' That is another matter," he con
fessed. "You come from a world of
which I know -nothing. All I can say
Is that v I would rather think of you
as something different."
She laughed at his somber face an.
patted his arm lightly.
"Big man of the hills," she said,,
"when you come down from your fro
zen heights to look for the flowers,
shall try to make you see things differently."
p u XT y t
i r4
JlL JLL JUL " -4
AN UNUSUAL
LOVE STORY
LOUISE HAS A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE WITH THE BACH
ELOR BROTHER AND SHE STARTS A LITTLE FLAME
BURNING IN THE SOUL OF ONE
Synopsis. On a trip through the English Cumberland country the
breakdown of her automobile forces Louise Maurel, a famous London
actress, to spend the night at the farm home of John and Stephen
Strangeway. At dinner Louise discovers that the brothers are woman-hating
recluses.
CHAPTER III.
2
Louise awoke the next morning
filled with a curious sense of buoyant
expectancy. The sunshine was pouring
Into the room, brightening up its most
somber corners. It lay across the quilt
of her bed, and seemed to bring out the
perfume of lavender from the pillow
on which her head reposed.
Aline, hearing her mistress stir,
hastened at once to her bedside.
"It is half-past nine, madam, and
your breakfast is here. The old im
becile from the kitchen has Just
brought it up."
Louise looked approvingly at the
breakfast tray, with the home-made
bread and deep-yellow butter, the
brown eggs and clear honey. The
smell of the coffee was aromatic. She
breathed a little sigh of content.
"How delicious everything looks!"
she exclaimed.
"The home-made things are well
enough in their way, madam," Aline
agreed, "but I have never known a
household so strange and disagreeable.
That M. Jennings, who calls himself
the butler he is a person unspeak
able, a savage!"
Louise's eyes twinkled.
"I don't think they are fond of wom
en in this household, Aline," she re
marked. "Tell me, have you seen
Charles?"
"Charles has gone to the nearest
blacksmith's forge to get something
made for the car, 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 de
clared, gazing eagerly 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
a little chain of rocky hills, sheer over
head. The trees were pink and white
with blossom ; the petals lay about
upon the ground like drifted snow
flakes. Here and there yellow jon
quils 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," Louise
ordered. "I must go out. I want to see
whether It is really as 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. .
"But, madam," she exclaimed, "I
have remembered I The name Strange
wey. Yesterday morning you read it
out while you took your coffee. You
spoke of the good fortune of some
farmer in the "north of England to
whom some relative in Australia had
left a great fortune hundreds and
thousands of pounds. The name was
Strangewey, the same as that. I re
member it now."
She pointed once more to the family
tree. Louise sat for a moment with
parted lips.
"You are quite right, Aline. I re
member it all perfectly now. I wonder
whether it could possibly be either of
these two men?"
Aline shook her head doubtfully.
"It would be unbelievable, madam,"
hhe decided. "Could any sane human
creatures live here, with no company
but the sheep and the cows, if they
had money money to live in the
cities, to buy pleasures, to be. happy?
Unbelievable, madara!"
Louise remained standing before the
window. She was watching theblos-som-laden
boughs of one of tbjrfi
trees bending and swaying in f
1
morning breeze watching th
shadows which came and
the grass beneath.
"That is just your poii
Aline," she murmured; 'b'
well, you would not
' They are strange men, t
Tenuis fnnnrt hpi wnv
it.. .-. : . i , t . .i
postern gate set in a rea '
into the orchard. At the fuftner end
she came to a gate, against which she
rested for a moment, leaning her arms
upon the topmost bar. Before her was
the little belt of plowed earth, the
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
t-tone wall, the rook-strewn hills. The
sky unusually blue It seemed to her,
;nd dotted nil over with little masses
of fleecy, white clouds-seemed some-
r
V
M
I
By E.
how lower and nearer ; or was she, per
haps, higher up?
She lingered there, 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.
She turned her head almost lazily at
the sound of a man's voice. A team of
horses, straining at a plow, were com
ing round the bend of the field, and by
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
without any of the laborer's mechani
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 and approached her.
"Good morning! You have slept
well?" he called out.
"Better, I think, than ever before in
my life," she answered. "Differently,
at any rate. And such an awakening !"
He locked at her, a 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
ously, "Is this a little corner of fairy
land that you have found? Does the
sun always shine like this? Does the
earth always smell as sweetly, and are
your trees always in blossom? Does
your wind always taste as If God had
breathed the elixir of life Into it?"
He turned around to follow the
sweep of her eyes. 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
plowman passed again with his team
of horses and John called out some in
structions to him. She followed him
down to earth.
