The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 24 July 1913, Page 5

The Storyteller

ANNhTTfi .. It was in a little French tea-room, off Fourth Avenue, where New York's fashionable shoppers are accustomed to linger over a cup of tea or chocolate, that I had first met Annette, a little French girl, with big black and very lustrous eyes. I had just been to the dressmaker's to have a fitting, and had dropped in for a moment's rest and refreshment. The very fact of being in the place was refreshing. With its-little red lamps, its hanging baskets of wistaria, and its dainty pictures, it was for all • the world like the little shops m Paris. I found Annette quite alone, " and after taking my order, we fell to 'talking—l forget now just how—about herself, and before I had left we had become so friendly that I was always glad "when I found myself in the neighborhood of the tea-reom, in order that I might see and talk to Annette. .. . _ Some three years after our first meeting I was equally surprised, and delighted on entering the establishment to find Annette, no longer the little French girl, but now a beautiful young woman, elegantly gowned, sitting, at one of the little tables, under an exquisite Oriental lamp. It was the first time that I had seen her since the wedding—hers— you cannot imagine how glad we were to have a little tete-a-tete m this quiet, I might say romantic, spot; for when my story is finished you will quite agree that the adjective romantic' is very aptly applied. After some conversation she related to me the following about herself and Billie, who, by the way, is my nephew: _ I had been here about six or eight months as waitress when I first met Mr. Bartlett, and after that I saw him almost every day for as many months more. From the first moment I saw him I liked him. I shall never forget the way in which he was dressed on that day. He wore a light gray suit, a soft silk shirt, with a turn-down collar, and such a beautiful soft lavender tie, and right at the bottom were the initials ( W.B.' in monogram. I wondered who had worked them on so nicely for him. You may think it strange that J should note all these details, but you know I have always been fond of dress and nice things, and always admire them, and we have so very few men come in here wearing soft shirts and soft collars that I was particularly observant. He selected this table, the very' table we are at now, under this Oriental lamp, .and as long as

he had been coming in I have never seen him at' another. ' r'-;:., .;;^:; ( u :^ r _ r ;.-. .•• ; -. ~'. ,0,; ~>

He never spoke, except to give his order, and "then with what a beautiful accent.".. Sometimes he used French, and more often English, : but he . spoke both so beautifully. that for a long time 1 wondered whether he was French or English. When he was finished I always brought him the matches, and he would - light his cigar--and they were, like him, good; ; for though the gentlemen who came in always, smoked good cigars, I never liked them; but Mr. Bartlett's I liked. Then he would slip a coin under the saucer for me and go out. •'.- ; ;,.'■ . . ;/ , , .?

. Several times I felt myself impelled to run to the window to see in which direction he had gone, but/it did not seem proper for me to do it, so I curbed my curiosity. " ._. - , .-- ■ . . - '., .-•■ - •:■;. '-.> After he was gone I always "found myself thinking of him and wondering who he was, and try as I would, I could not put him out of my mind. ' Often I wished he would say something. to me. I did not particularly care what— just loved to hear his voice, it was so musical, so sweet, and if he would only look up at me through those large, brown eyes, I felt better for it the whole day. Thus things went on for some time. One day he failed to come in. I cannot describe to you how I felt; Although we had not exchanged a single word other than giving of the order, I felt an indescribable longing to see him, if it were only to see him passing the street. ', I worried for him. % Was he sick? Had he gone away never to return? ; These were some of the possibilities that occurred r to : me. That night I could not sleep. Mother noticed it and wondered. Ah, ma -mere, this was the first and only thing that I had ever kept from you. But the idea was sofoolish that-I simply could not tell her—she would only laugh' and scold. ' • c • Next day as the hands on the little gilt clock neared four, I went to the window, and just as I looked out, there I spied him coming towards the door. On his arm leaned a tall, beautifully gowned woman, about his own age, with a face so beautiful that although in my foolish conceit I considered her my rival, I could not but like her. Her skin was of that peculiar, soft tint bred only on the farm and in the convent, and in her carriage there was a something that was suggestive of the swan.

