THE NINTH CIRCLE.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 5, Issue 183, 16 June 1916, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE NINTH CIRCLE.

We picked up a wireless from Cape Race that afternoon at four o'clock, and one whole .shipload of homesick, seasick, warsick Americans thanked God. The captain had taken all the precautions usual in crossing tne Atlantic after the 4th of August lA'l4, and this as our first intimation of how near we were to New York. The smoking-room teemed with stories ,arguments, and rumours when 1. came in after dinner. Through the smoke-haze, my state-room companion, a Mr. Allaton, beckoned me to his table. He was alone, for a wonder. "This place sounds like a girls' school at recess," he remarked. "Sit down and have your coffee with me." "No, thanks,'' I said. "I only came in to find you. Let's go up on deck. Wo stopped for a few "words with tne first officer, and when we reached the promenade deck the grey mantle of twilight was already spreading itself over "the sea. Only a pink edge showed at the western horizon, toward which the ship steadily cut her way. As we [earned on the rail for an instant, Allison looked back toward the darkening "We're Leaving some queer thing* back there, old, man," he remarked, "and some tough times; I'm free to state that even the banking business in Chicago will seem slow to me for ft while." .ii. "I wish I'd been with you instead or sticking in Scotland all summer," he said. "Shall we walk around? "You never told me where you were when the war broke out," I added, as we fell into step. I waited to make lum talk, for etery da 7 of the long, dull voyage from Liverpool, bad thus far b.eeu brightsined bv his stories. His kind grey eyes twinkled. "I was in Austria, taking a rest cure," he said. "First thing I did was to cable Mary and the girls at Lake Placid: _ 'Whatever happens, don't worrv. You can't lose father. Then I heat it for Switzerland, arriving just in time to hear the frontiers shut after me with a loud noise, and to find myself hung up there until the Swiss should open them and let m.e through, together with a number of more or less financially embarrassed compatriots." "That was nice," I remarked. "What did you do-"

"Well, sir, 1 picked out one of thos<> Anglo-American hotels on Lake Thun, where the society is non-exciting aud the price reasonable —you see, 1 figured that cash would oe tight for somebody else if not for me pretty hoon —and so I settled down. That is, I ctidr.'t exactly settle. I got helping the American Ministry at Berne for one thing —those Sw-ss attaches then© were darn near driven crazy. Of course, a Chicago man with a slight turn for banking" (he was president of one bank, a director of two others, end a member of the Federal Reserve Commission, as I happened to know) "could l*> "seful on the Citizens' Committee, toe. Then, there was a bunch of women at our hotel scared to (loath, and afraid to spend their poor little money going to Heine after mews. 1 used to oring them .word back every evening from Berne what was doing. Kir.st tmng i know, I was a cross netweon a touristbureau and a father confer. How those women harried mo!" "What was the most interesting experience of all?' 1 asked. I*or I knew, somehow, that he had never tc.d me the story. He was silo.it for a minute. "Let's sit down somewhere and. 111 tell it to you," he said presently. 'lt j a long yarn." , On the deck that separated tie uiot from the second cabin stood two emptj chairs, backed against ventilators, lacing the black expanse beyond th.e rail. Here we settled ourselves; and, while the dim figures of our fellow passengers passed and repassed us ne told this ster\ There was an Enghsuman callecl G revs on that I saw a good ueaf of, staying at our little Sw;.vi hotel. He wag a clover, well informed chap of about fifty-som.ething. ninny ways. For one thing, he wa- :enrtuU\ r-'stiess. That wouldn't ar-'-.ue you much in an American; !v;t it's v.ausual to see an Englishman ot 11: wel - dressed, well-mannered la::* that won't sit out his dinner. I- 1 c- ,7 low his whisky-and-sod:t a!t.-r lie a • eaten a little, and then he'd get up and walk out, leaving his r :te sitting there.

