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IW)K) GOD”
0 MARY R0BERT5 PINEttART
J AUTHOR or X” 'THE /IAN IN LOWER TEN."!IC
COPYRIGHT ■* .-- W
COPYRIGHT ■
fWW ROBERTJ RIH£/1ART
f 1 |>4i
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—Old Hilary Kingston,
starting with Socialism, drifts Into an
archy, and gathers round him In the hail
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
rarian bank messenger, old Hilary Is
killed but Is not suspected of complicity
Borouay 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 him
and she consents, though she dues 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 bums St. Jude’s
parish house. Elinor offers to help re
build It and Is angry with Huff.
CHAPTER VII—Huff plans to rob
Ward of the money collected to rebuild
the parish house. Elinor objects and Huff
Js Jealous.
CHAPTER VIII—Mrs. Bryant, who has
lost a valuable pear-shaped peatl 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
Searl Into the almsbox near the church
oor.
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 find It. Elinor tries
to dissuade Huff from robbing Ward of
|the church money, but only makes Huff
imore Jealous.
“I wish you safety,” she replied. lie
stood down In the roud, and watched
her shadowy figure threading its way
Along the garden paths. He had a
wild Impulse to run after her, to kneel
Jn the earth at her feet and cry out
for her old tenderness, for her wist
ful-eyed caresses. Then, Into his sus
picious young heart crept the vision
«f Elinor’s face when he had planned
his new. coup.
"I shall warn him.” she had said.
Huffs mouth was hard as he turned
find walked down the hill.
; y •'*, ,j CHAPTER X.
Into and through her garden Elinor
walked quietly until she wns safe from
Burvelllance. Then she ran swiftly,
•ruthlessly across the flower beds,
through the roses. The terrace was
lighted. She avoided It, making a de
tour that led by a side entrance into
old Hilary's library. For obvious rea
sons, old Hilary’s private telephone
was in a sound-proof closet.
Before Walter had taken a hundred
watchful paces down the road she
had Ward at the other end of the
line. What with running and terror,
she could hardly speuk. Once, long
ago, she had heard a discussion be
tween Boroday and her father about
the use of the telephone. Its sub
stance was thut when the transmitter
Is held to the chest a clear message
may be sent, but with the effect of dis
tance. She held the transmitter to her
breust then, and It seemed to her that
Ward must hear the throbbing of
her heart.
“Hello, hello 1" came his quick re
sponse.
No need to ask who it was. She
knew every Inflection of his voice.
“This Is—a friend," Elinor panted.
“I want to tell you something.”
| “Yes?" Very Incisive now.
' “Tonight—very soon—an nttempt—"
She stopped. What was she doing?
She, her father’s daughter, the head
(of the bund! By warning Ward she
knight be sending Walter to his death.
A vision of old Hilary, gray-headed,
•keeu-eyed, at this very telephone,
Itiashed into her mind, old Hllury,
whose religion had been of keeping the
|falth, not with his God, but with his
[men.
' “Who aro you?” The Impatient
voice was saying In her ears. “Are you
isure you want me? This is Ward, of
Saint .Tude's.”
Elinor quietly hung up the telephone
(transmitter, and stood in the darkness,
her hands to her throat.
Old Henrlette, ever watchful, came
Into the library beyond. Elinor could
hear her wondering about, knew the
moment when she discovered her wrap
£>n a chair, heard her plulntlve voice
'speaking through a window to the
empty terrace.
“Miss Elinor,” she called. “Miss
Elinor!”
Elinor let her go. When her shuf
fling footsteps had died away, Elinor
jtook the receiver down again, and
called the assistant rector’s house. But
'this time she spoke directly into the
transmitter.
“This Is Elinor Kingston, Mr. Ward.
I wonder If you are very tired to
night?”
1 "I? Tired? I'm never tired."
“Because I am thinking of asking
'you to come up. I—there are some
things I want to talk about, questions
Ithat are troubling me. I know It Is
|Ute, but—”
“I saw you at the early service. Of
course T'll come up.” ~
lie had seen her then!
“I’ll do my best,” he was saying. “Of
course, you know I may disappoint
you. These questions, that come from
within, must be answered in the same
way. But I'm coining at once.”
Elinor’s battle was only half fought,
but she had a great sense of relief.
Let him meet Walter on the way. So
much the better. Let Huff know that
Ward was out, and the offering pre
sumably unguarded. He might hate
the man, but no hope of a running
light with him would deter him from
his main object, the money.
To save Ward, she was willing, even
anxious, to let Walter succeed.
Women sometimes meet large crises
with small vanities. But Elinor had
no vanity. Without so much as a
glance at the mirror she went out in
to the garden to listen for Ward’s step
on the road. She knew his walk al
ready; the forceful, certain step of an
energetic and purposeful .man.