As they entered she turned to him and smiled,' and he led her to his ; table. I would have given anything to have exchanged places with her at that moment. » - After I had taken their order I stood over in the shadow and watched them. They were chatting like two children. I just loved her to make him smile, for every time that he smiled I caught a glimpse of two rows of the whitest teeth that I have ever seen. Suddenly she caught sight of the monogram at the bottom of his tie. She leaned over the table and took it between her fingers, so delicately, so daintily; -. :'. 'Oh, Billie,' she exclaimed, '.' how beautiful'that is!' She lifted the end of. the tie,, and letting' it fall, between her long white fingers, she ; examined it critically. - .'.;-'• >■*.• *-«

'That is beautiful, Billie!' she-exclaimed. That name ' Billie ' rang through me. ; She'- pronounced it so sweetly, so languidly, lingering on the liquid, l's. I would have loved to have disliked her for her familiarity, but could not. While I busied myself about the table opposite, I noticed that they were watching me, and I felt that their conversation was about me; why,' I . could .not say, I just felt it, sort of mental telepathy, no doubt. I ran to the window after they went, out, .to see in what direction they had gone, and saw-them enter the .little church a few doors below on the other side of the street. ' ... .::",/ ■■■;■■. --.' j-ov ■.:-—■ .. « The following evening when he came in he appeared rather strange. Several times .I thought he was about to speak to me, .but each time. I was disappointed. Finally when I brought him the matches-, for his cigar he looked me full in the face. ■ ■ '

'Might I ask your name?' he inquired. You might,' I replied; V'V ' ', ~f:

-"- l Will you tell me if I ask?' he, smiled. ■ : . \ 'Try,' I said. . ~ ~- ' ■■ ' '-. .He tried, and I told him. v •.-■"/.":. ' Mine is Bartlett,' he informed me. C>>S 'There was a, moment's silence; he seemed to be preoccupied. -Finally he said, and I think I detected a tinge of sadness in -■■ his tone: , , '.,,.". ' You remind me of someone, Miss Lang, andl could not resist the temptation to ask you your name.'. This seemed to end the conversation. . - -■•• >.v-' That evening after we had closed up I stopped in at the little church, and there, to my surprise, he : sat in the front pew looking up through those large, brown eyes at the statue of the Madonna. ..». -, ~ ; ~ For several months after this I did not see anything of him. Someone told me that he had gone on a business trip. , • V> . ® : . A short time after this my mother died, leaving me alone in the city. It was then that I received a letter from my uncle, my mother's brother, who lived in northern Canada, asking me to come and stay with him. t

I thought the matter over and after making all preparations I left the city and joined him. He had three sons, all big, brawny fellows, who would remind one of the men pictured in the early Greek paintings. They were so different from the pampered men that I had been accustomed to that at first, I will confess, I was a trifle afraid of them, they seemed so big, so powerful; but we soon came to know each other and became very good friends.

They lived in the centre of a large lumber district, in which they had invested all the money that they had earned during the twenty years spent in the country, and had just sold the lumber on this tract to a large New York corporation for a fairly good price and with the understanding that they were to be employed in cutting and floating the lumber. There was no question as to when the money should be paid, as the corporation was a reliable one and had had a number of. transactions with the neighbors of Dubawnt this was my uncle's nameall of which had turned out satisfactorily. Then they had plenty of provisions, and not having any need of the money at the time, thought it would be more secure with the company than in their cabin.

Gradually winter drew on, and with it came a decrease in the provisions. Then for the first time they felt the need of money. Dubawnt asked the superintendent of the company's lumber camp for a portion of the money. He was put off from time to time, until finally their need became so great that he demanded it, and was unconcernedly told by the superintendent' that they did not have trie money on hand and that he would have to wait till they got good and ready to pay him. At this Dubawnt forbade the company's men to enter his premises for the purpose of cutting lumber, and also forbade them to float a single log over the dam next his house. At first they refused to take him seriously, and the next morning sent their men to cut the timber as usual. The first man had no sooner broken the bark, however, than he was shot dead. Then followed an affair with the sheriff, in which Dubawnt's youngest son was killed. From this on he was considered an outlaw, having sworn that the first man from that thieving lumber company that he set his eyes on would be a dead one. They had pushed him now —they had forced him to it. They had refused to give him money with which to buy food to live. Now it was too late for explanationsit was fight.

The superintendent had immediately sent word to the junior member of the firm, who had charge of the Canadian division, telling him of the action taken by Dubawnt and requesting him to enlist the services of the Canadian police, as their work was tied up bejcause of the siege at the dam. On receiving this notice Mr. William Bartlett, junior member of the firm of the Cartwrite and Bartlett Lumber Co., looked up the claim, and finding that the money was long since due, immediately set out for Canada with the intention of adjusting the. claim as well as to attend to some other business he had in the vicinity.