He liked the younger, nr.attv women, and women seemed to like :.im ; but he never spent very u.ueh time with any one of them. At hrst I t-nought his wife was the reason tor that. Ho was always wathcing . Iplaying card- in the adjoir.-ng sa.on he'd stop in the middle of a -eatenee to make sure, apparent!/, th it ,":o »a» still sitting at the same tab'-?, arful then finish his talk. 1 ngur.-1 :-'at me was jealous and he was afraid of her. Grayson tand I w 'rej taking one night—the fir»t of A gust, ty •. days after 1 got there. His v.ny was playing auction ii.i ore sa'cii; he ami I were t-tanding in the doo v, ay of the other. "World polities" we: 1 :- slightly confusing just then. Tie on'y thing we knew positively was t'.-a* Austria had declared war on Svviu. Naturally, the que-tion was a" ta waet' er Germany, I'u—ia, England, ar.d trailer would come ia, and ray mat: ay,-hired po.-.itively tl.at Engltud w-...!-; lie had drunk laot" whu-> .y-ani-y, i than usual, and hi- iace was r :ah .'i ' was handsome, by tl e way, in ■ 1 that the school-teacher i ; ia_. il.si fiord called " llambeoyaiit,' i strong feature- and g' od biuo eye,,. " L tell you,' lie s taj i'.'ia hi.s voice getting louder "v..• v hglit Germany. She's haw! i , : • years, and we've got to bred; i. ■ bail:.' " Well," 1" said cbe.j. fn■'>, ' ~o .'I! have your bands fa!!, r'.l i . His i')i-, were rovr.g . •.a t th" rooms, a- usual, r.vbilv i.e ' Suddenly lie grow redder t•••Ml . a- if he'd seen something or ti :.ght of something ed iting. I.'yt i-: "yhody was Oil edge those d !.y-\ "Where a.i -a you going v.. -a you leave thi.—supposing it all b ! . rregbtens out?" 1 a-ked. "To Dre-den for t! a v. ml'-',' sai l he. "Ti;-:- ' said T. "Ti ..t'.- 1 l.e yoit p-eopie (iv,t liere. You I t o:i y.,a bate v.i -b fitla-r, a.-ad spend •,o»;• v laatains in the h:»t• I country. I d m't b beve you English and Germans i -te eae'-i other mar a- much as you ia.out." "Ask my wife about tint," ho -aid, with a queer little s.mi'e, and went out into the lobby, where a 1» ihhaotv <!frl was sitting. H,e. we- tby I . wife's table without a look, though si • rai-e.l her eyes to his when be parsed. First time 1 ever saw "'••«. fis-.-yson, she was eoming down l.i.e lag st.drway, dsesr-ed for dinner—and •« • .•<•••.er --he was to look at. Not yo"ng-~]'d sa>. - ahoul fort/. Magnifi-vnb l g" r e: ,-lim, though. Grey hair, a Ji"";trr' -k : n ;

A Complete Short Story.

little fi?ie features; a soft mouth with dimples at the corners; and the most wonderful eyes you ever saw. I was right back of her on the stairway. Just as wc reached the head of the first- flight we heard a man's voice, very loud and angry, in the hall below". You couldn't distinguish the words.

"Sh!" she said —ju-t like that. "Sh !" And the voice stopped dead short. It was her husband's; he was down there, in a group of men. He looked up and saw her and and wa'ked into the salon. She didn t follow him; she went out on th.e terrace and joined some women. It hadn't been anything much. The German-Swiss concierge, who was always made too much of by the Americans -anyhow, had got a little peeved at some term that an old Harvard professor had used about the Germans, and he had started to set the professor right. The Englishman objected to a servant's discussing things with gentlemen —as well as to the concierge's point of view—and, having had a few whiskies before dinner this time, had broken out in a somewhat loud and peremptory manner. But what struck me was the way his wife had shut him off, a flight of stairs away, not even knowing what it was all about. It didn't recommend her to me. I hate a bossy woman.