"Tell me, Mr. Strangewey," she in
quired, "where are 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 we come to the end of the plow;
and then but no, I won't anticipate.
This way !"
They reached the end of the plowed
field and, passing through a gate,
turned abruptly to the left and began
to climb a narrow path, which bordered
the boundary wall, and which became
steeper every moment. As they as-
They Stood Together In a Silence Al
most Curiously Protracted.
cended, the orchard and the long, low
house on the other side seemed to lie
almost at their feet. The road and the
open moorland beyond, stretching to
the encircling hills, came more clearly
into sight with every backward glance.
Louise paused at last, breathless.
"Is it the home of the fairies you
are taking me to?" she asked. "If you
have discovered that, no wonder you
find us ordinary women outside your
lives !"
He laughed.
"There are no fairies where we are
going," he assured her.
TLey were on a roughly made road
now, which turned abruptly to the
1 ' .
PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
right a few yards ahead, skirting the
side of a deep gorge. They took a few
steps further, and Louise stopped short
with a cry of wonder.
Around the abrupt corner an entirely
new perspective was revealed a little
hamlet built on a shoulder of the
mountain; and on the right, below a
steep descent, a wide and sunny valley.
It was like a 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 tiles ;
there were fifteen or twenty stacks; a
quaint, whitewashed house of consid
erable size, . almost covered on the
southward side with creepers; a row
of cottages, and a gray-walled lnclo
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 rebuilt with the stones of the
hillside. '
Louise looked around her, silent with
wonder. "It isn't real, is it?" she
asked, clinging for a moment to John
Strangewey'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 ash
stick. The valley sheer below them,
and the lower hills on both sides, were
parceled out into fields, inclosed within
stone walls, .reminding-her from the
height at which they stood, of nothing
so much as the quilt upon her bed.
Her eyes swept this stran'ge tract of
country backward and forward. She
saw the men like specks in the fields,
the cows grazing in the pasture like
toy animals. Then she turned and
looked at the neat row of stacks and
the square of farm buildings.
"I am trying hard to realize that
you are a farmer and that this is
your life," she said.
He swung open the wooden gate of
the churchyard, by which they were
standing. There was a row of graves
on either side of the prim path.
"Suppose," he suggested, "you tell
me about yourself now about your
own life."
"My life, and the world In which I
live, seem far away Just now," she
said quietly. "I think that it is doing
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 have to tell you," he re
marked. "Still, if there is anything
you would like to know "
"Who were these men and women
who have lived and died here?" she
interrupted, with a little wave of her
hand toward the graves.
,"A11 our own people," he told her.
She studied the names upon the
tombstones, spelling them out slowly.
"The married people," he went on,
"are burled on the south side ; the
single ones and children are nearer
the wall. Tell me," he asked, after a
moment's hesitation, "are you married
or single?"
She gave a little start. The abrupt
ness of the question, the keen, stead
fast gaze of his compelling eyes,
seemed for a moment to paralyze both
her nerves and her voice. It was as if
someone had suddenly drawn away one
of the stones from the foundation of
her life. She found herself repeating
the words . on ' the tombstone facing
her:
"And of Elizabeth, for sixty-one
years the faithful wife and helpmate
of Ezra Cummlngs, mother of his chil
dren, and his partner In the life ever
lasting." Her knees began to shake. There
was a momentary darkness before her
eyes. She felt for the tombstone and
sat down.
CHAPTER IV.
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 herself again,
rose briskly to her feet. Stephen had
apparently lost none of his dourness
of4the previous night. As he looked
toward Louise, there was no mistaking
the slow dislike in his steely eyes.
"Your chauffeur, madam, has Just
returned," he announced., "ne sent
word that he will be ready to start at
one o'clock." '
Louise, inspired to battle by the al
most provocative hostility of her elder
host, smiled sweetly upon him.
- "You can't Imagine how sorry I am
to hear it," she said. "I don't know
when, in the whole course of my life,
I have met with such a delightful ad
venture or spent such a perfect morn
ing!" Stephen looked at her with level, dis
approving eyes at her slender form in
its perfectly fitting tailored gown; at
her patent shoes, so obviously unsuit
able for her surroundings, and at the
faint vision of silk stockings.
. "If I might say so without appear
ing inhospitable," he remarked, with
faint sarcasm, "this would seem to be
the fitting moment for your departure.
A closer examination of our rough life
up here might alter your views. If I
do not have the pleasure of seeing you
again, permit me to wish you fare
well." He turned and walked away. Louise
watched him with very real Interest.
