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^MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
J AUTHOR OF X* "THE HAN IN LOWER TEfCXTC
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COPYRIGHT -
flARY ROBERTO RIMEPAAT
SYN0P8IS.
(
CHAPTER I—Old Hilary Kingston,
starting with Socialism, drifts Into an
archy, and gathers round him In the hall
.above the village of Wofflngham a band
of accomplished desperadoes who rob
the rich, Incite seditions and arm the re
bellious. His motherless daughter, Elinor
is raised to fine living and wrong think
ing, to no law and no Christ.
CHAPTER II—In an attack on the Ag- I
rarlan bank messenger, old Hilary Is
killed but is not Buspected of complicity.
Boroday brings the body home to the
hall.
CHAPTER III—Ward, assistant rector
of St. Jude’s, makes a call of condolence
on Elinor, who consents to have her fath
er burled from St Jude’s in the odor of
sanctity. The chief of police recognizes
Boroday and Is suspicious.
CHAPTER IV—After the funeral the
band meet at the hall and agree to go on
as before, Elinor acting In her father’s
stead. Huff asks Elinor to marry hint
and she consents, though she does not
love him. Boroday Is arrested and threat
ened.
CHAPTER V—Boroday in Jail, Talbot
plans a raid on the Country club. The
friendship between Ward and Elinor
ripens to something deeper. She envies
him his faith.
CHAPTER VI—Huff burns St. Jude's
§arlsh house. Elinor offers to help re
uild It and Is angry with Huff.
CHAPTBR VII—Huff plans to rob
ward of the money collected to rebuild
the parish house. Elinor objects and Huff
1s Jealous.
CHAPTER VIII—Mrs. Bryant, who has
lost a valuable pear-shaped pearl In the
Country club robbery, tries to poison
Ward's mind against Elinor: $78,000 Is
subscribed toward the rebuilding of the
parish house. Elinor drops the Bryant
pearl into the almsbox near the church
door.
CHAPTER IX—Talbot tells Elinor that
the chief of police demands of Boroday
the Bryant pearl as the price of his free
dom. By anonymous letter they advise
the chief where to And It. Elinor tries
‘to dissuade Huff from robbing Ward of
ithe church money, but only makes Huff
more Jealous.
I CHAPTER X—Elinor calls Ward to
(her and In despair tells him that she Is
mead of a band of thieves and warns him
iof the plot to rob him. As Ward Is on
mis way home from the hall Huff shoots
Ihlm down.
CHAPTER XI—The rhlef of police re
covers the Bryant pearl and releasea Bor
oday. Ward la taken to the hall In all
'her troubles Elinor finds herself alone
■and turns to a higher power for help.
Boroday comes to the hall and advises
Elinor to leave. The chief sees lilm leav
ing the hall and shadows him. Boroday
sends Huff to the hall to hide the Jewels.
CHAPTER XII—Huff bids Elinor good
by. She leaves her home. A year later
Ward meets Boroday In England ami
learns that Elinor also may be there. He
finds her In St. Paul’s. London, kneeling
and In tears. Ward tells her he loves
her and she promises to go with him.
"And your God shall be my God," she
said.
Very patiently, Boroday told him
what had happened. Over the matter
of thp Bryant pearl he passed ns light
ly as he could. But Huff realized the
significance of Elinor’s placing It In
the almsbox. He went rather white.
"We would have got off with the
country club mntter well enough, hut
"Bury Them in Old Hilary'* Grave."
tills murderous frenzy of yours hus
finished us all. We'll have to break
up and Ret away. I want you to go
out to Elinor’s tonight”
“She will not see me."
“I think she will,” said Boroday. “I
want her to get away the first thing In
the morning. Let her empty the vault.”
He hesitated. Elinor’s fortune In
Jewels was becoming a menace. Who
ever took them In charge was possibly
putting a halter around his neck.
“Bring the Jewels to me, If you
have a chance. If It seems better, per
haps you’d better bury them out there.”
“Where?”
“You might," said the Itusslnn
thoughtfully, “bury them in old Hil
ary's grave.”