Later on that evening, 1 was smoking over my c-offe.e alone on the terrace, not far from a ounch o? women that were talking things over. And 1 want to remark just here that the equal of the pxpainare English or American woman ki Europe is not to lie found anywhere for sheer, rank, bitter gossip. I've seen old women at it all the way from Narragansett Pier to Colorado Springs inclusive, and I te'l you th.e crude, uncultured, dyed-in-the-wool American gossip is a beginner at it alongside of her European or European ised sister. They were a characteristic lot, that group. There was old Mrs. KingClark, who hadn't been back to "the States'" in twenty-five years; there was old Lady Jackson, whoso motives for avoiding England were always open to the public—in Her absence; and there was Madame Le Moine, who lived 'n an old chateau for style and took her meals at the hotel for economy. Thevi there were two or three travelling American women that had "caught tho manner" to perfection. When I heard these last ones talking, J thanked God Marv and the girls w.ere at Lake Placid.

Presently they got on the subject of Mrs. Greyson. Strange to say. ' ev a'l had a good word tor her. Th.v agreed she had great charm—that, u:s it, "du cliarme" —and her gamy at bridge was wonderful.' " "But isn't it appalling to hear Ler speak of her German nationality?" Mrs. King-Clark says. "It's so bald, the way she says, 'My German birth is mv misfortune.' "

"Well, of course it is, now isn't it?" contributes Lady Jackson. "Mais, madame," cries Madame Lo Moine. "Mais, certainement. But to speak thus of her own race—it is horrecble I"

1 think it is," remarks a little Philadelphia woman. "I've never before heard any woma.n that I respected speak like that of her own country and her own people." " Well, you know," says the Englishwoman, "she married Grey son when she was very young, poor dear —only seventeen, I'm told—and she's lived very much in England since, so. of course, she's grown to love our country. Her two sorts were born there, you know, and they're both in our army."

"I don't know about her loving England," Mrs. Ki.ig-Clark says, "but I do know she hates Germany. And to hear a woman with a strong German accent like hers say that "

"C'est piquante," says the Frenchwoman.

So they all agreed it was piquant, and for a wonder they let it go at that.

After lunch next day, J talked to Mrs. Greyson, en the terrace, purposely. In about fifteen minutes, prejudiced against her as I was, 1 fell for that "charm."

I think it- was her eyes that got you first. They were dark grey, and very sad; yet sometimes they sparkled with fun, and sometimes they were piercing. She had rathef heavy eyebrows, and when she'd draw them together and talk earnestly in German, or French, or English (it never seemed to matter to her which), she made me think of some stern old general whose picture I'd seen somewhere. Next minute I'd think of my own mother. Becauso, for all her beautiful dignity, Mr.-,. Greyson was a woman you always wanted to tell things to, somehow. Of course, I didn't see all this t'a a few minutes' talk. We didn't talk war, strangely enough. She said it was a terrible sub. jeet for her, as 1 could doubtless understand. J said yes, of course; lier -ympatluw were divided. ".Not at all," »aid she, her brows pulling together. " They are entir-r-ely on the side of England. And her German accent rolled out strongly. She picked up the July number of one of the big America-.! monthlies from a table, and began to talk about a story in it. 1 found she read all our niagazin.s a- well as the foreign one*. Ju-t then her husband came up, roatIrs- as usual, and they started laugning and chaffing each other, the best friends in the world. " I end n ,e your parasol, Hildagarde," he said eoaxingly. "Aid for what!*" she asked. " .Mrs. King-Clark i- going to throw me :i l';iucbnitz novel out of her wind'tv, two «tnrio- aove here,' he explain",| t ".ind I v.ant the parasol to catch it in." " Meeimm !" she say-. "1 am to yen my para-ol f> r sueu clanil -.-t mi- communication;* And 1 know well m will hold a note maki'ig ivndexVoU 'J I;.- women ovei there talk that way. you I,now. wlv.'ii thev mean nothing at all by it. "Oh, v. 11!" Li- laughs b;uk. "we nil in tak • our cliaiice, you ! know !" And lie take- the parasol and j Te • following day [ wf.nl over to j Bern - :i - usual. In tif ai'ternoon I :\as heading for ! the railioud -tatio! to go back to the j hi t •!, when I ran into a crowd in front j of the llerner-Hni. Hot It side- of the slre.'t were jammed. and ihroeuh the j maldle mar-led Sni-- .-oldie!s, regi- j it:ant al'ler regiment, going out t-• j guard ihe frontiers. I'amh pi-yi il and flags waved. And lb" !!■ .i ; TI eir el l ey had just b!e ■ • d tag:,! and prayed over them in tl- big .-i|i:fi'c. and thev farmers, nod mountain' <t-\ ami hotel ivants, and Sij.iji ki-. r.er- walked as if thev'd l>r>on

