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y ■ t: + I ■ I x X. X' ! - LOUISE HAS A CURIOUS' EXPERIENCE WITH THE BACH ELOR BROTHER AND SHE STARTS A LITTLE FLAME BURNING IN THE SOUL OF ONE i .. V.* • -^!y^— 1 / ' ’ Synopsis.—On a trip through tin* English Cumberland country the breakdown of her automoFiile fortvs Louise Muurel, infamous ..London 'actress, to spend the night, at the farm home of John and Stephen Strangeway. At dinner Louise discovers that the brothers are worn- un-huting recluses. - • CHAPTER III. —2—'• ft Louise awoke the next morning tilled with u curhprs sense of buoyant^ expectancy. The sunshine was pourtrig into-the rop«C brightening up'its mqst somber corners. 'It lay across the quilt of her lied, arid seemed to bring out the perfume of lavender from the pillow on which her head feposed. Aline, hearing her mistress stir, hastened at once to iter bedside. . "it is half-past nine. your -breakfast is here. The old im- heclle from the kitchen has Just brought it up." Louise looked approvingly at' the breakfast tray, with the home-made bread ami deep-yellow butter, the brown eggs and, jriear honey. The smell of the "coffee wa^ aromatic. She how lower and nearer ; or was she, per haps, higher up? She lingered t here,-t absolutely bewil dered by the rapid growth In her brain and senses of what surely must be some newly kindled faculty of appre ciation. There' was a beauty in the world which she had not felt before. ...... /f ■ . • She turned her head almost lazily fit right n>li“W yards ah<wi; side of a deep gorge. fThey took a'few well steps further, and Louise .stopped short with a' Cry of wonder. « , " Ground tlie abrupt corner an Entirely new perspective Was revealed—a Tittle 1 ' * * v hamlet built on a shoulder of the mountain; arid dri the right, below a steep descent, a wide and sunny valley. It was like n tiny world of Its own, hidden in the bosom of the hills. There was a long line of farm buildings, built of gray stone and roofed with red tllds; thereWPre fifteen or twenty stacks; a quaint, whitewashed house of consid erable size, almost covered on tin* southward side with creepers; a row of cottages, and a gray-walled inclo sure—stretching with its white tomb-' stones to the very brink of the descent —In the midst of which was an ancient church, in ruins at the farther end, partly skirting.-the, v again, permit trie to &foh . you fanb obt like n’bon .duixote search '.-fi aqd search for Vague adventures?'’ ‘‘Because you are a roan! 1 WW’Vredisw 1 ft 1 yd'V-^ftU hpve n brain and; a sptil \oo big fon.you'r lifeTierc! YqjljK she nn- rebnllt with the stones of the hillside. Louise looked around her, silent with the sound of a man’s voice, 4 A team of w ,^der. "It Isn't real, is it?” she horses, straining at a plow, were com-. , im kVd^ til aging for a moment to John Ing round the bend of the field, and by madam, and | their side, talking To the laborer who guided them, was John Strangewey. She-.watched him as he came into sight up the steep rise. He walked In step with the plowman by his side, but StrHjngeuey’-s arm. “Why not? You asked where the'land was that we tilled. Now look down. Hold my arm if you feel giddy.” She followed the wave of his nsh stick, The valley sheer below them, He ‘farm'd and walked away. Louise, watched him with very &jil Interest. Y . “Do you knoyir?’ she sald to John, “there is something about your brother n little like the prophets in the Old Testament, In the \yaly he sees only one issue a,nd clings to It. Are you, too, of his way of thinking?" J "Up to a certain point, I believe I am," he confessed. ' \ untong , “Do you never feel cramped—in your He looked over his shoulder, at the mind, I mean?—feel that ytnj want .to , little cluster of farm buildings and cot- push your way through the clouds stages, and the gray stone church, into some other life?” , “It seems to rue," he declared sim "I feel nearer the clouds here," he “that the man who tries_io live more answ»Ted simply. ' than one life fails in both. There is They were leaving the churchyard a .little cycle of life here, among our now. She paused, abruptly, pointing j thirty or fbrty souls, whijh revolved part of you sleeps is sjiut away from (ho . world of; real things. Don’t you sometimes fed it in your very heart that life, as we were to ,live it, can only’T)^ lived your fellow men?"" meant , at; Once more, that long, winding stretch of niountain roa<l,Jay empty under the* moonlight. Up the long .slope, where three fnontlisTfiefore he had ridden to find himself confronted with the ad- •ventur^ „of his fofe, John Strangewey fogged'homeward-in his high dogcart.