CHAPTER XII.
i It was only an hour or so before
dawn when Huff got to the hall. There
were no trains between midnight and
morning. And Talbot’s car, which he
might have used, had been long de
layed by his hurst tire. He took a
suburban trolley line for perhaps half
the distance and walked the rest.
At four o’clock In the morning he
pressed the arbor button, and old Hen- ;
rlette, grumbling at this second dis
turbance of her rest, roused Elinor
again.
Time was precious, nuff, having ,
rung the announcing bell, made his ^
Way up through the dew to the house.
And so It wns thnt Elinor, opening the
house door, met him face to fare. As
she recoiled from him, he closed the
door.
“I have brought you a message from |
Boroday,” he said swiftly. ‘‘I’ve been
a fool and scoundrel and—It’s about
all up.”
Elinor hardly realized what he wns
saying. The light of horror had hardly
died out of her eyes. To her. Walter,
once her lover, now typified nil o,f suf
fering and nearness to death thnt lay
in old Hilary’s room upstairs.
“The first train leaves' the city at
six o’clock,” he said, trying to keep his
voice steady. “It is hardly likely they
will be out so soon, hut under some
pretext or other they will search the
house this morning.” m
“How can I leave the house now?
Upstulrs In father's room—”
“I know,” he put in hnstily. “I know
all about it. Elinor, I am sorry, I am
wildly sorry. It's no excuse to say I
was crazy, but I was.”
“If I go away,” Elinor said, with
white lips, “how will they manage
about him? The nurse needs so many
things, and I—I see that she has them."
A flame leaped into the boy’s eyes.
“If you care for him Hke that—
what are you going to do about it?
Even if he cares for you, you cannot
marry him. If he ever found out about
you—”
“He will never marry me. And—he
does know.”
The fnet that Ward knew thf» truth
about Elinor and the band brought
back to him their common peril. lie
thrust aside, for the time at least, his
passion and his despair; and calmly
directed ids energies toward preparing
the house for the inevitable searcli.
So systematic had old Hilary been
that there were few papers to destroy.
Such of the ledgers as were incriminat
ing lie burned in the furnace. Elinor’s
box of Jewels lie carried upstairs and
placed on the library table. Such set
tings ns had remained from the coun
try club raid, after the gems had been
taken out, he melted together in old
Ililnry’s crucible and placed the gold
and platinum nugget in Elinor's box.
He bad set the safe to a simple com
bination and closed It. Except for its
size, and for the protective wiring
buried in its walls, it might have been
a family safe, built by a nervous and
elderly gentleman living in the coun
try to hold his silver spoons.
It was too late by that time to bury
the box as Borodny had suggested.
Huff did the next best thing. He
buried it carefully in Elinor’s garden,
under a clump of crimson phlox.
Elinor worked hurriedly, but with
hopeless eyes. Her preparations con
sisted in little more than putting fin
the clothing in which she meant to
travel. In this new life on which she
was entering she wanted little to re
mind her of the old. A letter to Hen
riette contained enough money to pay
off the servants and the household ac
counts. In another envelope she fold
ed the deed to the house and a note
conveying it to Henrietta.
“You can sell it,” she wrote. “Oood
by, dear Henrietta. I shall never for
get you, and If ever it is possible, be
sure I shall see you again.”
The tithe came, just before dawn,
when she and Walter stood again face
to face in the library.
Huff was going at once. It was not
Boroday’s plan that any of them
should further incriminate Elinor by
accompanying her to the train. At a
sound of steps on the stairs, Huff
started.
"The nurse going down, probably for
Ice,” she explained.
‘‘lie is getting bettor, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but he still suffers at times.”
When the steps had died away, KI1
nor slowly drew off her engagement
ring, and held it out to him across the
table. Although he was watching her,
he made no move to take it, and she
laid it down between them on the
table.
“I don’t think we need talk about it,
Walter,” she said simply. “There, is
nothing to say, is there?”
“I suppose not,” he returned bitterly.
He added: “If only you will try not
to hate me, Elinor.”
