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# si . Eighth Installment WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE Palermo is the scene. There an exile, Leonardo di Marioni, has come for love of Adrienne Cartuccio, who spurns hi<& Hf meets an Englishman, Lord St. Mau rice, who falls in love with Adrienne on sight. Leonardo sees his sister Margharita, who tells him his love for Adrienne is hope less. But he pleads with her to arrange an accidental meeting, Jo say farewell, be tween Adrienne and him. She consents. That night the Englishman is informed of an attempt being made to carry off Signorina Cartuccio, and Mar- ghaflta, who are walking by brigands employed by a rejected suitor on a lonely road, He rushes tc Jhe scene, and proves able to rescue t84 ladies. Inflamed by the failure of his schenie, Leonardo secs Margharita who shows him she knows that he was instigator of the attempted attack. The Englishman now sees Adrienne often. The Englishman, sit ting in the hotel, finds a dagger at his feet Looking up, he sees the Sicilian, and scents trouble. “We sat here a week ago,” re calls Leonardor. Lord St. Maurice nods. Leonardo and the Englishman quarrel. The Englishman at first refused to accept a challenge to duel, then when the Italian slaps him consents. The two men face each other ready to fight to the death. Margharita stops the duel by coming just in the nick of time to save the Englishman from his fate, with two officers who arrest the exile Leonardo. Leonardo vows ven geance. After 25 years in jail he is again at his hotel, an old, broken man with only memories left to him. At his hotel the proprietor, worried about^him, advertises for his friends and Leonardo is first visited by the woman he had loved, whom he shoos out of his sight. Then there comes to him the daughter of his sister, whom he greets in great sur prise. He learns that his sister is dead. Count Leonardo tells his niece the story of his love for Margharita. She is sympa thetic. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY ened and shaken, that the desire of his life should have passed from him. She had grown to love this shrunken old man. In her girlhood she had heard stories of him from her nurse, and many times the hot tears had stood in her eyes as she conjured up to herself that pathetic figure, waiting and waiting, year by year, for that liberty which was to come only with old age. She had thought of him, sad-eyed and^weary, pacing his lonely prison cell, and ever watching through his barred window the little segment of blue sky and sunlight which pene trated into the high-walled court. How he must long for the scent of flowers, the fresh open air, the rustle Lady St Maurice looked up from her work quickly. Nine o’clock was just striking, and her son only a moment before had replaced his watch in his pocket with an impatient little gesture. “Yes, I do think so,” she answered quietly. “I think her very strange indeed. Why do you ask me?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know exactly. It seems odd that she should want to spend all her evening alone, and that she should have so many long letters to write. Do you think that she quite understands that you would like her to come down with us?” “I am quite sure that she does. Margharita looked like a beautiful wild animal in her passion. Her hair had fallen all over her face, and was streaming down her back. Her small white hand was clenched and up raised, and her straight, supple figure, panther-like in its grace, was distended until she towered over the little shrunken form before her. Terrible was the gleam in her eyes, and ter rible the fixed rigidity of her features. Yet she was as beautiful as a young goddess in her wrath. “Nol" she cried fiercely, “the Order shall not diel You belong to it still; and I—I, too, swear the oath of ven geance! Together we will hunt her _ •• * I C’._ .• , M “She shall die!” he cried. A slight shudder passed across the girl’s face, but she repeated his words.^ “She shall diel But, uncle, you are ill. What is it?” She chafed his hands and held him up. He had fainted. “Where am-I, Margharita?” She leaned over him, and drew a long deep breath of relief. It was the reward of many weary days and nights of constant watching and care ful nursing. His reason was saved. “In your own room at the hotel,” she whispered. “Don’t you remem ber? You were taken ill.” He looked at her, helpless and puzzled. Slowly the mists began to roll away. “Yes, you were with me,” he mur mured softly. “I remember now. I was telling you the story of the past— my past You are Margharita’s child. Yes, I remember. Was it this after noon?” She kissed his forehead, and then drew back suddenly, lest the warm tear which was quivering on her eye lid should fall back upon his face. “It was three weeks ago!” “Three weeks ago l” He looked wonderingly around—at the little table at his side, where a huge bowl of sweet-scented roses was surrounded by a little army of empty medicine bottles, at Margharita’s pale, wan face, and at a couch drawn up to the bedside. “And you have been nursing me all the time?” he whispered. She smiled brightly through the tears which she could not