PAGE TWO
Twelfth Installment
WHAT HAS GOjSTE BEFORE
Giles Chittenbam sets" out* to make
Julie Farrow love him, intending to
throw her over in revenge for the
•ulcide of his brother Rodney, whom
Julie had cast off. He succeeds but
finds that he has fallen dsperately
in love with her himself. Then he
lAlacotrera that it was not this Julie
Farrow, but her cousin of the same
same, who had driven tils brother
to death. But Giles is married, to
«n Ajmerican girl named Hatlie Bar
row, with whom he haq not ,Jved
for a long time. Sadie unexpectedly
turns vtv in London, at A party at
Giles' mother's house, but k)Oth keep
silent about their marriage.
Julie, disillusioned, ebters into
the wild night life of London to try
to drown her anguish. Lawrence
Schofield wants to marry her. Lom
bard, who had first Introduced her
to Chittenham, demands money from
Giles with the threat that if he is
not paid he will tell Schofield that
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1
Chittenbam and Julie spent the
night together on the St. Bernard
Pass. Later Julie confesses to Chlt
tenham that she loves him.
NOW CO ON WITH THE STORY
The two men made no attempt at
a greeting. Chittenhato merely
said: "You're in rather a hurry,
aren't you? However, you've saved
me the trouble of sending it to you.
You can have your two hundred."
Lombard smiled —an unpleasant
smile.
"I want five hundred"
"'You agreed for two"
"The price has gone up since last
night."
There was an eloquent silence,
and Lombard said calmly:
"Five hundred is not a high price
to pay, surely—l cannot imagine
that Schofield would crap at it In re
turn for the favour you received
last night." He shrugged his shoul
ders as he saw the passionate rage
in Chittenham's face.
"It was you outside Miss Farrow's
flat last night?"
THE ELKIN TRIBUNE. ELKIN. NORTH CAROLINA
"I waited three- pa
tiently, you will admit.- 1 '
With an effort Chittenham con
trolled himself.
"I give you Just five seconds to
get out of hpre," be said.
"Very well. You know what I in
tend to do. I shall tell Schofield
what happened in Switzerland and
again last night—"
"Tell him, and I'll break every
bone in your body."
Lombard went on evenly, not
heeding the violent outburst.
"And I shall tell Mtss Farrow that
the woman she has been ihaking bet
friend is your wfte.""
Chittenham was white to the lips,
but he laughed.
"You can spare yourself the trou
ble. I have already told her my
self."
For a moment the two men glared
at one another, and it took all Chit
tenham's will-power to maintain his
self-control, then Lombard said
hoarsely*:
"I'll make you sorry for this be
fore I've done!"
"(let out. or I'll make you sorry
for it now."
The door closed between them.
For some moments after Lombard
had gone. Cliittenham stood staring
at the closed door.
He would see Julie at once and
tell her the whole truth. But Fate
was against him. He went to Julie's
flat only to find that she had gone
out to lunch. He went to several
restaurants where he thought she
might he but could not find her„
There was nothing for it but to wait
till the afternoon when they would
meet at his mother's home.
He purposely arrived rather late.
Mrs. Ardron, who was near the door,
crept to him and whispered that he
must be very quiet.
"It's so wonderful!" she breathed,
she squeezed his hand excitedly.
Giles stood beside her, angry and
silent.
Now he was more accustomed to
the darkness he could see that there
were about a dozen people in the
room sitting In a ring, and appar
ently holding hands. There was a
queer aromatic scent in the air, and
a curious feeling of nervous tension.
He saw now that the light from
the shaded lamp was falling on the
face and figure--of a man whom he
supposed must be the great Chryer.
A strange-looking . man with a pple
ascetic face and long dark hair, who
lay back In the chair, his eyes closed
and his hands clasped against 'his
breast.
Presently he began to speak in a
sing song dreamy sort of voice.