“I do not hate you. But if he had
died—”
Huff came swiftly around the table
and taking both her hands in his, held
them to his throat with a despairing
gesture.
“If I didn’t know that it would make
you more unhappy,” he said slowly,
“I'd kill myself today."
“Walter!"
“I tell you now. It wbn’t change
matters any. but perhaps it will
change your memory of me. Ever
since I’ve known you I’ve had one
drenm. You were to marry me and I
was going to turn straight. I could !
have done it with your help. Hut
aow—”
He dropped her hands and tu ued
away. Elinor watched him wistfully.
The one thing lie wanted she could not
give. There could lie no compromise j
between them, it must be all or noth
ing, and site liud given her all to some- i
one else.
In the doorway he turned and located
back at her with haggard eyes. It was
I" ‘
us if he were impressing on Ills mem
ory every light nnd shadow of her
face; every line of her straight young
figure. Then he went out into that
darkest hour of the night that pre
cedes the dawn.
For the first time since his Injury
Ward’s mind was quite clear. lie had
not been able to sleep, and the nurse
had been reading to him. Strange read
ing, too, for the assistant rector of
Saint Jude’s. The books old Hilary
had kept on his bedside still lay there.
Even the nurse, a ecus omed to
many books for many men, was gently
outraged.
Ward lay in his bed, his eyes half
closed, listening intently. At last the
nurse put down the book.
“Why, It’s frightful, it’s outrageous,
it’s blasphemous ’ Do you renlly think
I should rend you any more of them?’’
Ward smiled feebly.
“If you are afraid of the effect on
you.’’
“Not at ail,” said the nurse almost
sharply, and picked up the book again.
Ward lay back on his pillows nnd
listened to the age-old arguments.
So It was on such liternture as this
that Elinor hud been reared! How
fnir a i>lant to have grown thus in the
dark! And as the nurse droned on,
Ward came to realize how natural nnd
how inevitable had been her develop
ment. Reared in such soil, what might
he himself not have become; and
more than that, would he have been
one-half so sweet, so tender, so—good!
Townrd dnwn the nurse slept in her
chair. Her cap had fallen a little
crooked, and the beautifying hand of
sleep had touched away the small fur
rows between her eyes. Plain she was,
but kindly and full of gentleness. Ward,
lying awake, watched her. She was nc
longer very young. He thought of the
children who should have clung to her
broad, Hat bosom and felt the touch of
her tender hand.
J non, because, curiously enough I
everything of gentleness and tender
ness reminded him of Elinor, his
thoughts swung round to her. He
closed his eyes, and dreamed the
dream that had been with him, sub
consciously, all the night. To take her
In his arms, and by teaching her love,
leach her infinite love; by showing
mercy and forgiveness and great ten
derness, to lead her by these. His at
tribute, to the Christ—this was his
dream.
And because It brought hope and
healing and great peace, after a time
tie slept. Elinor, standing alone In the
house outside his door, took courage
from Ids even breathing and ventured
in. So light was his sleep that she
hired not touch him. She knelt very
quietly by the tied, and kissed the cor
ner of his pillow.
* * , * • • • •
Ward spent his Sabbatical year In
Oxford. He had thought to find peace
by exchanging one form of activity for
mother, but with the less arduous du
ties of his work there he had more
time to think. He found the old pain
even greater; ills restlessness grew on
him. In the three years since Elinor’s
flight he had done many things. He
had left Woffingham for New York,
and could feel his usefulness now
»nly bounded by his strength.
Hut the old zest of life was gone. He
was restless, heavier of spirit. There
hud been times when he had thought
that he was forgetting, only to dis
cover, through a stray resemblance,
while his heart pounded and his blood
raced, that his forgetting was only the
numbness of suffering.
Once, on tlie Strand in London, he
came face to face with Boroday. Ward
would never forget tlint meeting, tts
quick hope which died Into the old
ache at Boroday's words.
“I have not seen her,” he said. ‘‘I
oni always looking. Perhaps she is
wise, to break with us all. Still, we
loved her. I have never married, and
she was like my own child.”