- He^ninre, scenting her stable, broke " *» * without any of. the laborer’s mechahl- 1 , m( j the lower hills on both sides, were breathed a little sigh of content. \ "How delicious everything looks I” she exclaimed. , “The home-made things are well enough in their way, madam,” Aline agreed, “but I have never knqwn a household so strunge and disagreeable. That M. Jennings, who calls himself the butlef— he Is a person unspeak able, a savage!” Louise's eyes twinkled. ’ "I don’t think they are fond of wom en in tills household. Aline,” she re marked. “Tell me, have you seen Charles?" cal plod—with a spring In his foot steps, indeed, pointing with his stick along'the furrow, so'absorbed in the instructions he was giving that he was almost opposite the .gate before he was aware of her presence. He promptly abandoned his task a ml approached her. "Hood morning 1 You have slept well?" he called out. “Better, I think, than ever before, in my life,” shy answered. “Differently, at any rate. And such an awakening!" He looked at her, u little puzzled. The glow upon her face and the sunlight upon her brown hair kept him silent. He was content to look at her and won der. “Tell me,” she demanded impetu- s the earth always smell as sweetly, and are your trees always in blossom? Poes your wind always tnsj^das if God had breathed the elixir Xi life into it?" He turned around to follow the sweep of herTyos. Something of the same glow/ seemed to rest for a mo ment upon his face. ' ; “It is good,” he said, “to find what you love so much appreciated by some one else.” * - — They Stood together in a silence al most curiously protracted. Then the Here and’ there yellow Jon-i l ,lo "' nmn passed again with his team of horses and John ealled^outsoine in structions to. hltn. -She followed him down to- earth. ' "Tell me, Mr. Strangewey,” she in quired, “where ure your farm build ings?" "Come and I will show you,” he an swered, opening ’the gate to let her through. "Keep close to the hedge un til w e come to. the end of the plow; and then—but no, I won’t anticipate. This, way!” "Charles has gone to the nearest °nsly, blacksmith’s forge to get something made for the enr, madam,” Aline re plied. "He asked me to say that he was afraid he would not be. ready to start, before midday." "That does not -matter,” Louise ,der dared, gazing engeriy out of the case ment window. Immediately below was a grass-grown orchard which stretched upward, at a precipitous angle, toward a belt of freshly plowed field; beyond, a n little chain of rocky hills, sheer over head. The trees were pink and white with blossom; tire .petals lay, about upon the grqund like drifted snow flakes. quils 1 were growing among the long .grass. A waft of perfume stole Into the room through the window which she had opened. "Fill my bath quickly, Aline,^^Loulse , ordered. “I must go out. I w ant to sep whether it is really us beautiful as it looks.” Aline dressed her mistress in -si lence. Then, suddenly, a, little excla mation escaped her. She swung round toward her mistress, and for once there was animation in her face. - L. . “But, madam,” she exclaimed,. "I have remembered!' The name Strange wey. Yesterday tjrorntrig'you read It out while you took yaW coffee. You spoke .of the -good fortune of some farmer in the-north of England to whom some re 1 a t iverlft- A us t ruTta^hi i d left a great, fortune—hundreds ahU thousands of pounds. The name was^ Strangewey, -the same as that. I re member It now.” • ‘ She pointed on<;e more to the family tree. Louise sut for. a moment with parted lips. “You nTe quite right, Aline. I re member it all perfectly now. I wonder ’ \vhcthTr,it could possibly be either of these two"turn?” *—- Aline shook her head doubtfully. - “It ,would ,be uiilH'Uevable, madaiy,” she decided. "Could any sane human creatures live here, with no company • but the sheep and the cows',they j had yn’oney—money to live in Hbe j cities, to buy pleasures, to be happyTi. Unbelievable, madam!’’ ‘ l— .. ■Louise remained standing before the windows She was watching the blos som-laden bbugbs of one ofci t,he apple trees bending anil swaying in the fresh morning breeze—watching the restless shadows which came and went upon the .grass beneath. * T V "That is "just your point of tiew, Aline," she murmured ; “hut happiness --well, you would not understand. Tliey are sfra'iigo men ihnw.. tu,-.U! ‘Is this u little corner of tuiry? you mirjy land that you have found? DoeS/tne sun always shine like, this? parceled out info fields, inclosed within stone walls, reminding her from the height at which they stood, of nothing o much ns the quilt upon her bed. Her eyes swept this strange tract of country backward and forward. Sh saw the men like specks in the fiejj tiie cows grazing in the pasture like : toy animals. Then she turned and j looked at the neat row pj■'stacks and the square of farm buiMings. “I am trying hard to realize that you are a farmer and that tills Is your life,” stye said. ‘ He swung open the'wooden gate of t lie, ebufehyurd, by which they were standing. There was a row of graves -eitber side of the prim path. “Suppose,” he suggested, “you tell me about yourself now—about your own l+fe.” "My life, and the world in which I live, seem far away just now,” she said quietly. . "I think that it is dokig me good to have a rest from them. Talk to me about yourself,’ please." He smiled.' He was Just a little dis appointed. "We shall very soon reach the end of all that I hnve-to tell you,” he re marked. “Still, if there Is anything you would like to know—” i* "Who were these men and women who have lived and died here?” she interrupted, with a little wave of her hand toward the graves. “All our own people,” he told her., She studied the names upon the tombstones, spelling them out slowly. ‘^The married people,” he w N ent on. "are burled on the south side; the single ones and'children are nearer the wall. Tell tne;T lie asked, after a moment’s hesitation, “are you married or single?” ' She gave a little start. The abrupt- *t»oss of the question, the keen, stead- to a single grave .In a part -of the churchyard which seemed detached from the rest. "Whose grave is that?” he inquired. He hesitated. 7 J ‘It Is the grave of n young girl,” he* told her quietly. | “She was the daugh ter of-one of our Shepherds. >. She went Into service at Carlisle, and - returned here, with a child. They are both Imirled here.” “Because of thaTher grave Is apart from the others?”, “Y*es,” he ariswerfd. “It Is very sel» dom, I am glad^tm say, that anything of the sort happens among us.’’ For thp/second time that morning Tyoulse^ns conscious of an unexpected Ufdveaval of emotion. She felt that the >dmshine had gone,'that the whole sweetness otf the place had suddenly passed nwav. The charm of its simple austerity .had perished. “And I thought I had found para# disc!" she cried. She moved quickly 7.from John J Strangewpy’s 1 side. Before he’ could realize-her Intention, she had stepped eat and drink, and physical!!' you floh^- ]nto a-'TgUlck^trot as tly>y topped the Ish, but part of you sleeps because it |> n K Suddenly site felt a hand tighten upon her reins. She looked Inquiringly around, and then stood pa tiently awaiting her piaster's bidding. It seemed to Jolmas if heliad passed , from the partial abstraction of the last few hours into absolute amTentire for getfulness of the present. He. could see the motorcar drawn up by the side of f!ie road, could hear the fretful voice of the maid, and the soft, pleas ant w’ords of greeting from the woman who had seemed from the first as if •she w'erc’ Very fAr removed indeed •from any of the small annoyances of their accident. “I have broken down. Can you’help?” He set his teeHu The polgnahyy of the recollection was tbrture to him. Word by word he lived again through that brief Interview. He' saw her de- V7 coi- around my brother and myself. A passer-by may glance upward from the road at our little