And there wasn't even a cheer from the watching crowd, nnnd you —just breathless silene. I saw Mrs. Greyson standing alone a fey yards away, a.id I was gojng to join her, when I saw her face. She was looking at the soldiers .with a fearful, hopeless longing in her eyes that even th<> tears running down her cheeks couldn't make any more tragi-. I slipped away, for fear she might see me.

Next day Mrs. Grey son was just .is usual. She organised the women at our hotel into a sewing society to pew for the Swiss soldiers—"thus adding, one fresh young thing of forty remarked. "to the horrors of war." Greyson, we heard, was leaving for England as soon as the first train would go through, and his wife would start a little later. Meanwhile he dawdled around, generally flirting with the girl from Baltimore. His wife never seemed to see it. She was charming to the girl and delightful with tlw girl's aunt, supposed to be c-hap.ero-.i----ing her: but she never had much time to spend with any one person. The women presently had a knitting class too that she had engineered, and sometimes some of them coaxed her to go out for a little trip on the lake. Every night she played cards. ] asked her husband, one eveuing about his going to England. "1 can't stand it here, you know, he said. " I've got to do something tor the old country. If they on't take mo for active service, I'll go for some clerical dutv. I've got a cousin in the War Offie . He was rcd-faceO and loud-voiced that evening, and his wife looked up from her cards when she heard him. Theu he went out on the terrace, and the next minute, through the open window, 1 heard the Baltimore girl

giggle:— "You certainly are most amusing. Mr. Grey-son!" One day the word came through to the Americans and (English, "Move on." Somehow it got past the rigid French censoring that Liege was down, Naniur was down, and anybody who wanted to move out of Switzerland had better start—or stay all winter. The frontiers would be open for the passage of trains a few days only, we were told. My colleagues on the Citizen's Committee at Berne lit out the first thing, but I stayed a day or two after the general move began. I was going through Germany to Holland, via Basle.

Givyson got ready to leave at once for England. It wasn't at all certain, he said, but that he might go direct t,. the front, where his two sons were. Well, those two people had queer ways. You'd have thought they'd have a few things to talk over, about then. Not much. All his last evening Mrs. Greyson played cards in the red salon, and h.er husband sat jn a game in the white room, across tiio hall. When 1

wc.it up-lair« to my rooms at eleven, Greysou was sitting in the lobby talking to the girl from Baltimore, and Mrs. Grey son was nowhere about.

He was gone next morning, before 1 was up.

in the two mails that had con.': through from England a couple of day? before, I'd had a letter from a friend in London, begging mo to fish nis daughter out of a boarding-school a! Lausanne and start her, suitably companioned, for Folkestone, where he'd meet her. So I changed my plans a little and left foi Lausanne about three days after Greyson started for London.

I foifcu! the school much in the shape that a h,en-coop is in when a few hawks fly low over it. Such n running about and squawking! My friend's daughter had already left, However, chaperoned by one of the French teacher-. ] telegraphed him, and then, finding myself of some use to the bunch tTiere, staved in Lau.-aane a day or two.

Tho German girl- were badly scared. They w,orc as much afraid of the French-Siviss as of the Frenchmen though as a matter ot fact they weren't in much danger irom either. 1 helped a crowd of ",om get tliemsehfs started off with their passports and their money and such, an I received their thanks and blessings at th.e station as though I d really earned 'em.

