled marble now. Who was this
"some one else? Was the question
very hard to answer? The field was
very limited--significant limited
now! He wasn't wrong. was he? de
couldn't be wrong! And there was
always the torn sleeve!
| Locke's eyes fixed upon the two
documents on the table again. Capt.
| Francis Newcombe! No; 1t did not
make Newcombe any the less a guilty
man because it was not he who had
worn the mask tonight. Newcombe
| stood out sharply defined against the
| light of evidence which, If only cir
cumstantial was strong enough to
| damn the man a thousand times over
/ for what he was. And here, adding
to that evidence, was the proof that
| Poliy's Identity had been, and was
| being. deliberately concealed from
her. 1t opened vista to uglier and
still more evil things-things that
only a soul dead to decency, black
as the plt of hell. could have con-
| ceived and patiently put into execu-
ton. A child-a guttersnipe. Polly
| had called herself-rescued from
naked poverty and the slums of
| Whitechapel by a man such as New
! combe, whose only promptings were
| the promptings Of a flend! Why?
Was there room to question further
why Capt. Francis Newcombe had
years ago adopted such a ward
when now before ones eyes those
years were bearing their poison
fruit? Polly's introduction into this
| family here was even at this moment
being traded upon to effect the theft
of half a million dollars. That was
too obvious now to permit denial.
Newcombe was making of Il girl,
high minded. pure -souied. a hideous
cats paw. Yes. yes. All that was
clear enough, But why should Polly
have been deprived OF her rightful
name, her claim to honest parent
age? Was it To weld a stronger bond
of gratitude--or make her the more
helpless, and therefore the more de-
pendent upon her guardian? Where
were these parents? Dead or living?
There was Mrs. Wickes - Mrs.
Wickes. who had posed as the moth
err! Well, there were certain quar-
ters in London where those who
strayed outside the law could be
made to talk. Mrs. Wickes should
be able to furnish very interesting
chapel and London-by cable.
His mind. his brain, worked on
but now suddenly i'm turmoil and
misery despite all effort of his to
hold himself in check.
Polly! Polly Gray!
She loved this monster-that she
thought a man. and called her guard
ian. Not the love of a maid for
lover: but with the love. the honor.
the respect and gratitude that she
would give cherished father.
The truth would break her heart.
The love her friends had given her.
turned to their own undoing!
The shame would he torture; the
seIf-degradation. the abasement that
she would know would be beyond
the bearing. Her faith would be
shattered thing.
Lockes clenched hands lay out
spread across the table. He drew
them suddenly together and dropped
his head upon them.
And you love her." he whispered
to himself. do you know what that
is going to mean? You did not count
on that. did you? Do you know
where that will lead? Do you know
the consequences
He answered his own questions.
NO" he said numbly: Il don't
know what it Is going to mean.
know / love her"
Polly Wickes. from her pillow.
stared into the darkness. There had
been no thought of sleep: it did not
seem as though there ever could be
again. She had undressed and gone
to bed-but she had done this me-
chanically, because at night one went
to bed. because she had always gone
to bed.
Not to sleep.
The tears binding her eyes, she
had CROPPED her way up the stairs
from the living room where she had
left Howard Locke. and somehow
she had reached her room. That
was hours and hours ago. Surely
the daylight would come soon now;
surely 1t would soon be morning.
She wanted the daylight. she wanted
the morning, because the darkness
and the stiffness seemed to accent
uate a terrible and merciless sense
of isolation that had come so swiftly.
so suddenly into her life-to over
turn, to dominate. to stupefy. to cast
contemptuously aside the dreams and
thoughts and hopes OF happiness and
contentment. And yet. though she
yearned for the morning. she even
dreaded it more. How could she
meet Howard Locke-at breakfast?
She couldn't. She wouldn't 80 down
to breakfast.
The small hands came from under
the coverings and clasped them
selves tightly about the aching head
and she turned and buried her
face in the pillow. She might easily,
very easily evade breakfast-and
postpone the inevitable for a few
minutes. even a few hours. Why
did she grasp at pitiful subterfugeS
such as that?
She was nameless.
That phrase had come hours ago.
1t had scorched itself upon her
brain-as a branding iron at white
heat sears its imprint upon quiver-
ing flesh. never to be effaced, always
to endure. She was nameless. 1t
wasn't that she had not always
known it--she always had. But 1t
meant now what 1t had never meant
before. Until now it had been some-
thing that since 1t must be borne.
she had striven to bear with what
courage was hers. and. denying it's
right to embitter life. had sought to
imprison 1t In the dim recesses Of
her mind, but now In an instant it
had broken it's bonds to stand forth
exposed In all its ugliness: no longer
captive. but a vengefui captor.
claiming its miserable right from
now on to control and dominate her
life.
She had thought of iove-it would
have been unnatural il she had not.
But she had never loved. and there
fore she had thought of 1t only in
an abstract way Dream love--fan-
cies. But she loved now-she loved
this man who had so suddenly come
into her life-she loved Howard
/ Locke. And happiness. greater than
she had realized happiness could
ever be. had unfolded itself to her
gaze, and love had become a vibrant.
| personal thing. so wonderful, so ten
dns. ola kl.aA hn-