The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1934-08-17

years." she said graphically. "You
shall have your night, querida."
But she stopped with her hand on
the great iron latch and surveyed the
room completely for any sharp thing,
any pointed thing, any place where
one might tie rope-of bedclothes,
say. Finding none of these she
opened the door and went silently
away.
The sound of the bolt falling echoed
in the empty passage.
So. This was the end. Not forever
could they keep her In this barren
room. Sooner or later she would have
the means. She only prayed 1t might
be soon-before she must wear the
scarlet dress for Manuel. There must
be something hidden somewhere with
which one could slash a vein In so
slight thing as a woman's wrist.
The bed, perhaps, A spring under
the huge tick filled with feathers,
maybe. But the bed was old when the
land was new, and 1t was laced with
rawhide so steel-like, hard, and dry
that it had outlasted centuries.
1t was as hopeless as the great bars
in the window set in the ancient mud
Of the walls.
And Sonya Savarin, who had guard
ed life so we'll, now stood at bay, hold
ing her breath, bordering desperately
how she might destroy it.
If only she had her bags! Her little
case of instruments But she had
nothing-and Starr Stone was dying
now, perhaps, or would tomorrow.
There was nothing left to do, no
foes sto face with lifted head, no
| schemes of hope to make, no one whom
she might coax to help her.
And so at last Sonya, having ex-
hausted all her resources, scant at
best in this terrible situation, made
ready to bow in resignation. She
knelt by the ancient bed, which had
no doubt seen tragedies before, and
folding her hands addressed her soul
to its Maker in sorrow and humility.
How long she knelt so she never
afterward could recall. Sometimes she
prayed, weeping, for that other soul
which had so grievously misspent its
days, and these were fervent prayers
abased and agonized before the heaven
| ~ throne, begging for that mercy Of
the eleventh hour which has been d.
vinely promised; sometimes for Serge
and Lila and little Babs, even for
Darkness. For herself she asked scant
| favor. It had been always so with
her. Service to her fellow men, COM
fort for all suffering things, had been
her passionate aim in life.
OF herself she thought last and
least, Of Starr Stone most.
If only they had met in those early
days of which he spoke, before that
one misstep had put him in Ell Diablo's
power, made him an outlaw, Border
renegade. When the sweetness, the
kindness in him had been paramount.
Before sin and wrong had put the
leopard spots upon him.
But the spots were changed at last
when 1t was too late. To his face he
had repudiated Ell Captain, signed his
own death warrant, for anyone leaving
the dark service of this monstrous
bandit put himself ION the spot as
truly as any in more modern places.
And he had done it deliberately, to
prove to her that he was changed,
even to the death. The courage which
had shone in his face in that repudia-
ton had been magnificent. He knew,
none better, the fate of Ell Diablo's
double-crossers, and he double-crossed
him high-handedly and with supreme
| finality.
"Oh, Starr!" wept Sonya with her
forehead on her clasped hands. "Oh,
my man of all men! My one and only
Lowell"
In the warm dark silence the heart
in her seemed to melt in anguish, the
tides Of life to run swiftly out.
| For her 1t was the ebb Of finite
things, the last low hour before the
end. In dull coma of hopelessness,
her face swollen with weeping, she
sank lower and lower against the great
bed, her lips apart, her black head
disheveled.
And into this last deep abyss there
dropped tiny sound.
So low and soft it was that Sonya
was not conscious Of it until it had
repeated itself several times-the al
most inaudible scrape of metal against
| metal.
The outside bolt, huge and heavy,
slipping slowly in its slot!
With her breath caught in her throat
Sonya Savarin listened.
After tense interval it came again,
and the gentle creaking of the great
door on its hinges.
Instinctively the girl shrank back
| against the bed.
MANUEL
Manuel, her master!
She stifled scream on her open
mouth, her hand across it.
And then a voice, whispering into
the darkness, breath of a voice as
lovely as music, said "Senorita !"