A WIFE FOR A DAY.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVI, Issue 39, 15 February 1905, Page 11

A WIFE FOR A DAY.

By EMMA (;. WEL.BON j (Author of ''Love, and Diplomacy,"' ! "Geiievieve's Triuropli, , ' "A strange J Bridal." "Friends find Rivals," ■ "CupidS Dilemma." etc... ?<c. { 6 j CHAPTER Vir. A PRIKNO IN NEED. j Having- assured himself that land- ; lady. Mr? Roycr. v.hn had cbarae of the , inferior r-uii cf rootns he was now occu- ! pving long after the stirring events | whi:-Ji-s-5 have narratf-d haJ tahen place | had really gooc, Bob sauntPi'ed ove-r to \ the breakfast tal>le from hi? seat in ilie vindoiv. whfrc he bad bcf:a amusinp hitnsclf ritarhiK down nt the bustlo oiV ibt , iulerpopling thoroughfares with much apparent interest. j Annesleigh "at dov.n nf the tible —v big old inliio of oni;. .*plashed with gen-OT-xtion? of ink f-tiiin s . Uo lifted the ; fo\'er from tho riisli of over-cooked 1 bacon, and remcmborcO ihc very differ- J cut breakfaKis his man Burke u??d to give him in the old flays. He wondered if Burke was a? careful about die raining king's breakfaste. A couple of months h.sd passed since thi; night when ho bad vacated hi n rooms Tor Amo« K. Joups—a«r.ight that was rcd-lette.red. in Annesleigh's memory by the tragedy against which be had jostled. The woman with tho sad eyes -whom j he liad met ?o stranjroly that night , , to 1 whom he owed so much, b.ni vanished I as completely from his life as though she had never touched »ii. He ivas 7jo nearer ;m ion now bf many thing-, that had liir.i thnt night than he had been when The nevrppnper told him of ihe destrnrtion of the old house, that had prevented a trajjrdy coming , to light. Presumably the police had failed in their oiTom to tra: , ? 1 ho woman who had bwn seen to enter j shortly before the fire originated. The matter had dropped out of the papers in a day or lv;o. The mystery remained a myptery. Ami yet, Annesleigb harl. after a fashion, deeiderl where he had wf eves upon that remarkable face, with its halo of auburn hair. Coming out of the. <he..itre one night —yes. it. was months and months back 1 —he bad found his attention directed to a young woman who. at that strange hour of the night, was selling flowers upen the pavement. At the time, his parsing glance bad told him that there wns something unusual about tho possessor of that swret. Bad faw. a history »in her past : nnd for sfv?rnl days afterward he found kirnj self speculating a* to what could have ( ! driven her to making a living by ?ucb ' j precarious mean-. Not chancing to see her again, lif had, by degree?, forgotten the incident. And now he believed that the flower gixl of Broadway nnd acquaintance of that tragic night when poor Ame* had met his late at the hands of some possible mysterious assassin were one and the , sam?. The thought became a conTicrion. and be foimd himself wondering whether it might be his fate to ever ~ee 1 he girl with auburn hair again. Somehow, there senned a peculiar fasciaatio'n about, licr that gave him the desire to know more of her. tbough he feared her history might be a sad" otip. Bob had takp.H furnished room?, the man to wliom thfy belonged having been eaJled away from Gotham for a tW raonths. hocl deritlocl lo occupy them in the interim, -while he looked about him for something to do. He could not go on living on Ibe amount that represented his cajvita). A little !irap of lay by his (plate on the table. The only one that interested him wa* from Eniil f'artarc.t —j'.ist a ha.«ty note, tolling him that she and bcr mother had arrived home from Europe a few days earlier than she hnd expected. ••When shall you come to the Berkshire* to see mo 5" she asked. Anneelaigh krrcw the special meaning that underlay the question. lie took another letter from his pocket, written in Enid's l.*rge. characteristic writic£. whose envelope bore the Nice posiarcrrK. He rrad it again. The letter had reached him a few weeks ago. ""You will be surprised I have not answered your letter before^—your rather startling letter, Bob. It reached Cairo tbe day after we left, and was stupidly forwarded to a wroDg address by the hotel people before, it finally overtook mc at Nice. I bad been wondering a little that no letter came from you. Mow it has come, and in it you say you release mc '10:11 our engagement becau.*e you have been a fool and have rim through yonx money. In any other man. I should have ■wondered that the fact, that the money was slipping away did not seem to strike you until it wns actosiliv g-one. Only a. simple law of arithmetic is involved in tho mental process, though ma-ny ordinary ruies do not seem to apply to you. "You say you 'jrive mc back my freedom,'' which somehow suj»p;ests» a sentence out of second-rate fiction., You assume that I shall be ready to fall iv with your views, whatever they may be, which is rather like n man. In order to convince you, dear Bob, that, we women do not always care to have their affairs —for this is my offfiSr as weil as yours, though you seem to have overlooked tbe fact —settled oi'i hand for tbeic. T. shsll defer giving you my answer till we meet. ENID." TJiat was the last letter he. had hnd from her until the note of this morning, briefly informing him of her return. "When shall you «ome to the Berkshires to see mc?" . . Of course, he must go at once. Tomorrow —if be could get away to-morro-w: but certainly tUe next d»y.