hide. “Of course I have. Who has a bet ter right, I should like to know?” He sighed and closed his eyes. In a few minutes he was asleep. For a fortnight his life had hung upon a thread, and even when the doctor had declared him out of danger, the question of his sanity or insanity quivered upon the balance for another week. He would either awake per fectly reasonable, in all respects his old self, or he would open his eyes upon a world, the keynote to which he had lost forever. In other words he would either awake a perfectly sane man, or hopelessly and incurably in sane. There would be no middle course. That was the doctor’s verdict. And through all those long days and nights Margharita had watched over him as though he had been her own father. All the passionate sympathy of her warm southern nature had been kindled by the story of his wrongs Day by day the sight of his helpless suffering had increased her indignation toward those whom she really believed to have bitterly wronged him. Through those long quiet days and silent nights, she had brooded upon them. She never for one moment repented of having allied herself to that wild oath of vengeance, whose echoes often at dead of night seemed still to ring in her ears. Her only fear was that he would emerge from the fierce illness under which he was laboring, so weak leaves, and the hum of moving Lumley. I even objected to having insects. How his heart must ache for her come here as a governess at all. the sound of men’s voices, the touch of Her mother was a dear friend of mine their hands, some sense of loving or many years ago, and I told Margha- friendly companionship to break the rita from the first that I would rather icy monotony of his weary, stagnant have her here as my daughter. She existence. Her imagination had been w>|ild have been very welcome to a touched, and she had be«i all ready to home with us. It was only her pride welcome and to love him as a hero which made her insist upon coming and a martyr, even if he had appealed as Grade’s governess, and I support to her in r.o other my. But v;I:ir. it iz the trims fed;-- v/hich ore *- - she had seen him stricken down and her to keep herself so much aloof helpless, with that look of ineffable sadness in his soft dark eyes, it was more than her sympathy which was aroused, more than her imagination which was stirred. Her large pitying icart became his absolutely. She was alone in the world, and she must needs love some otic. For good or for evil, ate had brought this strange old man to her, and woven this tie between them. v He held out his hands; site grasped them fondly. Margharita,. she came here!” he whispered. “What, here? Here in this room?" He nodded. “'It was two days before you came. I was sitting alone in the twilight. The door opened. I thought I was dreaming. It was she, as beautiful as ever, richly dressed, happy, comely. She came to pity, to sue for pardon. I let her talk, and then, when I had gathered strength, I stood up and cursed her. I thrust her away; I cursed her with the fiercest and crud est words which my lips could utter. It drove the warm color from her cheeks, and the light from her eyes. I cursed her till her £ieart shook with fear. She staggered out of the room a stricken woman. I ” “Tell me her name.” “It was Adrienne Cartuccio. It is now Lady Maurice.” “The Lady St. Maurice 1 She was my mother’s friend then?” “Yes.” Margharita’s eyes were bright, and her voice trembled. “Listen 1” she cried. “When my mother was dying she gave me letter. If ever you need a friend or help,” she whispered, “go to Lady St. Maurice. This letter is to her. She will help you for my sake. Uncle, fate is on our side. Just before I came to you I wrote to Lady St Maurice. I told her that I was un happy in my life, and I wished for a situation as a governess. I sent her my mother’s letter.” “And she replied ?” “Yes. She offered me a home. If I wished I could teach her little girl.” Her vqice was trembling, and her eyes, dry and brilliant, "were fixed upon his. He was sitting upright in bed, leaning a little forward toward her, and the sunbeam which had stolen in through the parted curtains fell upon his white corpse-like face. A Strange look was in his eyes; his fingers clutched the bedclothes nervously. “You will—go?” he asked hoarsely. “You will go to Lady St. Maurice?” An answering light shot back from her eyes. She was suddenly pale to the lips. Her voice was hushed as though in fear, but it was firm. “Yes, I shall go. To-night I shall accept her offer. PART m “Mother, don't you think that Miss Briscoe is a very strange girl?" so from us. I am sorry, but 1 can do no more than I have done toward making icr see things differently.” Lord Lumley fidgeted about for a minute or two on the hearthrug. There was a certain reserve in his mother’s manner which made the task which he had set himself more diffi cult even than it would have been under ordinary circumstances. Be sides, he felt that from her low seat she was watching him intently, and the knowledge did not tend toward setting him more at his ease. “You loved her mother, then?” “I did. She was my dearest friend.” “And yet—forgive me if I am wrong—but sometimes I fancy that you do not even like Miss Briscoe.” She will not let me like or dislike her, Lumley.” ^ He shook his head. “It isn’t that exactly. I have seen you watching her sometimes—as for instance when she sang that Sicilian song here—as though you were—well, almost afraid of her; as though there was something about her which almost repelled you.’