One exritaMe kid of fourteen kissed my hand and insisted on giving me bor father's card, swearing me in to 'ot them know if I. ever got within ten mile-' of Cologne, where they lived. He was an army officer, of course. I ate: on that card Well, that .is aiterward. I had som,e buMne-s at Geneva -tii" banks were all reopened by this time —and I stayed to see theAmeri ■ tn consul, finally starting lor liasle weighed down with permits to enter Germany, and passport- to get out of Holland. When I hit Cologne one beautiful Augu-t tnot'.iing, 1 tell you it looked different from what it had two month 1 - Uolot'e. Then, they'd been eus-iiig the rainy weather that had made things so ouiet.

Tliov'd no reason to complain on that score now. Americans wore tearing through tlie city in trunk-laden taxi-: Americans were pmunii.ig up the em-l»ai-it-i, tli.' banks, ami the railroad stations. Tlie French and I'.nglish were heating it rii'ht and left - if they lould: tionnnn soldiers everywhere you ! urin-il; and there .whs a now .-py excitement everv live minute-.

Things were humming i'ri that an' i 'lit Rhine city, hi lyre me. [ had iii. dinner in the restaurant a! the Kolner-llof, and I was heading up toward my room, when I ran plump into (1 rev-on. "For heaven-' sake. v. hat are you doing lior,»?" I asked him. "M tho'ighi. vou'd -tal ted l"i

I had go.iso enough to stop, oven before he raised his hand. English popularity was what yon might call at a heavy (lis-ouiit in that n. ighbourhood jusi then. Besides, there wore two German oflieers at a table not two fe°t aw a v.

"Come on up to my room and smokn a cigar," I invited. But he hung baek. In fact, be nearIv got a war from mo. but I wouldn't let him. Ito'd been havinglds allowance. of that strong Rmno wine, and 1 honesMv wa- afi-i'd for him. from

what I knew of his little ways of talking after dinner. 1 liked the fellow. 1 had a room on the third floor, with a big bay-windowed alcove in it that was as good as a second room—all fitted up separately with a red plush sofa and chairs around a walnut table with a gosh-awful red plush mat 'it the centre and a book with "Views of the Cathedral" exactly in the middle of that. The left window gave on to St. Ursula's Church; in front- was the railway station across the big Platz, and to the right was one corner of the Cathedral. Grcyson went to the middle window and looked out at the railroad station for a minute. Then lie turned to me and smiled.

"There are two ways of escape," he said, "but f've takfn the shorter."

" It would have been a long sight quicker and safer to go through France, you darn fool!' 1 said, somewhat excitedly. "Whatever possessed you to come through this country?" fie smiled again. "You don't undor-tand," he said.

"When life is intolerable, one thinks of escape, and 1 know two ways. This was ouicker." "You don't mean to say you deliberately came here to get into trouble?" I asked. "No," says he; "to leave it. Sit down, won't yon? I was thinking I'd like to talk a hit to somebody. It's my last night, you see." 1 sat down; I felt as if 1 were hypnotised.

He leaned back on the red plush sofa, legs crossed, eves on the Cathedra'.

"Did you ever read Dante's 'lnferno 'i lie asked abruptly. "No! ' I snapped. "1 haven't much taste for classics, particularly when written in a language I can't read. What've they got to do with the present- complications?" He diii.i' t seem to hear me.

Iho lijnth circle the lowermostdepth of Dante's hell," he said—"was the frozen one. Anil I've lived there for nineteen years. All-ton. it's nineteen years since the woman I love gave mo a word or a look of affection; -and it's my own fault. Do you wonaoi 1 m glad it'll be over soon?" " But " 1 began.

When you're very young," he said

" two passions tear you—amV.tion and love. I sacrificed my love to my ambition, and then I lost my ambition through love. It's just. I'don't complain, but I'll die, thank Gol. " For the last time," I said, ' and for heaven's sake, will you tell me what you're getting at?" He smiled.

" Listen,'" he said. "I have l elonged to the English Secret Service for the last twenty-five years, and for twentyfour of those years T have boon tho husband of a high-born Gernri'i woman wlio.se country was her pass;on Now do you know?"