"Two women and one man— one
man and two women . . .they stand
before me in the darkness not know
ing of the tragedy that divides and
will still divide their lives . . He
drew a quick breath and there fol
lowed a little silence, broken again
almost at once by the same sing
song voice—"Two women and one
man—in the darkness all of them,
and two of them will come out into
the light, but the third will never
see the sun'shine again. Darkness —
blindness! Th 6 blindness of the eyes
.... here, close beside roe. . .
His clasped hands released one
another, and moved forward In a
curiously groping fashion as if seek
ing to find something. Giles did
not know whether to be amused or
angry. What fools women were to
be taken in by such a charlatan! He
had moved back a step to find the
switch of the light when suddenly
those groping hands swooped down
with a curious pouncing movement
and fastened on something or sqme
one in the silent ring of listeners.
A piercing scream rang through
the silence of the room, a scream
in the frightened voice of a woman,
and then the cry of his own name:
"Giles! Giles . . ."
It seemed an eternity until his
fingers came into contact with the
switch, and still that cry went on:
"Giles! Giles!"
It was Sadie's voice,-lie knew, and
when at last the room was flooded
with light he saw that she was
standing up, her hands covering her
face, her childish body swaying to
and fro as if in great pain or terror,
while the wailing repetition of his
name came from her lip 8 monoton
ously again And again.
It was like a scene In a dream—
the ring of half frightened women—
and the strange figure of the man
Chryer as he rose slowly to his feet,
a shocked, awakened look in his
somnolent eyes. Then Mrs. Ardron
began to cry hysterically, and th«
whimpering Bound seemed to break
the spell which was upon every one.
Giles took a quick stride forward:
"Sadie!"
She turned swiftly at the sound of
her name, her hands outstretched
and when he took them in his, she
clung to him, lobbing and shaking
like a frightened child.
He kepi protecting arms round
his wife's slim figure as he glared
round the -join with furious eyes.
His mother, Doris and half a
dozen other women whom he knew
slightly and . . . Julie!
Julie was standing up, very stiff
and straight, looking at him across
the room, a pitiful, wondering ques
tion in her pretty eyes, her face
quite colourless, her hands grippiup:
a chair back.
And then for a moment nobody
moved or spoke, but Chittenham's
arms fell from his wife and h? took
an involuntary step away from her.
"Giles! " and then before any
one could move to belp her «he fell
fainting at his feet.
Chittenham was very pale and his
voice was rough and uneven as kind
hands carried Sadie from the room.
He was conscious of impending
disaster.
"We've sent for a doctor," his
mother said. "Julie is staying with
her."
"It's only an ordinary faint,"
Doris said contemptuously. "I'm
surprised at Sadie being such a fool.
The others had all fcOne and Chit
tenham stood with an elbow on the
mantel-shelf staring down at the'
grate which was filled with flowers
and ferns. He could think of noth
ing but that pitiful, wondering ques
tion in Julie's eyes.
"What was she thinking? What
had she gueßsed?
What a fool he had been not to
tell her the truth last night; she
would have understood and forgiv
en him then. Would she understand
or forgive him now?
It seemed an eternity until the
door opened behind him and Julie
came in.
Chittenham turned. He made a
swift movement towards her as if
to take her in his arms, then stop
ped.
This was not the woman who had
clung to him only last night and
whispered how much she loved him
—this was not even the wild, broken
Julie who had hurt him with her
utter recklessness during the past
unhappy weeks —this was a woman
whom 'he hftd never seen before,
with cold eyes that accused him
harshly even before she spoke.
"Sadie is 110 better. The doctor
has just come. Would you like to
go to her now?"
Giles flushed scarlet. It was such
an unexpected challenge.
"Why should I go to her? What
do you mean?" he asked roughly.
They were the last words he meant
to say and yet for the life of him
he could not have controlled their
utterance.
"I only thought ... in the cir
cumstances . .
He covered the ground between
them in a stride and caught her by
the shoulders.
"Julie . . . have you forgotten last
night" How can you speak to me
like this? How can you look at me
In such a way?"
