MAM MDEMJOWN
FOURTEENTH INSTALLMENT
Diana bad iily watching the
acene before her, her thoughts far
away, but at the sound of that name
her slender body stiffened, and her
face went as lte #> her gown.
"No . . . no . . . no . . Her
heart cried out in passionate pro
teat even as her dilated eyes met
ltatbbone'B across the long room.
And she had boen afraid that sh«
was beginning t| forget hiui!
Forget him! Forget his big, pow
erful body against which she had
once been held in such perfect hap
piness and peace? His grave steady
eyes, and the mouth that looked as
if it rarely smiled?
He did not smile now, though a
little flash passed across his sombre
eyes before he turned to greet bis
hostess.
It seemed an eternity to Diana be
fore Rathbone began to make his
way across to her. He seemed to
know a great many people, many
of whom stopped to engage him
in conversation.
Rathbone was beside her now,
9ut he made no attempt to take her
and she did not offer it.
'"Good evening, Miss Gladwyn."
Diana raised eyes that were in
finitely pathetic, because they
fought so hard for indifference.
"Good evening, Dr. Rathbone."
"A great rock in a weary land . ."
How silly to think of that now,
and yet—oh, how wonderful to feel
once again the peace and safety of
his presence! , ,
"I hope you are well!" he said
formally.
"Yes, thank you."
"Quite well?"
She tried to answer, but now that
suffocating feeling had mastered
her, and she could only nod silently.
Then someone came and took him
away.
At dinner he was a long way from
her; he sat on Mrs. Foster's left
hand with the great newspaper mag
nate 011 her right: evidently Rath
bone was the second most important
guest.
The dinner was endless; to
Diana's overwrought imagination,
the long table seemed to grow long
er till Rathbone appeared, to be
separated from her by miles; course
after course followed one another
in terrible monotony. How could
people go on eating for such—hours.
She almost said, "Thank God."
when at last the ordeal was ended.
Rathbone would come and talk
to her now, she was sure; he would
find some way of shaking off all the
other people, and ho would come to
her, and he would say something
that would stop this dreadful pain.
He would know what she was suf
fering; perhaps he was suffering
equally himself.
But though she watched the door
of the great unfriendly drawing
room with strained eyes till the
men began to appear, Rathbone was
not among them.
Then she learned that Hathbone
had been called away suddenly on
an urgent call.
He had gone without even saying
good-bye to her.
CHAPTER XXI
Anna had been waiting up for her.
She said with unusual kindliness in
her voice:
"I should go to bed and try and
get some sleep."
"I couldn't sleep," Diana said.
"Let me give you something to
make you sleep—some of that
draught you used to take before you
were 111. You must sleep. Miss
Diana."
Anna came back with the sleep
ing draught and Diana took it and
allowed herself to be put to bed.
"I'll be close by, if you want me "
she said.
Something in her tone of voice
made Diana think suddenly of Miss
Starling, and an almost childish
longing for her and for the peace
of her little room at the cottage
awoke in her heart.
How amazed the Creature would
be if she could know.
Diana sat up in bed, rocking her
self to and fro.
She wished she could cry. but her
eyes felt too hot and burning to al
low the relief of tears.
Were other girls made to suffer
like this, or were they too wise to
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for anyone?
With a terrible feeling of restless
ness she got out of bed and began to
walk about the room.
If only he had bid her good-bye
at Mrs. Foster's. Shown some af
fection for her.
If only she could sleep! Her
head was throbbing so: it reminded
her of that night at the Savoy with
Dennis, when the world had seemed
to be filled with a million demons,
all of whom were conspiring to
gether to torment her.
Anna's sleeping draught had been
useless: it had only excited her aud
racked her nerves.
Perhaps if she took some more . . .
She looked round the room eager
ly; yes, the bottle was there on the
dressing table.
Diana crossed the room. She was
a childish figure in her white night
gown with bare feet and disordered
curly hair.
Her hands shook a little, making
the bottle rattle against the glass as
she measured out some of the drops.
It had a nasty bitter taste.
"That's because I haven't put any
water with it," Diana thought vague
ly. "I don't care; perhaps it will
really make me sleep this time."
She shivered and made a little
grimmace as she crept back to bed.
Why were all the things that were
supposed to be good for one so
nasty?
CHAPTER XXII
Jonas was putting the pony and
trap away in the stable when Mr.
Shurey came down the yard, a giant
figure looming out of the gray mist.
"Don't 'ee put her away yet," he
said. "There's something for Rath
bone's."
Jonas turned round.
"It'll be difficult to get so far in
this fog," he said rather sullenly.
The farmer frowned.
"When I was your age I didn't
argue about things being difficult,"
he said bluntly. "I did 'em. If you
go up to the house the missus'll
give you what's to go."
Jonas shrugged his shoulders ant l
obeyed. He did not really object to
the fog, but he was in no mood to
go. There was spot in his
mind whenever he thought of
Donald Rathbone.
He felt as if, during the past
weeks since he first met her, she
had uneinsciously been giving him
broken pieces of a puzzle, which
had slowly and carefully formed
themselves Into one, until this morn
ing, he suddenly realized that it was
complete. And it ftas Rathbone's
face that he saw in the finished pic
ture.