She would give him his answer then: but what answer? The letter had been curiously enigmatical; a little cold and scornful, too. which he bad rather expected from Enid. What answer would she give hiai? The letter told him nothing. She would let him go. with a lij?ht. careless laugh, no doubt, he told him- | sell; yet vrtiaT, if. after all. she should j refuse to ''tike back her freedom"?— ; tbr 1 rite phrase , she hart! mercilessly derided. Only, of •course, that, was impossible. He possessed something loss than f.venly thousand dollars, had no professions no prospect.-. Ami Enid would be an heiress some day—not a very great lieimss, pprhapp; still, a good match would b; , expected of hrv. 3-ler mother would insisr on it. even if | Enid wished the engagement to con- | tinue. Besides, in any case it was out of the question, unless an income dc-sc-ended miraculously upon him from somewhere, lie was too proud to live on his wife's money. j Did Enid love him well enough to j wish their engagement to continue? iHe thought he knew her =c well, but i the question baiTled him. Enid was too cold and reserved fur much warmth ' ever t-> hnve> crept iuto their wooing; t though he remembered the time when if-i- very coldness of manner, the look it' imperious pride in her face, had atIrau'ed him no less than her beauty. Ar.,l hi* own feelings—did he wish ipr answer to be "yes," or ' : no'"! rhore had been times lately, since shr j abroad, when the coldness of her | "tters. her secininjr utter indifference to hi« feelings, had reppllerl him: and j :e horl told himself angrily that it was ! Li-r beauty, not herself, he had fallen a lore with. .And rot, sometime?, to i >c quite candid, this man who sat wilh Enid's let-tor in his hand did not know 1:5 own mind, and was perfectly conscious of his indecision. A tnp on tlie door interrupting hia ;ho;?ghts. ''Coroc in , .' 1 ho shouted. The nexrt. Moment he had l<japed to his feer, ami ran forward, making all the clatter of J big man in a burry. with cnvtst retella] bands. '"'Why, Knslimorc is il really rouV—a? lip vigorously shook tTio hand of the man who appeared on the thro.sfioM. "Last 1 heard of you you wore somowlierc in Florida, killing tarpon, or doinir something equally iiiatie!"' he fried. IV.'shmoro was a man considerably older then .Annesloisrb. i. r i.- hair of iron-jrrny eoutr.i.st.rd odd'y who" the hroTSEtd faoi'. It was a Mr<>n<: f;i'-i>, that on first sight one have railed plain, until the man smiled: then o:k< rnisjM havo become doublfnl of Lhat fir.-f impression. Tliere was .-omethiiip so singularly attractive in the sinik , . "(Jo! down from sjlmrni Pshinjt in Canada yesterday,"" hr «i"nl. "You needn't abuse my sport. Hob. ItV only brrause you're sut-ii a poor hand at lauding hi;. , frame fish, you know. I'u! what arp you df.inc- in Hips*- quartf-rrs? Not, turned lawyer, liavo you? .Just h,'j!l round t;■ your old plan-: h.iJn'L n i-oiicn yonVi pone. "*> :>tir wan liurko romp* to thp door. 'Your gnvprnor , -* in." J •■aid. 'WHI. ;u .; way !ir"s in. and in a way he\-; not, •Iγ," was Iris guarded reply. Afraid ■>! !>!;virt!t. J suppose. Then J riisrorered that he meant his present owner \va= at home, but that ir was not you. Got vnur add row from hint, and ca-me ii-ro.-"Awfully glad you did. Yiu'l! haw some brr>£-kfast "" was moving across to the door. ■■'BrpakfasTed over two hour.(hanks. Shall he thinking of lunch in an hour, 1 ' ?aid the other, cheerfully. "'You won't zez it here in ;sn hour. anyway"!"' retorted Bob. gayly. "If you do happen to possess abnormal fharnc-Lpristics. don't brajj of '.-'in a* if they were virtues. Well, sit down aral havo n pipe with nir, and let's hear all about you. if /on really wcn'l have any eofJee. I'm really glad to rou." •Thanks: I think T will." Rushmore flunp; himself into tin easy chair, and rmched over for Annesleigh's tobacco jar. "Now. whai. does this mean —leaving your charming rooms for thesr , ? Weren't yon comfortable enough thcro ? Can't say I should like to live with all thift entertaining literature"—turning to read the titles of the dusty books on jurisprudence an- common law. and kin dr«i topics thai, filled the shelves behind him. "Oh. ihcsL- are the other man's," answered Anneslcigh. "Jlc> pone to Colorado or somewhere for bis health. ?-o f took the room* oii' his hand? while he sva.-j away. I'd just let my ow:i flat, ao thest , came in handy." "I stc. And I think r know why you let your flat. I got <in inkling of it from Burke. You were alv.ajs a nicy. chap, 33cl>. but a bit of a fool! You don't raiud mv saying it?" • ; Oh. 1 like it!' , laughed Annrsleigh. ''All the »ame if you hadn't," retorted Rushmoro. "I knew at the time you were a fool to bej so thick with some men ? oncj saw in you] , rooms: but I also realised you wouldn't be convinced till you'd found it out for yourself. Were you hit badly?" "Yes, pretty bsdijv" Annesloigh admitted, rising from the table and sittinf in the broad window sent by his frimd "'But I'm sick of the subject. T wnnt i< hear about you and your movements. 1 j suppose you'll be packing your grip, am S starting fo- «raic place at thf other sidt of the world to-morrow or the next daj —eh?"