hamlet, and wonder what can ever happen in such an out- of-the-way corner. I think the answer Is just what I have told you. Love and marriage, birth and death happen. These things Amke life." Her curiosity now’ had become merged In an immense Interest. She laid her fingers lightly.upon his arm. “You. speak for your people,” she said. rfThat is well. But you your self?” “I am o.ne of them," he answered— “a necessary part of thetp.” “How- you deceive ‘yourself! The time will come, before very long, when you will come out intp the world ; and the sooner the better. I think. Mr. John Strangewey, or you will grow like your brother here among your granite hills." He moved a little uneasily. All the time she. was watching him. It seemed to her that she could read the thoughts which w'ere stirring in his brain. "You would like to say, wouldn’t you,” she- went -on, “that this is a use- i ful and an upright life? So it may be, over the low dividing wall and was on her knees by the side of the plain, nog-; hut It is nof wide enough or great lected grave. She tore out the spray enough. SomV day you will feel the of apple blossom whluh she had thrust desire to climb. Promise me, will you. Into the bosom of her gown, and placed ; that when you feel the impulse you They reached the end of the plojved fast gaze- of his compelling /eyes, field and, passing through a- gate, seemeit for a momoht to paralyze both turned abruptly to ttw left and began her nerves and her voice. It Was as if t<> climb n narrow path VvhjclLbordered^ someone had suddenly drawn away one the boundary wall, and whicU-hecamo of the stOQCs from the foundation of steeper, every moment. As they qs- ber life. Site found herself repenting the words on the tombstone facing her i ’ “And of Elizabeth, for sixty-one -years the faithful w 1 fejmd helpmate of Ezra Cummings,another of his chil dren, iand his partner in the life ever lasting.” Her kneei hotmn to shake. There was si wfunentary darkness before her eye^7 She felt for the tombstone and sat dowiii- They Stood Together in * Silence Al- rioukly Protracted; most CHAPTER IV. — — ——5 . ■ V < 1 . -!» < _ >1 ^ » The churchyard gate was opened and closed noisily. -They both glanced up. Stephen! Strangewey’ was coming slowly toward them along the flinty path. Louise, suddenly her&elf aim in. |rose briskly to her feet. Steph< n had apparently lost none, of his dourness of the previous night. As he looked to\yafd Louise, th*>ro was no mistaking the slow dislike in hisJdmcly eyes. “Your chauffeur, madam, has just returned,” ho announced, “tie. sent word that he will he ready-to start at one o’clock.” . ■ T.pulse, inspired to battle by the. al most provocative hostility of.her elder ost, smiled sweetly uj*on him. U can’t imagine how sorry I am4 Jt reverently at the head of the little mound. For a moment her eyes drooped and her lips moved—she her self scarcely knew whether It was In prayer. Then she turned and came slowly hack to her companion. Something had gone, too, from his Charm. She saw In him now nothing hut the coming dourness of hls both er. Her heart was' still heavy, shivered a little. It was he at last who spoke. “Will you tell me. please, what Is the matter w ith'you, and why you placed that sprig of apple blosfcom where you did?* Hls tone woke her from her lethargy. •She was a little surprised at - its poignant, almost challenging note. “Certainly,” she replied. “I placed it there ns a woman's protest against tin 1 Injustice til that- Isolation.- - “I deny that It is unjust.” She turned around and. wayed her hand toward the little gray building. - - “The Savior to whom your church is dedicated thought otherwise,” ^he re minded'him. “Do you {day at being lords paramount here over the souls and bodies of ypirt* serfs?” “You Judge without knowledge of th« facts,” li£ Assured her calmly. Louise's footsteps slackened. ~ “You men?’ she sighed,. “are all Alike! You judge only by what hap pens. f You never look inside. Tl\at is wby your Justice is so different .'from a woman’s. I do not wish to argue with you; hut what I so passionately object to Is the sweeping judgment you make—-the sheep on one Able and the goats on the other. ThaUiS how man judges ; God looks further^ Every case is different. The law by \Vhich’ one won’t use all that obstinate will power of yours to crush It? You will destroy the best part of yourself, if you do. You will give it a chance? Promise!" ‘ She held out her Hand with a little impulsive gesture. Tie took it in hls own, and held It stendfnstly.