The illuminated dial on the steeple
of the Baptist church showed some
thing after ten when Ward finally
came up the hill. The relief of seeing
him unharmed sent Elinor down the
terrace steps with both hands out.
Before he could take them, Ward was
obliged to stoop and deposit on the
ground at her feet a small box that
he carried.
“The morning collection,” he said
smiling, and took her hands in his.
Her quick alarm showed in her fnce.
“But you are reckless! Uo go about
with so much money—”
Ward was following her up the
steps.
"I dare say It Is safer with me than
any place else In the world. I>ld any
one ever hear of an assistant rector
going about with a fortune In his
hand?”
He followed her Into the library nnd
placed the box on the great table
where old Hilary had been wont to
divide the annual earnings of the baud.
Ward pointed to it-with his humorous
smile.
“Would anyone suspect,” he said,
“that In that box there Is a stone par
ish house, a new church organ, and a
children’s playground?”
Then, glancing at her with keen
eyes, he was struck by her pallor. .
“You to ask me if I am tired I” he
cried. “Why, you poor child, it is you
who are worn out. Wouldn't it be bet
ter to have me come tomorrow and go
over the things you—spoke about?”
“I think we had better talk about
them now,” said Elinor, desperately
calm.
At a quarter before eleven that Sun
day night, old Henriette, bent on her
evening task of sending Elinor to bed,
wandered Into the library. She found
Ward, his earnest face glowing, ex
pounding the tenets of his faith from
the edge of his chair; and Elinor ly
ing bnck with her face drawn, watch
ing the clock on the mantel.
Old Henriette, astounded, withdrew,
not to sleep, but with the wakeful
alertness of old age, to wander up and
down the garden paths until such time
as Elinor’s visitor might leuve.
Ward suddenly realized that he wns
making small headway. When at lust
he caught Elinor’s eyes on the clock
he flushed and rose.
'U ve done it au very oaaiy, ne
said. "I seem to wander all about
and not get anywhere. You see It’s
all so real to me—”
Elinor had leaned back with closed
eyes.
“It Is all very terrible to me,” she
replied. “This God of vengeance—”
“This God of tenderness and mercy,”
Ward supplemented. “Don’t you see
what It all means? How terrible this
life would be If this were all! Our
little lives, full of jealousies and
hatreds and crimes: I bringing that
box, over there on the table, up here
with ine tonight, becuuse I dare not
trust It to my fellow men; I who could
not sleep last night for thinking of
you, who are all that Is good und sweet
and tender, up here alone In this great
house, with God knows what danger
lurking about.”
Elinor had reached her limit. The
band of her self-control snapped. She
could not hold him much longer, and
before he went he must know.
“When I sent for you,” she said, “I
had two reasons. I wanted to see you.
Please!” As he took a step toward
her. “And I wanted to save you from
something that I know' of.”
Something In her thinly drawn voice
was familiar.
“I see,” Ward said slowly, “it was
you who telephoned me and then rang
off.”
“When you say that I am good and
tender,” Elinor went on, “you shame
me. I um all that Is bad and wicked.
Everything. You were to liuve been
robbed tonight. I brought you here
under false pretense."
Ward was as white as she. His fig
ure straightened.
"Then all the time that I have been
telling you—”
“I did not hear. I wras watching the
I time.”
I Personal fear Ward had none. He
did not even follow Elinor’s eyes ns
they glanced once more nt the clock.
Mrs. Bryant’s venomous Insinuations
came back to him, nil the village talk
of the girl's strange rearing. Fearful
thoughts Hashed into his mind, to be
rflsmlssed, shaken off doggedly.
“I shall never believe anything that
you do not. tell me yourself. But it
is only fair to me .that now at last
there be frankness between us.”
“There are others,” Elinor said, with
dry lips.
“Tour father?”
“lie is dead. I cannot talk of him.
This much I can tell you. The parish
house was burned deliberately; it was
planned and carefully carried out."
“And you knew?"
“I had forbidden It.”
"You had forbidden It?”
He went to her and caught her by
the shoulders, forcing her to look up
into his face,
"You? Then all this time that you
have seen what you must have seen in
my eyes, you have been—”
“—At the head of a band of thieves,"
Elinor said slowly.
Ward released her, and turning took
a slow survey of the room.
“Then 1 suppose this Is a trap?” he
said.
“It is not a trap.” Her voice was
dead. “I opposed this—this plan from
the start. That iff the reason one of
the men—of my friends—suspected
that I—”
“Go on. What did he suspect?”
“That I—but that doesn't matter.