The love Jonas felt for Diana was
the kind of love which Dante had
felt for Beatrice. He had been con
tent to love on his poet's dreams of
her, asking nothing more for him
self than that he might be allowed
to continue to dream.
But that she should be unhappy
was more than he could endure.
It was nearly midday before
Jonas reached Rathbone's. The big
gates were wide open—a most un
usual thing in his experience, and.
as he neared the house he saw that
the front door was wide open also,
regardless of the damp fog that
swirled in.
He drove round to the side door
and got down.
Nobody answered his repeated
knock, and presently he turned the
handle and looked Into the kitchen.
Nobody about. He set his basket
of eggs and butter down on the ta
ble and had turned to go when Hob
son, the chaufffur, suddenly ap
peared.
Jonas looked at him.
"Where's everybody?" he asked.
He indicated the basket. "I've just
brought that. Isn't there anybody
about?"
"We've got something else to do
besides hang round waiting for you
to call," Hobson said tartly. He half
turned to go, then came back.
"Which way did you come?" he
asked, lowering his voice.
"Through the village."
"Oh—well —you didn't see any
thing of our Miss Rosalie, I sup
pose?"
"Miss Rosalie? No. Why?"
"Why?" Hobson echoed with the
impatience of anxiety, "Why, be
cause she's out somewhere, of
course. Been out since nine o'clock
this morning, as far as we can make
out. Not very nice for a young lady
to go wandering off on her own a
morning like this, is it?"
"Alone?" Jonas said.
"You mean —— she's lost?" Jonas
asked.
"No, I don't nothing of the
sort," Hobson retorted angrily. "You
can't get lost round about here. It's
just the fog that makes it difficult
to find her. If you see anything of
her it 'ud be a kindness to let us
know or to bring her back."
"All right," Jonas said briefly. He
had turned to go when Hobson
called to him again.
"Look here," he said more confi-
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THg KLKIN TRIBUNE, ELKIN, NORTH CAROLINA
dentially. "You won't open your
mouth all over the village, I know,
so I'll tell you.
"Miss Rosalie has been missing
ever since it was light. Nobody
knows how she managed to get out
—it's never happened before, and
tbere'li be hell to pay if the doctor
comes home and she isn't hero."
"Isn't the doctor at home?"
"No, he isn't, hasn't been home
for two nights, lncky for us; but
we've got to find her before it gets
dark, and that's all there is about
it. I've been out myself since seven
—haven't had any breakfast yet"
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"Man About Town"
Hobson grumbled, trying to hide his
anxiety.
"If I tell Mr. Shurey he'll send
some of-us along to help," Jonas
said. "It'll get dark early today,
with this fog hanging about."
"If you tell Shurey the whole vil
lage'U know," Hobson said lugubri
ously. "Not but what I don't think
you're right. The more of us that
looks for Ijer, the sooner she'll be
found."
"Have you tried the woods? She
used to go there a lot in the sum
mer.!'
"Tried the woods," Hobson said
scornfully. "When you can't see
your hand before your face out, in
the main road, hqw do you think
you're going to see in the woods?
Not but what it isn't an idea," he
added.
"I could find my way through
them in the dark," Jonas said quick
ly, but Hobson shook his head.
"What' I'm afraid of is the river,"
he admitted reluctantly. "It always
had a wonderful fascination for the
poor lady. Sit for hours watching
it. she would and singing to her
self." He broke off with a touch of
emotion, then pulled himself to
gether to say gruffly: "I can't
waste my time talking to you; bull
if you 'do see anything of her—"
"I'll keep a lookout," Jonas prom
ised.
»
He w*>nt back to the trap and
drove slowly away.
The river! . It was a disagree
able thought on a morning like this.
His imagination was deeply stirred.
The river would be icy cold and full
of dead weeds.
It seemed to be getting dark al
ready, although it was not yet three
o'clock; the grayness of the mist WHS
deepening and intensifying, as if
someone were blowing black smoke
into it and the two were slowly
mingling together.
Before he had gone a mile on the
road he was obliged to get down and
lead the little pony. It was almost
impossible to see the ditch or any
turnings. And somewhere, wander
ing hopelessly about, was Rosalie—
a poor "mad" thing, as Diana had
called her.
The curious acrid smell of a river
waq In the air, a mingling of rotting
vegetation and dank water. If he
was Indeed anywhere near the river,
then he had wandered very far from
the right direction, for the river
Thursday, June 16, 1932
—jjv* Jf ?) ■j-
wound half » mile behind the village
in a wide semicircle.
(Continued Next Week)
ADMINISTRATOR'S NOTICE
The undersigned having qualified
as administrator of the estate of J.
F. Oalyean, deceased, this is to no
tify all persons having claims
against this estate to present same
to the undersigned within twelve
months from date hereof or this
notice will be pleaded in bar of their
recovery.
All persons indebted to this es
tate will please make prompt pay
ment to the undersigned.
This the 19th day of May, 1932.
PAUL 0. LEWIS,
6-2 3-p Administrator.
C. G. ARMFIELD
Notary Public
W. M. ALLEN
LAW BUILDING