- • “I will remember," he promised. .Along the narrow streak of, road, Sheffi'om the southward, they|jp.th watched Bie rapid approach of a large motor car. There_were two servants upon the front seat and one passenger—a man—inside. It swung into the level stretch beneath them, a fantasy of gray and silver in the reflected sun shine. * Louise had been leaning forward, her head supported upon her hands. As the car slackened speed, she rose very slowly to her "feet? :v“The chariot of deliverance!" she murmured* - » “It ij? the prince of Seyre,” John re marked. gazing down with a slight frown upon his forehead. • She nodded.- They had started the descent and *hp; was walking in very leisurely fashion. < “The,, prince is a great friend of mine,” she said, “I had promised to spend last night, or. at any-rate, some portion of the evening, at Raynham’ castle oh my way to London.” -He summoned up courage to ask her the question which had been on his lips more than once. »..• — "As your stay with ns-ls-so nearly over, won’t, you abandon yotir incog nito?” V v “In the absence of your brother." s}ie answered,-“I will risk it.. My name is j Louise Mattfol.* v , : - “Louise MahreL the actress?” he re- “I Placed It There as a Woman's Pro test Against the Injustice of That Isolation.” should be Judged may be.poor justice' p^ted wonderingTy. , for another.” 7 . “I am she." Louise confessed. ."Would She glunced at him almost appeal- your brother." she added, with-a little ingly, but .there was no sign of yield ing In his face. T*— “Laws." he reminded her, “are made for the benefit of the whole human Sometimes an .individual benefit of others. may That Louise found her yy without .dim- eroded, the orehai^nulthe loo*. ft, t he, whole eourre of rav life, .onl y across a cohhlcd yard throuah a house on the .other sldAwnaoetl to lie. Cho^htet with such a Sishrtu! ad!' poster., gate set In a red-bnek waib . alniws, a, thetr fee,. The rood and the | venture or spent such a perfect morn- 'At the farther end Open moorland beyond, stretching to - into the orchard she came to a gate, figainst which she rested for a moment, leaning Her” 1 arms upon the topmost barA. Before her was the little belt of plowed earti fresh, pungent odor of which was a new’ thing to her^ a little way to the right, the rolling moorland, starred with clumps of gorse ; in front, across the .field on the other side of the gray stone wall, the rock-strewn hHBc The aky—unusually blue It seemed to her, and dotte&-*lLower with Tittle masses of fleecy* whfte clouds—seemed some- : '. x the CucirCtThg hills, irig!” Is, came mqre clearly | j Stephen lorilted at her w ith level, dls- in o sight with e\ery Itackvvardglapce. approving eyes—at her slender form in ° u se I mus ^ at breathless. . , Its perfectly fitting tailored gown; at -Gw folriew ' ' are taking me to?” she asked. “If you have discovered that, V wonder you find us ordinary women outside your lives!" He laughed: “There are no fairieg. where we are going,” he assure^ her. > They were on a roughly made road unsui'f- 11 a,bTfe for her~surroundings, and at.the faint vision of silk stockings. v . “If I might say so without appear ing Irihospftable,” he remarked,’ with faint sarcasm, “this,would seetp to "be the fitting moment for your dei>8E|j*re; A closer examination of ^ttr rou^silfe tup here might alter your view s. If I now, wrhich turned Abruptly to the . do not have the pleasure of seeing you race suffer for tin is inevitable.” “And so let the subject pass,” She concluded; “but it saddens me to think that one of the great sorrows of the world should be there like a monument to Spoil the wonder, of this' mpirnlng. Now' I am going to ask you a question. Are you the John Strangewey who has recently had a fortune left to him?” •lie nodded. “You read About it in the newspa pers, I suppose,” he said. “Part of the story