He burned the parish house and
planned all this. Tonight he meant
to get the money from you, and I—was
despernte. I could think of no other
way.”
Ward’s fnith in her was slow to die.
He took a step toward her, his hands
out, then dropped them at his sides.
“Then—the night the parish house
burned, when I came down in the dawn
and found you sitting there”—he
clenched his hands—“all the time you
knew. You knew! And I had
thought—”
He went to the table and, opening
the box, slipped the notes arid money
It contained into his pocket. Then he
buttoned his coat about him. Elinor
watched him stonily.
“You are going hack down the*hill?’
“I am going home.”- He did not\even
look at her.
“If you would only go some place
else," she said pitifully. “To the* club
or to Mrs. Hryant’s. Please bdlievt
me. Whatever I am, and I have told
you the worst, I am trying to think ol
you tonight, not of myself.”
“I am going back to my house;-" said
the assistant rector of Saint Jude's
He got ns far as the door on to the ter
race, and there he turned. It was as
if he dared not look at her, as >if he
meant to carry away with him *somc
tenderer memory than of this wtfilte
lipped, guilty woman before him.
“If I seem hard,” he said unstead
Ily, “it is because I am suffering. Y<ou
are quite safe, of course. I shall not
go to the police.” Had he cared les>
he would have been more merciful.
Old Ilenriette watched bis figure as
he went down the garden steps and
Into the road.
“Strange tilings in this house!” St*
mumbled, shaking her head. “Preach
ers coming and going at all hours, and
Klinor in a church this morning
Strange things, Hilary Kingston, since
you went away.”
She shuffled along the terrace and
into the house, her thin black stiaw)
drawn about her shoulders. In tht
library Klinor lay face down on the
floor. Old Henrlette bent over her.
“My lamb, my pet.” she soothed her.
“He's a fine man, but there are many
others. And when one is young anc
lovely—"
Since Elinor made no response but
only moaned, old Henriette rose from
her knees and shuffled out of the room,
hut cautiously, as she passed, she took
from a tuble drawer old Hilary’s re
volver and carried It out under bet
shawl.
She was very wise, was wrinkled
Henriette, and she knew the Kingston
blood.
Ward came down the road rapidly.
There was a faint moon. One part of
his mind had ceased to work; his high
er faculties were dormant with mis
ery, with the anesthesia that comes
for a time after great grief or shock.
Physically he was entirely alert; his
keen eyes searched each clump ot
shrubbery before he reached It. Not
that he feared attack for himself; his
cup of life was bitter to his taste thnt
night, but he carried a trust In his
pockets, that he would deliver.
Huff was waiting at the foot of the
Kingston place, crouched behind a
wall. If the boy had been jealous be
fore, he was maddened now. Ward
had been with Elinor. Huff, coming
up the hill had heard his short good
night to Henriette In the garden, had
heard him toiue down the hill. There
were only two explanations. Either the
man was In love with her and had
gone up that night of his own volition,
or Elinor had sent for him. One was
ns bad as the other.
Ward did not have a chance. As
he came abreast of the wall, the boy
fired and he pitched forward on his
face. With the re-echoing of the shot
among the hills, Huff's madness died
away. Murder was not his game; vio
lent and sudden death perhaps, but
never, before, a shot from behind. Had
the wealth of a city been in Ward’s
pockets, he could not have touched it.
He thrust his revolver Into his
pocket, and breaking away through
the shrubbery commenced a swift but
noiseless ascent of the hill.
The assistant rector of Saint Jude's
lay on his face In the road, with the
i morning offering of his congregation
' safe In bis pockets.
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I4B
CHAPTER XI.
The chief sent for Boroday early the
next morning.
"You’ve turned the trick all right,”
he said, grimly smiling.
Boroday, as immaculate as ever, set
tled ids tie.
“Yes?”
"Sit down,” said the chief. “Now
that you know you're going. I suppose
you're not in any particular hurry.”
Boroday ran his hand over his silky
beard.
“I should like to get to a harbor.”
“There is no great hurry, now,” said
the cldef, when Boroday was comfort
“I Shall Tell My Confreres."
ably settled nnd smoking one of his
eternal Russian cigarettes, “I wish you
would tell me why you disposed of
that pearl the way you did. It wasn't
quite up to our agreement, you know.
It was to be given to me and I was to
return it. Instead of that I had to
make a wild-goose chase out Into the
country."
“Ah!” said Boroday, “into the coun
try !”
The chief, who was accustomed to
rending faces,watched Boroday closely.
But if there was a tightening about the
Russian's eyes, it was very faint.
“You know blamed well," said the
chief peevishly, “just where I had to
go to get that thing. And you know
blamed well also that on Sunday after
noon I always play poker. It was—
well, Inconsiderate, to say the least.”