Rushmore was a man of meanc, who never stayed long at a time in his native land. He had tramp fever iv his blood, he used to say. At one time be. would be heard of shooting big game on the Himalayas: at another, leading an exploring expedition through some, tropical African jforest or in South American wilds. The ! great, lonely places of the earth had a magpetism for him: the whispered call of the wilderness found a. responsive j , throb in his blood. lie and Annesleigh j had been close friends for a long period, despite the disparity of more than twenty years in their ages. "No plans yet or that sort. Wish your* tobacco was a bit stronger. Just at present I am wondering if I shall turn landowner."

Annesleigh laughed. "'What! turn civilised, and settle dovni β-s a country gentleman? I won't believe anything so humdrum of you!'*' he cried. j "Wait a bit. I didn't say I wanted to j settle down just yet. but some day I jnrjy.' , Itushmore paused. Then: "I've j thought sometimes lately. Bob. that I've .missed something in my life. I've had a, ! good time. I've roamed over the. earth, because the gypsy blood impelled mc, 1 suppo-e. But —well. I'm fifty now. and 1 sometimes think—you'll luugh at mc [for a sentimental fool. Bob.'—if I had my time over again I'd like to have a wife to care for mc, children growing up around mc, human ties. I believe, Bob, you're the only being in the world who'd care a continental if I never came back from one of my tramps! I've lived so in-rich alone it's curious, isn't it, that I should shrink from dying alone? Well,