isn’t true. It was stated that I had nevef seen my Australian uncle, but ns a matter of fact, he has been over here three or four times. was he who paid fbr my education at Har row and Oxford.” - r " v - “Whnt did yojur brother say to that?” "He opposed it,” John confessed, “and he hated ray uncle, -fie detosts the thought of nny one of us going out Ti had the wander fever.” : “And you?" she asked suddenjy. *1 have none of If,’,’ he gsserted. A very faint smile played about her grimace, “feel That he. had given hie a night’s lodging undeT^fulse preleflses.” . Jolin rnaBe no immediate-yeply. The world had turned topsyturvy with him, Lotilse Mailrel,' and ii great frlenrl-of the prince of Seyre! He walked on mechanically until she turned and looked at him. “Well?” . “I am sorry,” he declared bluntly* “Why?” she asked, n little, startled at hls candor., “l am sorry, first of all, that you are a friend of the prince of Seyre.”_ “And again. w*hy?” “Because of his reputation in these parts,". - ? •• i , ' "What does that mean?" she asked. “I am not a scandalmonger?’ John soend from the car. felt the tnuch of her hand on his arm, saw^the dash of her brown eyes as she. drewf elnse to him with that pleasant little air of fa miliarity, shared by no other woman Jte had -*tu*r known. > Then the little scene faded away, and he . remem be ced the tedious present. He had spent *two dull days at the house of a neighboring land owner, playing cricket in the daytime, dahcThgT at night with wonteft in whom he was unable to feel the slightest interest, always with that faraway feeling in his heart, struggling houFTiy hopr with that curious restlessness w hich seemedy to have taken a periffSnent place in his disposition. He. was on his way home to Peak Hall. He knew exactly the welcome which wasXnwaiting him. He knew exactly the news he would receive. He raised his Whip, and cracked Jt viciously in the air/ Stephen was waiting for him, as he bad expected, in the dining room. The elder- Strangewey was seated In his ac customed chair, smoking hls pipe and reading the paper. The tnbie'\vas laid for a meal, which Jennings was pre paring to serve. “Back again. John?” his .brother re marked, looking at hjm fixedly over his newspaper. ' * John;picked up one or two letters, glanced them over, and Hung them down upon the table. He had exam ined every envelope for the last, few’ months with the, ftarfie expectancy, and thrown each <^ne down with the sqme throb of disappointment. 1 "As you see7’ r ' “Had a good tin? e?” i "Not Wry. Ila\e they finished the barley fields, Stephen*?”, “All in at eight o'clock." There'was a brief silence. Then Stephen "knocked the ashes from hls pipe and roseMo his feet. -.“John,” he asked, “why did you pull up on the road there?” There was no’ Immediate answer. The slightest of frowns formed itself upon the.younger man’s face. “How did you know that I pulled up?” . . - - "I was sitting with the window open, listening for you. I came outside to see what had happened, and I saw your ‘ K 7^ 3T replied dryly. “I j^eak only of what 1 lights standing still i know. * Ills estates near here are sys- j teniatiChlly neglected. He i.s the worst landlord In the country, and the most unscrupulous. ITls, tenants, both here and In Westmoreland, have to work themselve^tq death to provide him with the means of living p disreputable "I had a fafjoy to stop for a mo- merit?” John said; “nothing more.” lips. “Perhaps not before,” .she muredl “but now?” ^ “Do you mean because I have lep herlted the money ? .Why should I go mur- li life." i 'that, the prince of Seyre Is a frlehd of mine?” she asked stiffly. - _ * • "I forget nothing," he answered. “You see, up here we have not learned the art of evading the truth?*. She shrugged her shoulders. “So much for- the prince of Seyre, then. And n&w,. why your dislike of my profession?" John Strangewey is able to stand this kind of dissatisfac tion with life for just so long. Then he takes the bit in his teeth and goes tearing away. 7 (TO BE •CONTINUED.) T>? ■ V Beware. When a fellow doesn't come through for the grocer every so often, hls food is likely to cause an unsettled condi- tion * of the stomach.—Indianapolis Star.