Boroday smiled.
"I am exceedingly sorry that you
were put to any trouble about it," he
' said. “Rut as you may understand, I
i have not yet seen my—friends, and of
' course—”
He shrugged his shoulders. The chief
was skeptical of his ignorance, never
the less. He humored what he chose
to consider Boroday’s whim. First he
gave him the note which he had re
ceived by special delivery the day be
fore. Quick as he was, the Russian
could not quite conceal his astonish
ment.
“In the alms box!” said the chief.
“Somebody with a sense of humor had
charge of this little affair. Bryant li
senior warden, It seems, in this church
It was clever."
Boroday passed the letter back tc
him.
“I shall tell my confreres. It Is quit«
original.”
The chief was smoking a large cigar
Unlike the police chief of fiction and
the drama, he did not speuk around
the cigar, but carefully removed it, not
out of respect to his visitor, but out ol
deference to a good cigar. Now ht
leaned toward Boroday.
“Kitlier,” he said slowly, “it waf
clever, or it was necessary.”
But the Russian had himself well In
hand. He only smiled.
"It has occurred to me,” the chief
went on, “that that little town has beeD
pretty busy lately. There was that
matter of the country club, you know,
and Inst Thursday night the parish
house burned down.”
“Yes,” said Boroday, politely.
“And now something else has hap
pened and—” Suddenly the chief beat
his desk with his fist—“I am prettj
sick of it.”
Under perfect control as he was at
critical moments, the Russian’s hands
had a way of twitching. Mo now he
flicked the ash from his cigarette and
was politely interested.
“What happened last night?” he in
qulred.
“I think you know. If you don’t,
I'll tell you. Yesterday morning a
tremendous collection was taken tip at
the church of Saint Jude’s to build a
new parish house in place of the one
that burned down. The rector has
been away; the assistant rector took
charge of the money."
"I see.”
“Of course you see. What I would
like to know Is why you fellows—”
Boroday spread out his hands in his
foreign way.
“I fear you give me great credit. 1
do not deserve it.”
“—Why you fellows,” the chief went
on resolutely, “waited to do this job
until tlie rector, who Is old and in
firm, had gone away and left a husky
young assistant in his pluce. And that
Isn't all I want to know."
“In any way that I can assist you—”
“What the devil do you mean,'
yelled the chief, "by shooting a man
down and then going away and leav
ing the money in his pockets? It's—
It’s crude—it’s wasUtfuU" __
The Russian’s fingers twitched in
spite of him. The chief saw it aDd
amlied under his heavy mustache.
“Do you mean that somebody shot
this—or—assistant you speak of? That
is rather sad. Was there—much
money ?”
“Seventy-eight thousand dollars,” ^
said the chief, and put his cigar back
in his mouth. “There is a story be
hind it, Boroday, and it's that story I
ftm going to get. I’m warning you be
cause you’ve played pretty square with
me. I needed that pearl in my busi
ness.”
Boroday rose.
“All right, chief,” he said. “I am
sorry about young Ward. I hope he
wasn’f killed.”
“He wasn’t killed,” replied the chief.
“And I haven’t sutd his name was
Ward. If you haven’t had your break
fast yet, we might breakfast together.
I overslept and haven't1 had time for
anything.”
*••••••
Ward came back to consciousness in
the great four-poster bedstead In
which old Hilary Kingston had lain in
state. He felt very little pain and no
curiosity at ail as to his surroundlugs,
only an overwhelming lassitude and
weariness of life. Something—some
thing that mattered very much had
gone out of existence. He could not
remember what it was.
There was a uniformed nurse by the
bed. He had a curious antipathy to
asking her anything. He had made
a promise of secrecy to someone—
about what?
Toward evening he naa managed to
evolve out of his reviving conscious
ness some faint memory of what liud
happened to him. He remembered that
he was walking down a hill and that
he had fallen forward. For quite a
half-hour, lute In the afternoon, he
struggled to remember why he had
gone down the hill.
Then he got It. He had been up at
the hull to see Elinor. It was Elinor
who had gone out of his life. Elinor!
Elinor!
He slept very little during the night,
and as his fever rose, he called the
nurse “Elinor,” and begged her fran
tically to tell him that something was
not true.
“Of course It is not true," said the
nurse, who was accustomed to being
called various things.
“You did not mean It at all?” He
eyed her wistfully. The nurse was
large and plain, with a wide, flat face.
“You, with the eyes of a saint,” said
poor Ward, “to try to tell me that you
are wicked. I see that it Is Impos
sible. I think I CRn sleep now.”
The nurse put her hand, which was
large and 111-shaped hut very light and
tender, on his head. And so he went
to sleep.
(Continued Next WetL)