"Do you know," she said to John,
"there is something about your brother
a little like the prophets in the Old
Testament, in the way he sees only
one issue and clings to it. Are you,
too, of his way of thinking?"
"Up to a certain point, I believe ' I
am," he confessed, v
"Do you never feel cramped in your
mind, I mean? feel that you want to
push your way through the clouds
into some other life?"
"I feel nearer the clouds here," he
answered simply.
They were leaving the churchyard
now. ' She paused abruptly, pointing
to a single grave in a part of the
churchyard which seemed detached
from the rest.
"Whose grave is that?" he inquired.
ne hesitated., '
"It is the grave of a 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
buried' here."
"Because of that her grave is apart
from the others?"
"Yes," he answered. "It Is very sel
dom, I am glad to say, that anything
of the sort happens among us."
For the second time that morning
Louise was conscious of an unexpected
upheaval of emotion. She felt that the
sunshine had gone, that the whole
sweetness of the place had suddenly
passed away. The charm of its simple
austerity had perished. .
"And I thought I had found para
dise !" she cried.
She moved quickly from John
Strangewey's side. Before he could
realize her intention, she had stepped
over the low dividing wall and was on
her knees by the side of the plain, neg
lected grave. She tore out the spray
of apple blossom which she had thrust
into the bosom of her gown, and placed
it 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 back to her companion
Something had gone, too, from his
charm. She saw in him now nothing
but the coming dourness of his broth
er. Her heart was still heavy. She
shivered a little. It was he at last
who spoke.
"Will you tell me, please, what is the
matter with you, and why you placed
that sprig of apple blossom where you
did?"
His tone woke her from her lethargy.
She was a little surprised at its
poignant, almost challenging note.
"Certainly," she replied. "I placed
it there as a woman's protest against
the Injustice of that isolation."
"I deny that it is unjust."
She turned around and waved her
hand toward the little gray building.
"The Savior to whom your church is
dedicated thought otherwise," she re
minded him. "Do you play at being
lords paramount here over the souls
and bodies of your serfs?"
"You judge without knowledge of the
facts," he assured her calmly.
Louise'sfootsteps slackened.
"You men," she sighed, "are all
alike! You judge only by what hap
pens. You never look Inside. That is
why your justice Is so different from
a woman's. I do not wish to argue
with you; but what I so passionately
object to is the sweeping judgment you
make the sheep on one side and the
goats on the other. That is how man
judges ; God looks further. ' Every case
Is different. The law by which one
should be judged may be poor justice
for another."
She glanced at him almost appeal
Ingly, but there was no sign of yield
ing in his face.
"Laws," he reminded her, "are made
for the benefit of the whole human
race. Sometimes an individual may
suffer for the benefit of others. That
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 morning.
Now I am going to ask you a question.
Are you'the John Strangewey who has
recently had a fortune left to him?"
He nodded. .
"You read about it in the newspa
pers, I suppose," he said. 'Tart of the
story Isn't true. . It was stated that I
had never seen my Australian uncle,
but as a matter of fact, he has been
over here three or four times. It was
he who paid for my education at Har
row and Oxford."
. "What did your brother say to that?"
Tie opposed it," John confessed,
"and he hated my uncle, ne detests
the thought of any one of us going out
of sight of our own hills. My uncle
had the wander fever."
"And you?" she asked suddenly.
"I have none of It," he asserted.
A very faint smile played about her
Hps. '
"Perhaps not before," she mur
mured; "but now?"
"Do you mean because I have in
herited the money? Why should I go
out like a Don Quixote and search for
vague adventures?"
"Because you are a man!" she an
swered swiftly. "You have a brain and
a soul too big for your life here. You
eat and drink, and physically you flour
ish, but part of you sleeps because it
is shut away from the world of real
things. ' Don't you sometimes feel it
in your very heart that life, as we were
meant to live it, - can only be lived
among your fellow men?"
He looked over his shoulder, at the
little cluster of farm buildings and cot
tages, and the gray stone church.
"It seems, to me,' he declared simply,
"that the man who tries to live more
than one life fails in both. There' is
a little cycle of life here, among our
thirty or forty souls, which revolves
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 make 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. "That is well. But you your
self?" x .
"I am one of them," he answered
"a necessary part of them."
,"How you deceive yourself I The
time will come, before very long, when
you will come out Into 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 were stirring In his brain.
"You would like to say, , wouldn't
you," she went on, "tnat tnis is a use
ful and an upright life? So it may be,
but it is not wide enough or great
enough. Some day you will feel the
desire to climb. Promise me, will you,
that when you feel the impulse you
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, ne took It In his
own, and held it steadfastly.
"I will remember," he promised.