" Do you mean to say " I began

"You Amerii ans don't understand these things," he said. "Road Pudyard Kipling's 'Kim': lead Badcc-T'owell's memoirs. Every European government holds its Secret Service as most import, ant —• and honourable, mark you. Europe has slept like an armel camp—with her guns l'eady to her hand--for forty years. Naturally, tho governments watch each other day and night. Someone must do the watching, you lo.iow. And they can't employ i tupid agents, either." Ho raised his head with sj—o pride, and a sort of voutli came back into his fji-e.

1 was determined at twenty to dis-

tinguish niyse'fj" he said slowly. "My family had never owned an obscure man---and, with on" connections, it was easy for nio to get a goo 1 po-t-, W!it'll tlie Service sent me to Dresden the first time, 1 met Hildognrdo. She was seventeen t;icn." Ho clenched his hands tight, as if to resist something. "'A man would have given his life lo get her. And 1 did. She married ine knowing nothing except that I had a post at'tho embassy. Iter family were as proud as mine, and she the proudest and most patriotic or all. She adored her country, and at Miat time she adored me.*' For a,i instant he paused is if something choked him. . "Whether she would have married me at all if I had told her, 1 can't tell. Perhaps—we were so much jti love. After all, you know, our two countries were at peace. But she found it all out later.—after t v second bov was born, —and that she couldn forgive. I can't blame her, you spp. Deception weighs heavy on a woman of her tvpe. And then, in a way, I d made use of her family's influence It wasn't playing the game, was .t. hven m London, they told mo so. 1d no need to havo done that." 1 hold niv breath now, for fear 1 u interrupt him.

" When she found out," lie said wearilv, "it was (>iio of the conditions tdio n'iiuK' with mo-else she would kill herself and the boys, sue sanl—tliat I should never restrain her from anything she would choose to say (or do) aboiit her country. You've 1 ; ard her toll people she hated it. _ She cut off every hit of conuiiuaioation with hei family-she made it all seem natural: there was a little quarrel here, a little misunderstanding there, and soon they said 1 had weaned her from them. Of course, thev lulled me for it. Consequently, whenever we came hack to (ierinany, she neve: - met any ot tliem. She wished it so. ''Sl?.'. made me put the liovs m uio English army, 'At least. - she said, •they'll fight in the open.' The lads have never known anything. • The third condition—-well, _ we've cone ahout together and sei s pietended she wa< my happy wife. 1 oor

-Hut .nu gave up your work?'' I a l--d. Ho wont on as if I hadn t spokv.i : -or course. it killod my career, all this. The lirst tiling 1 began doing v.-as to run after vomon. Hy degrees I got into tin- way of drinking a bit—and a man who talks N of no u-e to the Secret Service. I. was given less and lc-s important mission*. onion are strange. I think she actually resented that. She used to stop me - you \c M-en her do it —wlu-n I might be goins to sav what would be unwise, long :I tti-r they had ceased giving me anj real work to do." . "I remember, 1 said, thinking <<- some of the tilings I'd Seen. •• And still 1 call you to w i:ne--. )■;" well! oil. "that the Service it> i 1 a fair and a right thing. Genre ny a wonderful one. So has •'' France. In pea. e, it < I I.? oth. r safeguard against _ thy (if t I'Ollllli 1 - ' nil 1 J S 1 ' ' thins: you ea'.i do, because it :ue.un death on the minute—" There came a knock at the a >f;f. " Soitv," ho said, as quietly as if we were talking anhitoeti.ro. " knew they were on my track, but 1 thou Jit I'd some hours yet. 1 called " ll.Toia . and in came th< two German ollicevs we'd =(>"„ downstairs. Four soldiers were .standing just outside in the shadow. Wo both stood up. . "What is it voinvhl,' 1 f i rev son sai,l He was standing very stiaight. 'The older officer took a note-book from his pocket. , ~ '■We seek, he said, "d v. n >

son, fifty years of age, of the English Secret Service, resident in London, married in 189- to Hildegarde von Luttichau —"

"Stop!" said Greyson. "I am the nis.i you want. Will you do me the favour t hasten matters?"