Fve been seriously thinking of buying a place, and—not just at present, perhaps —settling down."' ■'Good idea. Have you found a place likely V Anuesleigh looked interested. "Yes: though, nothing's settled yet. You remember, when I was staying at ymir place in the Berkshire*, I told you that if ever that adjoining estate of Lambert's came into the market. I'd like to hear of it. Well, it ha*. Lambert's dead. \ou knew that, of course. His son doesn't care about keeping the place, and I've got the first refusal."' "And you'll buy it?" cried Annesleigh. eagerly. "'Don't know yet. Oen doesn't make up one's mind about these things in live minute.*," said llushmore, walking across Jto the window. "By the way, what are you going to do? You'll have to do something for a living now. I suppose 1 And. dye know, I fancy it is just what you needed —a .stimulus tv work. You were always a nice fellow, but idle.'" Annesleigh laughed. "I'vo been thinking the same myself lately; 0n1y, ,, he went on. more seriously, "it's not inclination, ' but the opportunity, that's lacking. It's what I've been asking myself or weeks—what on earth ;am Ito do? I've thought vaguely about a club secretaryship, but -" ''Club secretaryship? Nonsense!" said Rushmore, with a lock of supreme contempt. "You'd grow fat in three months, and in six I should be cutting you. An outdoor, active life is what a maa of your build want.*." ■'"But can't always get," murmured Annesleigh, parenthetically, "except, per;haj>s. that of day labourer." "I've got an idea, Bob,' , said the older man. turning and facing him. "If I take ithat place of Lambert.-. I should want Feme one I could trust to look after and j manage it for me—some one who is keen on sport, and who would look after the .numberless things in that line which 1 I might ta.ke a notion to dabble in. If I could get hold of the right party. I'd make, it worth his while." He laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Why shouldn't you be that man. Eob?' , i A sudd»n look of almost boyish eager-rre.-s came into Aniiesleig-h's face. "Old chap, it's really kind of you! Why, there's nothing in the world 1 should like better. ' ho cried. "That's all right, then. It rather depended on your answer, you know, whether 1 bought the placv or no). 1 think i ?hall now. Shall we go out':" Ruahmore added. "A hit musty, these quarter-, of yours, aren't they?' . But lor v moment Annesleigh did not answer. Ue was ihinkiug of Jinid before llushmore came in. To-day was Tuesday. On Thursday he was going to her for her answer. Would she set him free, or would she refuse to be released from her promise? An hour ago he had recognised his psjjverty as an insuperable barrier in the [lritter case. He was too proud to live on jbi.3 wife's money. Bnt tho miraculous jhiid happened: the barrier was jrone. Up [would «« to her —nor a rich man. ceritainly: but. at any rale, a man with an j occupation and an income. ! On Thursday he would see Enid. Would her answer be ■'stay'"? Annesleigh looked at the faded portrait of a judge hanging over the mantel j when alone in lm apartment that night. 7fow wise that stern, clear-cut face- look|ed. "1 w-,sh I were a« wise as you look, you knowing old judge!" Annesleigh j whispered 1" himself. "Would that I I wire wise enough to know what Enid's answer will be on Tliuifday! 1 wish 1 knrw whether 1 wr.nt her to bid mc stay! " And so he finally tumbled into bed, to dream of the strangs things that had come his way of late—and of Enid!

CHAPTER VITI. i A FACE FROM TflE I'AST. ! The next morninjr Bob Annesleigh sat lup in bed with a half-confused idea that he had to be abroad early for Rome important reason, nnd. for n waking minute or two, wondered drowsily what it could be. Then lie jumped out of bed. jOf course, he wn* intending to go home to-day—home, and Enid. To-morrow, when be awoke, please Heaven, the glorious Mm would peep in at his window, over thu grand, old hills stretching away, one behind the other, to cloudland." and tho little, noisy stream, tumbling over the granite boulders on its impatient way to the sea. would laugh a "•good-morning" to him as it hurried by in the valley helow. And to-morrow he woiild know Enid's answer. Because of to-morrow, to-day seemed very fjood. lie and itcishmore had sat up into the early hows talking over innumerable pipes until the atmosphere was a colourable, imitation /of si Sandy Hook fog. There was so much to discuss aud arrange. Uusbmorc had definitely decided to buy. and lind wired bis acceptance of the, term? to the owner of the estate, and Aimesleigh was to manage it. What a pood fellow Ru*bmor<» was! Aimesleigh told himself as he splashed cheerfully in his bath. He had been staying in these dingy apartments, which bo loathed, looking about for something to do —a half-promised senretaryship, that seemed to come no nearer: then out of the clouds had dropped Ruslunorc. with this offer. Was there ever F.uch wonderful luck? He was tired of New York—tired of the false, unreal life he had drifted into; and now he could make a clean sweep of it all. To-day he was going back to bis own! .

Ktishuiore came in as lie was finishing hie breakfast. "■'Good, man! So you really are up?" was tbe older man's greeting. "I half expected to find you still in bed." "You have i£Ot a good opinion of the man you're putting into a responsibleposition/' retorted Anne Sleigh. gayly. It. was a characteristic of their friendship that the two men cheerfully abused each other on most occasions. '"'Have some underdone bacon, will you': Xo? I Probably you're •\ri?e. As for myself, 1 J don't altogether wonder at the mat 1 took these rooms of having to go e'fcny for his health." Aimesleigh finished his cup of edfffee, , and rushed back into the bedroom to finish packing. Rushmore loanged in after him. smoking a particularly soothing blend of tobacco, and sat dnrwn on the bed while hi.- friend bundled everything pell-mell into tho gaping receptacles—clothes, collars, pipes, aj»y I thing that came to hand. ! "'I wish, yon ■were going with mc, old } chap." Annesleigh .said, i "Wish 1 could, :l said Rushmore. "I'll j come before very long; but just at pre- , seat I shall have to stay in Ge&iam. j seeing the lawyer chaps and *o forth j during the transfer of the property." I He sauntered over to Annesleigh. and I picked up the miniature of. Enid and i looked at it intently. ".When I do eooi' , I I want to meet Miss Cartaret. It was my luck that she. was away from home when I was afc your place fishing last year. I"ru looking forward to seeing her. Naturally, I'm very interested in her." Annesleigh did not • speak, ■ but went orn with his packing in silence. Rush- j more, did not know of that letter be bad written to Enidj and her deferred aas-j