Along the narrow streak of road,
from the southward, they both watched
the rapid approach of a large motor
car. There were two servants upon
the front seat and one passenger aJ
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.
"The chariot of 1 deliverance !" she
murmured. '
"It is the prince, of Seyre," John re
marked, gazing down with a slight
frown upon his forehead.
She nodded. They had started the
descent , and she 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 Kaynham
castle on my way to London."
ne summoned up courage to ask her
the question which had been on his Hps
more than once. N
"As your stay with us is so nearly
over, won't you abandon your incog
nito?" "In the absence of your brother," she
answered, "I will risk it. My name Is
Louise Maurel."
."Louise Maurel, the actress?" he re
peated wonderlngly.
"I am she," Louise confessed. "Would
your brother," she added, with a little
grimace, "feel that he had given me a
night's lodging under false pretenses."
John made no immediate reply.- The
world had turned topsyturvy with him.
Louise Maurel, and a great friend of
the prince of Seyre ! ne walked on
mechanically until she turned and,
looked at him.
"Well?"
"I am sorry," he declared bluntly.
"Why?" she asked, a little startled
at his candor.
I am sorry, first of all, that you are
a friend of the prince of Seyre."
"And again, why?"
"Because of his reputation in these
parts."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"I am not a scandalmonger," John
replied dryly. "I speak only of what I
know. -His estates near here are sys
tematically neglected. He is the worst
landlord In the country, and the most
unscrupulous.- His tenants, both here
and In Westmoreland, have to work
themselves to death to provide him
with the means of living a disreputable
life."
"Are you not forgetting that the
prince of Seyre is a friend of mine?"
she asked stiffly.
T 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 now, why your dislike or
ray profession?"
CHAPTER V.
Once more that long, winding stretch,
of mountain road lay empty under the
moonlight. Up the long slope, where
three months before he had ridden to
find himself confronted with the ad-
vf ni urn fit iiin nit', .until r rui i?Hwr.
Into a quick trot as they topped the
long rise. Suddenly she felt a hand
tighten upon her reins. She looked
inquiringly around, and then stood pa
tiently awaiting her master's bidding.
It seemed to John as if he had passed?
from the partial abstraction of the last
few hours into absolute and entire for
getfulness of the present. He could'
see the motorcar drawn up by the side-
of the road, could hear the fretful ,
voice of the maid, and the soft, pleas-
ant words of greeting from the woman
who had seemed from the first as if
she . were very far removed indeed
from any of the small annoyances of
their accident.
"I have broken down. Can you help?'"
ne set his teeth. The poignancy of
the. recollection was a torture to him.
Word by word he lived again through,
that brief Interview. He saw her de-
"I Placed It There as a Woman's Pro
test Against the Injustice of That
, Isolation." ,
scend from the car, felt the touch of
her hand on . his arm, saw the flasto
of her brown eyes as she drew close to
him with that pleasant little air of fa
miliarity, . shared by no other woman
he had ever known.
Then the little scene faded away, and
he remembered the tedious present.
He had spent two dull days at the
house of a' neighboring land owner,'
playing cricket in the"daytime dancing
at night with women in whom he was.
unable to feel the slightest interest,
always with that faraway feeling la
his heart, struggling hour by hour withi
that curious restlessness which seemed
to have taken a permanent place Ins
his disposition. He was on his way,
home to Peak Hall. He knew exactly
the welcome which was awaiting him. '
He knew exactly the news he would
receive. He raised his whip and
cracked It viciously in the air.
Stephen was waiting for him, as he
had expected, In the dining room. The
elder Strangewey was seated in his ac
customed chair, smoking his pipe and
reading the paper. The table was laid
for a meal, which Jennings was pre
paring to serve.
Back again, John?" his brother re
marked, looking at him fixedly over .
his newspaper.
John picked up one or two letters,
glanced them over, and flung them
down upon the table. He had exam- ,-
ined every envelope for the last few
months with the ss-me expectancy, and
thrown each one dlown with the same
throb of disappointment.
"As you see."
Tlad a good time?"
"Not very. Haie they finished the
barley fields, Stephen?"
"All in at eight o'clock."
There " was a brief silence. Then
Stephen knocked the ashes from his"
pipe and rose to 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
How did you know that I pulled : (N
up?" ,
"I was sitting with the window open,'
listening for you. I came outside to
see what had happened, and I saw your
Hghts standing still."
"I had a fancy to stop for a mo
ment," John said ; "nothing more."
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.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Beware.
When a fellow doesn't come through
for the grocer every so often, his food
is likely to cause an unsettled condi
tion of the stomach. -Indianapolis
Star.
A
Xi