He had taken a clerkship in Lon
don, he said. While, of course, he did
not say so. Ward read between his
words that he was done with the old
life for good. He held out his hand
fttid the Russian took it.
ir 1 near anyuiing, uoroday said,
“I’ll let you know. Once or twice she
wrote mo; from Liverpool once, after
she landed, nml again from here. Then
the police closed up the Dago’s place,
which was the only way she knew to
reach me. I’ve never heard since.”
“Then you think she may be in Eng
land?” Ward asked eagerly.
The Russian shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps, if she is living. She was
not strong. Sometimes I wonder—”
So, after nil. Ward took an extra
pang away with him from the chance
meeting. What If, after all, his watch
ing and waiting meant nothing? If
she were gone, beyond earthly find
ing? Death for him might be a begin
ning only, a door to eternity, but all
the philosophy and hope of his faith
did not fill his empty human arms,
That night he walked the London
streets until dawn.
He came back from Oxford at the
end of his course there. Home was
calling, and work, blessed work, that
brings forgetfulness.
On tbe last Sunday before he sailed
he attended service In Saint Paul’s. He
knew the church well. In those earlier
days when philosophy had taken his
young brain by storm and his faith
had recked, he had gone to Saint
Paul’s. Something in the very solidity
of the old church. In Its antiquity, in
the nearness of those dead-and-gone
great ones of the earth who had lived
and died secure In his teachings, had
steadied him.
And now, when it was his heart that
failed, and not his soul, he went there.
It. was there that he found Elinor.
She was Just In front of him. In the
prim garb of an English army nurse.
And It wus no resemblance that roused
Suggestion*! for re1:.} r. . :r tMs hot -weather
Are you racking your bra:.. ! a r.ew combination of
cold things tor suppe r? i ia ?. .nu that's cooling,
nutritious and inexpert : L 1; Herring, Cottage
Cheese, llyt Bread u..d i ice i: .id bottle of JJevo.
Ur.like i.;:y other celt dr..you « ver taeted. Choicest
•Hops gi ve just a touch cf latter to . ro that is both
appetizing and 4 ich makes it a
superior table beverage ai :1 u j a j. leasing drink at
ail times.
Bevo—the all-yecr-’rottnd soft drink.
Sold in bottles only ard bottled < xclusively by
Anheuser-Busch—3t. Louis
Kls first interest. What he saw was
only a slender girl, kneeling, and evi
dently In tears. She was very thin :
he saw that, and her shoulders heaved
convulsively. But as the service went
on she grew quieter. When she rose
from her knees at last, she was quite
calm.
It was then that he knew her.
Ward watched her with an ache In
his threat. She looked frail, sad. Al
ways in his mind he had pictured her
In her summer garden, a flower herself
among her flowers, or as she hafl
looked that night In old Hilary’s li
brary, the night when, to save him, j
she had told him the shameful truth
nbout herself. And now he found her j
here, wearing the garb of service, and ,
on her knees!
So fearful was he of losing her that
he stayed close as the congregation
moved slowly out of the church. She
did not Intend to go; he saw that. She
stepped out of the crowd and waited.
m m
They Came Face to Face Again.
He thought It probable that she wn<
seeking what he himself had once
sought—a quiet hour under a holy roof
And so it was that they came face t<
face again. She put her hand to hoi
throat, with the familiar gesture, when
she saw him. For a moment neither
of them spoke. The ordinary greetings
were out of place, and what was there
to say?
It was Ward who spoke at last.
“It doesn’t seem quite possible, Eli
nor,” he said.
She had never been “Elinor" to him
save in his thoughts. But neither ol
them noticed.
“I am sorry you hove found me. 1
have tried so hard to bury myself.”
It was increasingly hard for him tc
speak. All the things that had lain In
his heart for three years clamored foi
speech.
“You are—quite well again?”
“Perfectly. But you? You are thin
ner.” >
“I have worked hard and, of course
I hnve suffered. It was not easy—tc
tear myself away from the few friends
I had—”
And then, at last, he broke int<
speech, rapid, Incoherent. He blamed
himself for his hardness that night it:
old Hilary’s library, he condemned him
self for a thodsand things. She lis
tened, rather bewildered, with the old
wistful ness In her eyes.