weiv Most probably, after lie had seen t Enid to-morrow, he would no longer bs c engaged to her. "Judging from her portrait, she's a E beautiful woman, and lots of men will c envy you," went on his friend. "'How * far is their place from where you live?" x "Seven or eight miles," the younger T Juan answered- "Kow. I wonder if I've forgotten anything' , " with a glance round the room. ''Hope not. because ' bag wULJhardly shut as it is. Oh, J there's that fishing tackle 1 got yester- j day! Must find rcom for that. Rush- ' mprf. I can hardly realize it—that I'm c going hack to-day, nnd that to-morrow | I shall be whipping tbe stream for trout |< in a disgraceful old costume, and for-i^ Settincr that such abominations as even- ' ing coats and silk hats exist. Old chap, ■' if you want to find a trout left to catch, ' you mustn't stay too long in New ' York." he cried, boisterously. * "I don't know about your skill with 1 trout, but I know that as for salmon —" ' grunted Rusbmore, with a quizzical look 1 in the: keen, kindly gray eyes. * "Hamr it. oid chap! reminiscences barred!" cried Anneeleigh. gayly. taking ' his friend by the shoulder and" pushing j him into a chair. "You want mc to!, admit that all the salmon that came to ] our hi\g when 1 went with you to the : Restigouche were your fish. 1 admit nothing. I refuse to encourage your all , ready sufficient vanity." He took the rninature from Rushmore's hand, snapped dowu the little leather ease upon it. and stowed it away I in the pocket of the bag. ''Olv; we were talking about the Cartarets." he wenfr- oc. "I must esrtainly take you over to their place when you come You know they call it Edgernere Towers. Enid and her mother are not there very much, though. They're abroad a good deal, and in town generally in the season. I knew Enid when we were boy and girl; then we seemed to lose sight of erach other. Enid, you know, was educated abroad, and when we met again she was a woman—l think, one of the most beantifnl women I have ever seen,' , he added, slowly. ! "I told you., didn't I. that I met Mrs. Cartnret once?" said Riishmon , . "No: lirst time you've ever mentioned it in my hearing. When was it?" "I thought I told you. More than twenty year* ago, it must be. Mrs. Cartaret will have forgotten all about it, of course; but a face has a way of sticking in my memory. I suppose it must have been your Mrs. Cartarei. because your part of tbe Berkehiros was mentioned in the visitors' book: that struck mc at the time. Curious how one remembers some fsic.s! Unless Mrs. Cartaret has altered very much. I think I should know her again.' , "'One expects a slight change in twenty years, old chap. , ' laughed .Annesleigli. "Can you get this bag locked while I kneel on it? Jove! isn't it a tight fit? Mrs. Cartartt will be interested. I'm., sure: though I'm afraid she's forgotten you, Rushmore. Everyone hssn't a memory like yours. Yon see, I've mentioned you a hundred times, nnd she's never referred to having met you. - ' she won't remember mc. of course." ?aid Rushmore. as he helped his friend to wrestle with the bag , . '"In fact. our introduction was quite informal. She and a lady were travelling out in California, and J was able to be of a little service—gave up my room at the country hotel, where the accommodation was limited. Jt is odd I should remember so trilling an incident at all.*" . "Over twenty years ago!" said Annesleigh, meditatively. '"Enid. I remember. was born in California. Her father had left tbpm there while he was off to Japan on business. Curious you should have met like this—you, my best friend, and " "'And the mother of your intended wife!" concluded the other. Annesleigh stared out of the window it the dusty foliage of the trees in the street, and wondered if Enid ever would be his wife. Rushmore pulled out his watch, and glanced at it. "I am prepared to like your fiancee very mwh, 80b, , " he said. "I take a sort of paternal interest in you. you know. And when you and she marry and settle down, I think I shall say good-bye to my wandering habits and come and live near you, and look after you both generally. You're a lucky chap. Bob!" He broke off with a little half sigh. "'"lt's almost time that cab was here." • Two Tninntßs later its wheels were heard rattling along the street outside, and presently the friends found themselves moving towards the Grand Central station. Arrived there, Bob jumped out, ' entrusted his bags to the nare of a porter, - and went, to get his ticket, while Rushmore hurried off to secure somn litera- ■ turc.

