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.