“Why should you say such things?’
she asked at last, when he stopped
from sheer panic. “You were right. 1
was a criminal. I have been learning
things since then. You were always
kind to me. I have never forgotten.”
“Kind!” He almost groaned.
She held out her hand. “I must gr
now. My time is not my own.” Sht
glanced down at her uniform. “Do you
remember what you said to me once
about the brotherhood of man? I have
been trying to live up to that.”
Wnrd took her hand. It was very
cold.
“Ho you remember that?”
“I remember almost everything you
told me. Even the things, that night,
while I was watching the clock. I re
member them all.”
The church was empty, save for n
verger here and there, busy about his ]
duties. Quite suddenly Ward lost his
composure.
“And I—I remember everything loo.
Your smile, your eyes that night when
I was carried into the house—oh. my
dear, my dear, you are written on my
heart.”
"lie bent over, shaken and pale, and
kissed tlie palm of her hand.
“It Is you who are good," he said
huskily. “I, who talked smugly of vir
tue and tenderness and pity, and who
lot you go out of my life—I care for
you more than I care for anything In
this world. I want you -I want you."
Elinor’s eyes furned toward the high
altar with its eross. Always, when she
looked at It, she had seen the eross at
Saint Jude’s, and the dnwn, and spar
rows drinking out of the wet gutter at
her feet.
"I want you,” said Ward, and waited,
frightened.
Rut her ejes came back to him, clear
and full of promise.
"I have always loved you,” she said
simply. "I will go with you. And
yeur God shall be my God.”
(THE END.)
STATISTICS AS WOOING AID
Suitor Lays Stress on Fact That Only
Six Out of Twenty-Five Girls
Receive Second Proposal.
One day she remarked that she did
not Intend to get married for a num
ber of years, no matter how attrac
tive an opportunity might be offered
to her; that she was young enough
to wait a while, she thought, and was
in no hurry, says a writer in the Amer
ican Magazine.
The next time I saw her I was
armed with some interesting facts 1
had obtained from a friend of mine
who is an insurance agent. These
facts dealt with the marrying ages of
women in various states, and showed
that the average bride is surprisingly
young. In other words, the woman
! who does not marry before she is
twenty-five stands an astonishing big
chance of not marrying at all. I told
her that out of every six girls of twen
ty-five who refused a proposal only
one on the average ever received a
second offer of marriage. Of course,
I presented those figures in a joking
way. Thus they served the double
purpose of giving the impression that
i had a good sense of humor and also
of setting her to thinking.
The Rattan Cane.
One of tlie most important exports
of Singapore is rattan, although it
does not make a large showing as to
vnlup, being a comparatively cheap ar
ticle compared with Its bulk. Singa
pore is probably the leading export
market for rattans in the world, al
though practically none of the raw
product is produced in the Straits Set
tlements and very little in the Feder
ated Malay states, most of it being
collected from the islands of Sumatra,
Borneo, the Celebes and smaller is
lands. Ordinarily cut from the Jungle
by natives under the direction of
Chinese merchants doing business in
the Interior, it Is bought up by large
dealers in the principal towns and
eventunlly sold to Singapore buyers
In bundles as It comes nriglnnlly from
(be Jungle. The buyers In Singapore
take the rattan \o this form and put
It through a process of selection nnd
cleaning, after which It is bundled
together according to grade nnd
shipped direct to various parts of the
world.
Lourdes Attracts Thousands
Of Pilgrims From All Lands
The history of Lourdes since the mi
raculous apparitions of 50 years ago
has been written and rewritten a hun
dred times in half a dozen languages.
The gist of it all is that a little peas
ant girl saw the Virgin in 18 sepa
rate visions, In one of which she was
directed to seek a certain spring. Since
'lien the waters of the spring have
been regarded as possessed of miracu
lous powers.