He felt her slim body stiffen i>e
neat£ his grasp, and her eyes met
his unflinchingly.
"How long have you known Sadie?
Why did she call out to you and run
to you like that? What is she to
you?"
There was an agonized question
ni her voice though she tried des
perately to keep it unconcerned.
She moved back a step when he
would have touched her and both
their faces were white.
"There's no need to pretend any
longer," she said with a harsh
breath.
"Julio —" Chittenham broke out
again desperately then stopped as
the door opened beneath his moth
er's agitated hand.
"Giles—they want you at once—
the doctor sent me for you—oh,
Giles!" she caught his arm with
ineffectual hands. "I don't under
stand! I feel as if lam going mad,
or as if every one else is—what do
they all mean? And if it is the truth
why didn't you tell me? Sadie is
saying awful things, too —she -must
be light-heafed! She says she's
your wife? How can she be your
wife when you are not married?"
Giles turned on his heel and
Btrode out of the room. Mrs. Ard
ron turned to Julie, both white, use
less hands outstretched.
"Is it true?" she appealed help
lessly.
She forgot her dislike for Julie.
In her present distress she would
have turned to her worst enemy for
congelation. "You heard what I
said. Sadie declares she is my son's
wife. How can tfhe De when he is
not married? He never liked
women—he has said so scores of
times." ' >
"I think it's quite true," Julie an
swered with stiff lipe. She took
Mrs. Ardron's hands and held them,
hardly realizing what she was do
ing. "I'm quite sure it's true that
Sadie is his wife," she said again
gently.
She was unutterably grateful
just as she felt she could bear
no more the doctor came into the
room. Mrs. Ardron at once turned
her attention to him and Julie alip
ed away. -She took her coat from a
maid on the landing and went out |
into the street.
"She Is my wife—" •
They seemed to be the only words J
that would form and find ut- j
terance in her brain-
For Chlttenham she 4iad sent Law- j
rence Schofield uway. Foi Chltten
ham she had deliberately dashed j
Schofieid's happiness to the ground, j
"I have changed my mind. I j
;au't marry yon. I don't care for '
vi 4 v
you enough," She had told Law
rence that otfly this morning. And
now once more the brief dsaam was
ended—or wasn't it? After all,
nothing was really altered. He had
deceived her about Sadie, it was
true, but apart from that things
were in no wise changed. Chitten
ham still loved her and she loved
him —and if he still wanted his
freedom and Sadie was willing to
give it to him—
"Giles—Giles—"
The memory of Sadie's .agonized
cry came back to her, ending afresh
the peace which she was trying so
hard to regain. It had been the
cry of a woman to, a man she loved,
or so Julie told herself in bitterest
Jealousy, and she remembered how
often Sadie had spoken of Giles—
and in what a queer, rather shy way
—*B if—even then it had seemed
to Julie almost as if there might
hare been something between them.
And now sh£ knew. Sadie was his
wife. The one woman of all the
many in the world who lyid a right
to him and to his love and hig pro
tection—she had claimed only that
afternoon in her hysterical fear.
The maid oame tapping at the
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THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 20, J 980
door.
"Aren't you very wet, Mies? Can
I dry your clothes for you?"
"No, no. I'm not wet, and I don't
want anything, you need not wait."
She heard the girl move reluctant
ly away and then a moment later
the shutting of the front door. But
it was a long time before Julie
moved or stirred. The room
quite dark save for the yellow light
from the street lamp outside, %nd
the fitful rain had settled into a
steady downpour and wag beating
against the window.
CONTINUED NEXT WEEK
Mary had a little skirt
So neat, so bright, so airy
It never shows a speck of dirt
Bui surely does show Mary.
Teacher—"Did your father help
you ifrith this problem?"
Briteboy—"No, I managed to get
this one wrong by myself."
Imports of wood and wood man
ufacturers into the United State*
were valued at $82,698,378 in 1»2»
as compared with $80,13#,475 in
1928 and $92,665,949 i n 1927.