In the conductor Annesleigh found an old acquaintance, and he stopped to ask about the tremt and fishing prospects. Somehow he felt like a schoolboy returning home for the holidays, and a curious sense of exhilaration possessed him. ""The official informed him that the rain "had filled the rivers up. and they did say that there were some nice fish coming down now"; -which, of coarse, quite pleased the , sportsman spirit that, was again taking possession of Annesleigh. Annesleigh was joined by his friend with an armful of literature, which he bnndled on to the seat, and stood <i v the platform, talking- until the cry "All aboard:"' announced that the train was almost ready to start. "Good-bye. Bob!" said Rushroore, gripping his hand as he leaned from the window of the parlour car. "Good-bye, old boy! And, once again, ever so many thanks! Come up soon!" As he spoke a sudden feeling came to Aimesleigh • that someone was watching him. Instinctively he looked around. His eyes met those of a shabbily-dressed woman standing a little distanc;: away, who was gazing fixedly at him—a woman on whose face tho unmistakable lines of vice and degradation straggled with the. pitiful remains of what might once have been beauty. Tho thought came to Annesleigh at- once that he had seen this woman lately, but when or where he could not even remotely recall. Yet there was something familif r about the woman. It struck him, too, as curious—the insolent,, almost vindictive, expression (hat was on her face as she stared seardiingly at him. Who was she? What was her reason for that pronounced scrutiny? But probably she was inebriated, he told himself—th« look in her face certainly suggested some ouch explanation —and he turned to Rushmore again. The whistle sounded: the train began to move slowly out of the station, Rushmore walking for a step or two by the side of tlie parlour car. At that mojment tho woman, as if dominated by a sudden, wild impulse, darted forward toward the window out of which Annes-k-igh was leaning. "What about the dsad man's " she cried. The sentence remained uncompleted. A uriiformed station master interrupted it by laying his hand roughly on the woman's shoulder. "Stand back.!' 5 he cried. "Here, you get out of this!'" pushing her in the. direction of a porter, who took charge of

the -woman, not overgently, expecting an explosion of abuse. It was singular how the woman's speech seemed to desert her in the "middle of that unfinished sentence; how the wild fit of drunken rage died out in a moment, to. give place to a swift look of terror, as the official's baud fell from behind on her shoulder. She did not utter another word. She i walked awar.. suddenly trembling, and j I with a face showing spots of white under ! tho cheap paint. A couple of porters followed her. as if casually, to see her out of tho station. "Tunny how she dried up. loin.: one of them remarked to his friend, with a j jgrin. "Like a play, almost. Shs thought j it was a policeman. Did you see tho start' she gave? Been"up to something.. I'll bet! my bottom dollar, and thought for a minute that she. was nabbed. Here, that's the way out of the station," he added, peremptorily, to the woman, "and tho quicker you go the better we shall be pleased. * We don't want to see your face here again."' The woman went meekly out into the | street without a word. '•What about the dead man's " j That broken sentence lingered vividly in Annesleiph's mind as the train took him along his journey towards the beautiful hills. The, woman's eyes were bent jon him as she spoke Were the words ad--1 dressed to him? And did she speak of Aices? Annesleigh sat back on the seat, startled.. lie was sorry that the thought lof Ames had beeii recalled to his mind just as he was leaving New York in such high spirits—the remembrance of that moment of horror when he bad stumbled in the darknes* on the. dead man in the old house. What could she have meant? Or was it just a chance coincidence—the meaningless words of 'a drunken woman that happened to fit in with a fact? Yet he had seen the woman's face before, and that lately. Where? It was the voice that gave him the elua —thp voice that, years of vice and degradation had not quite marred—the voice that might have belonged to a woman of his own world once. Annesleigh remembered now. It was the woman whom he had encountered at the cheap coffee stand as he walked toward (he old house ou the night of the murder. This woman knew something—but what? And as the train sped along its way Bob. Annesleigh lay back and saw nothing of the charming views out of the window, for he was in mental retrospect once more passing through the tragic events of that straDge night. (To be continued daily.)