Over the miraculous grotto there Is
a church of white marble whose walls
are covered with votive tablets from
those whom the pilgrimage to Lourdes
has benefited. The great nave is deco
rated with the flags of all nations,
left hv pilgrims who have come from
foreign lands. The Stars ami Stripes
Is next to the Rising Sun of Japan.
Around the altars are hung thousands
of golden ornaments, also the gifts
of pilgrims, and more intimate evi
dence of gratitude—many crutches
too. Tlic church faces a broad square,
where during the annual pilgrimage
ns many os 50,000 people are some
times gathered at once.
_k
itu
PLAYERS “WITH A PAST”
ARE POPULAR THIS YEAR
Return to Big League* of Bobby Wal
lace, Veteran of Veteran*, 8how*
Trend of the Time*.
Major league magnates and mana
gers are showing a strong preference
this year for bull players “with a
past."
In ordinary times the big league
pilots pay little attention to pill toss
ers who have seesawed back and forth
from the minors to the big show. They
usunlly break thoir necks bidding for
the “phenoms” who spring up In the
tali and uncut sticks, and they have
paid some fabulous prices for this eluss
of players.
Hut 1917 is no ordinary year. The
majors have been slow to sign young
sters und seemingly eager to Jump at
the chance of getting players who
liuve had big league experience, but
who, because of age or some minor
defects, have failed to stick on big
time.
The recent signing of Bobby Wal
lace by the Cardinals Is a most vivid
example of this tendency. Bobby
Wallace, the veteran of veterans; a
player whose name appeared In the box
A
Bobby Wallace.
scores before I.njole broke Into the
limelight, Is back again In the role of
utility tnflelder with the Cards..
His comeback marks flats to s 15
i year absence from the National league,
for he jumped from the Cardinals back
In 1902 to cast his fortunes with the
Browns, who were making their first
start In St. Louis. His long years of
service with the Browns and his ulti
mate release is remembered by all fans
today. It seemed only natural that Wal
lace should step down and out, and
when he was made a member of the
Wichita (Western league) club the ma
jors bid him good-by for all time.
But Wallace Is back, and the own
ers of the Cardinals figure that he Is
r valuable asset, in which they are
more than likely to be upheld by Ills
work whenever the occasion arises to
use him In the lineup.
The return of the veteran Wallace
recalls the fact that 1917 has seen a
number of players in the veteran class
return to the big tent while hundreds
of youngsters are pining their young
lives away in the bush leagues for a
clinnce. ling Bodle, purchased last
winter from the San Francisco club by
Connie Mack, has made good with a
vim since Ills return. Harry Walter
and Charley Deal, brought back from
the minor leagues by the Cubs, and
Jim Thorpe, recalled by tlie Giants,
and later sold to the Reds, are other
examples.
Fiction Writers Must Seek
New Characters After War
It Is about time that our novelists
bestirred themselves and prepared for
the after-war period. Peace may
break out nnd And them totully un
ready, says the London Globe.
At present, of course, all Is well with
this industrious class. With heroic
subalterns and smooth-speaking,
square-fiended spies and lovely ama
teur nurses to put through their well
practiced paces, they eon carry on.
Rut the time will come when they
will have to find an entirely fresh set
of puppets. They cannot go back to
the prewar characters. Never partic
ularly realistic, these will be utterly
Impossible in the new world after the
war. Our standards will all have
changed, and the most guileless stenog
rapher will revolt at the dilettante
dukes nnd malevolent marquises In
whose doings and sayings she reveled
at one time. When everybody works,
the establishment with 2fi servants will
be “old stuff.'’ even In the pages of
tear-creating novels.
Our populnr Action factors will have
to scrap the old mnrionettes and take
a look at the world as It will be.
Potash in Banana Stalks.
P.nnana stalks may help to solve the
fertilizer problem of tills country. Kx
periments indicated that a ton of stalks
yielded 1S8 pouuds of dry matter, con
taining 1.1.7 per cent potash, <>r about
two-tliirds as inueb ns is yielded by the
dried kelp of our PnciAe coast. An ex
amlnation of banana skins showed a
total potash content of i.ofi per cent,
■ lie dry mailer containing V.0.1 per cent
potash .. .