"ilit Yergnugen, said th.e officer grimly. "And this gentleman—"

"Is American," Greyson. He was handcuffed by this time. ".An hotel acquaintance. He knows nothing." "That is for him to prove,' said the officer. " Yorwaorts!"

And they turned Greyson around. It was a square they made, with him in the middle. 1 was »iek all over.

'■ lell my wile —" he began, to me. But the nearest private clapped a hand over his mouth.

"I'll tell her. Good-bye, old man!" I yelled, .hist at the minute. 1 didn't care what risks I took. He went out with them, his head high. From the door he smiled at me. Then it closed alter him

Greyson was shot within the next hour, and 1 confidently expected to follow suit. The Germans searched me to the skin. And. notwithstanding al! the pas-ports and permits anl even a letter from Bryan they found on me, f think they'd have held me for a month or so on suspicion w lile they thought it over; but the commanding officer found hi- own visiting card in my luggage—h<> being the faaicr, as it happened, of the fourteen-year-old school girl 1 had packed from Lausanne. After that I figured I'd have to work hard to dodge the Iron Cross. But he contented himself with sending nu> to the Dutch frontier in us motoicar, accompanied by a young Jieut< nant i.i white gloves—and, of course, a bunch of flowers. There was a Dutch steamer sailing n n xt day from the Hook, anil 1 went over on it to Harwich and so up to London. Grevsoit s name was m

" Burke's"—that is. his real 11. me was. I went to his mother's town house, where 1 counted on finding his wife by this time.

She was there right enough, but she scut word she couldn't see any one. I wrote oil my card, "I have a message for you from vour husband," and sent it up by the footman. When she came down into the big hall where I stood, she didn t waste any words in greeting. She came up to me with : " You have s'ee.i my husband

I didn't look at her. "For the last time on earth, madam, I said. "He died day before vesterday."

The groat room was silent. Some\vhor<> a clock ticked loudly. '•Where?" she said, ror . v 'mv"ln Germany," I answered her. "Germany!" she repeat? J. "He started for England " She r-topped, and 1 saw understanding come into her face. " Bravely?" bhe asked me. Just that one word. " Very," I slid. "1 think he wanted rao to come and tell you so.' '• He was the husband of my youth,'" she almost whispered. ''The inly man T ever loved with all my heart. And I thank God he is dead." J stood in front of her, s 'on!.. sno had caught hold of the am of a l:g carved eliair, and prcsen 'y M e sat down in it, still very straight. She hadn't a tear in her ey\ "Ho told you much?" she a-k.ed mc —"about liimse'f —about us two—-

about his career."' •• 1 think he told me everything, said ''lt was not a time to hold tilings hack. And I ihought perhaps lie wanted mc to say to you how hitterly he had regretted certain things." '•.tnd I-" she said suddenly wo vou suppose. t have no regretsr She stood up, holding on to the aim of her chair. _ . , " Listen to me," she said. Anil then go—take ship quickly for your own land, where these things do not happen. When 1 *ns seventeen I catered the Secret service oi the German "ily God!" I said. And 1 coulun t get out another -word. *'lt scorned to mo men a noole way to serve my helo'ved land, and all my i'ami'.v were in that Service But I could not remain in it after I married mv husband—l could not! lor two years f lived in horror. Then I demanded and gained my release. It cost „,o my family's love and all my friends'. When he told me his story, I thought I should go mad. It lay between i.K all those years-ami he never know. T made my sons—mine. and 1 was Hildognrdo von i<utticliau •- into r,iic\ish soldiers a> atonement for u" two. And 1 have suffered for us both —for us both thank God! She swayed a little, and 1 thought she was going to fault; but she straightened herself and stood there looking at mc with these big, 'VNondetf,,l K;id eves. And they rse.emed to iuc sweet and' motherly too. I arms of her soul were maybe aiouml his poor soul bomewhere protecting \ , comforting it. r: " Good-bye," she said. ; T hai.k >°u. That's all the story.—C hire 1 . 1 eole. in tho Boston Post "Sunday Magazine."