* The Countess laid down her work, and looked steadfastly into the fire. There was a moment’s silence. “You have been a close watcher, Lumley.” “I admit it. But, tell me, have I not watched to some purpose. There is no mistaking the look in your face sometimes, when she comes into the room unexpectedly. If the thing were not absurd, I should say that you were afraid of her.” Lady St. Maurice held her hand to her side for a moment, as though she felt a sudden pain. She ’repeated her son’s words without looking up at him. “Afraid of her! No, no, Lumley. I am afraid of something else, some thing of which her face continually reminds me. It is the shadow of the past which seems to follow her joot- steps.” ^ A tragic note had suddenly been struck in the conversation between mother and son. Lord Lumley, who had been altogether unprepared for it, was full of interest. “The past!” he repeated. “Whose past? Tell me all about it, mother.” She looked up at him, and he saw that her face was unusually pale. “Xumley, it is only a little while ago since your father and I told you the story of our strange meeting and marriage. You remember it?” “Every word! . Every word, mother 1” “You remember the duel which the Count di Marioni sought to force upon your father, but which I prevented? You remember the means which I was driven to use to prevent it, and the oath of vengeance which Leonardo— the Count di Marioni—swore against us both?” Continued Next Week FRIGIDAIRES at still lower prices Savings of as much as $90 on some models Sharing the benefits of increased sales volume with the public ... as a result of this policy you are today offered greatly improved Frigidaires at the lowest prices in Frigid- sire history. > v Call at our display room. Let us tell you about the new low prices. And let us show you hoy easily you can buy Frigid- sire on the General Motors liberal payment plan. » WiLUSTON HDW CO. Williston, S. C. M I got them at Dreer'i'* Is so often the answer, when you ask a neighboVthe secret of his success with Vegetables or Flowers. Our 1929 Garden Book will he!|> you choose the best Seeds, Plants an$l Bulbs and tell you how to grow them. A ct$y frt* if you mtnlm The People-Sentinel. HENRY A. DREER 1306 Sprint Gwdra. A Continuous March That Keeps A Step Ahead For.Yon An exprndltura of more lima $27,000,000 wu required laat year to expand and Improve the Southern Bell Telephone System In the nine southeastern states. More than 51,000 new telephones were added to the system 9 ivlncing evidence of the Increasing value of telephone service Bverv line of business. In every This activity and growth reflect the progress of the South east, and the improvement In the service emphasises the Bell System effort to provide the best possible service at the lowest cost to the user. \ At the end of the year there were 960^87 telephones In the Southern Bell System. In addition there were 545,571 tele phones owned by other companies and 38^08 telephones In farm homes, connected with the system. The investment in service reached the enormous total of •199,492,700 on December 51, 1928. It represents such per manent property as 912 central offices with switchboards and other associated equipment^ 5,751,857 miles of wire ( 3.9 miles per telephone); 3h,7o9 mi’ underground duct. miles of pole line and 5,409 miles of To build, operate and manage this great telephone na whose requires an army of skilled men and women whose payroll amounted to $25,991,300 last year* The tax bill for the year was also the largest In the history of the company, amounting to $5^35,132. This was an in crease of 224 per cent over the tax hill of 1920. There wasa greater number of local and long distance caBs and the speed with which they were handled was substantially increased. Noteworthy as has been telephone progress daring the post year, it will not stop. The entire telephone organization appre ciates the friendly interest and confidence of the public—a spirit of cooperation which encourages them in their determination to provide the most efficient service at the lowest possible cost to the user. MORGAN B. SPEIR, Carolinas Manager SOUTHERN BELL TELEPHONE and Telegraph Company incorporated FRESH STOCK OF V Seeds of All Kinds! ) . • . - - — \ Watson, Excel and Dixie Bell Watermelon Seed. Kirby Stay Green and Henderson White Spine Cucumber Seed. Mrs. Elizabeth J. Cope. Ulmers, March 8.—Mrs. Elizabeth Joyce Cope, 62, wife of George W. Cope, of Ulmers, dropped dead while working in her garden last Thursday afternoon. Funeral services were con ducted by the Rev. 0. S. Ulmer, of the Baptist church, of which she was a faithful member. Mrs. Cope was a member of a prom inent family and was a woman of deep piety t and great usefulness in her community. Besides her husband, she is sur vived by the following children: E. L. 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