Arriving at the station : of Laterneau, he found the country in the throes of a terrible blizzard. "He was the only passenger to leave the train at that station, and was .advised by the station agent to wait till the t : : storm had somewhat abated before starting out for the camp. -' ' How long will that be asked Bartlett. '•'-'- \ i . Don't know/ was the answer, 'Maybe, a week, •maybe two,; maybe three. One can never tell in this here country by the start, what the finish is going to be.' 'Can I get anybody around here to drive me' out to the lumber camp?' ' \ No, sir you could not get a man within three miles, and you could not get a man to drive you 3 out there, anywhere. Not if he knows anything.' J a^S Bartlett remained silent for a while, tapping the floor of the station thoughtfully with his booted foot. Finally he looked up at the agent. '' How far is the camp from .here?' he asked. : 'About five miles,' came the answer. "; . Got a good horse and sleigh.?' \\v- ' . Yes, sir; but I would not let them out in this

weather. They would be as good as gone.' • .■ 'Who carries the most freight over this railroad ? J asked the young man. " :t The Cartwrite and Bartlett Lumber Company,' answered the agent somewhat puzzled, not seeing what relation that question had -to ■ the matter ■■; they were discussing. %'•-- ■-"-■>-'■ ."-.•■•:-.''•-■'"•'■>•- '' : - 3 and watching the result of; this information on the man before him. The station agent took the black pipe from between his teeth and looked at him for some moments. ' I guess yer can take the sleigh,' he, finally said, ' but I would not venture out in any such weather if I wuz you.'i ~" v, Bartlett insisted that it was necessary for him to get out to the camp at; once, and at last the horse was hitched and he started out. ; . ;:-.';„ * ;i

Just keep in a straight line, and give the horse his head, and whatever you do, don't run against Dubawnt, for. if you outlive the blizzard,. you will never outlive him 'after one meeting:' 'This was the old man's parting word. - . « - t*--..■:---*--> "- : From here on I will continue the story as I have it from Annette, William, and eyewitnesses. For about an hour he drove on, the wind and snow beating in his face. The horse was a good one, but the weather was bad. Bartlett thought he had never been so cold in his life, although this was not the first time. that he had been out in a Canadian blizzard. Gradually the horse began to show signs of weakness. His head bent, his legs lagged. For another half hour he trudged along. The man in the sleigh could see nothing but dark, murky snow, could hear nothing but the whistling of the wind. Suddenly ah overpowering fear took possession of him. Was the horse on the right road? He had surely covered five miles. It was getting so very cold. In spite of his heavy gloves, his fingers had long, since become numb. The horse now bepan to limp,-and after going a short distance further, fell exhausted. Bartlett jumped'out of the sleigh and tried to tug him to his feet; but it was useless, worse than useless. The horse was done. He looked around him, but could see nothing, nothing but snow. He helloed, but there was no response. He thought of returning, and in fact had already started back, but discovered that his tracks were entirely covered with snow. There was only one thing to do—to stick to the horse. He might recover. It was a long chance, but it was his only chance, and he held to it as a drowning man clings to a plank in the middle, of the ocean. He was beginning to feel weak now, very, weak. He Ijiad eaten nothing since morning. He had walked up and down in the small space grounding the sleigh in an effort to keep up the circulation, then, finally exhausted and half stupid with the cold, wrapped himself in the blankets, .and throwing,,the foot-robe on the snow beside the warm, panting body r of the horse, he waited. If he must die, he would die at least, warm, he thought, in his stupid, semi-conscious-ness. Every few minutes he set up a hello, each weaker than tiie last. Suddenly he became numb. A chill,

icy hand seemed to grasp his heart, and with a little muttered prayer, he ieii back against the body of Ins horse, -as one dead, He was still, motionless— could hear nothing, see nothing, for a long, long time. Then he felt a sense of being lifted and jostled. Gradually that "chill, icy hand seemed to loosen its grip on his heart, He was feeling warmer now. His senses were returning. ; He wanted to sleep. Suddenly he came to himself, but the effort v of opening his eyes seemed too much. He was not cold now, that was all; nothing else mattered. He heard, as in a distance, a man's voice saying: 'He'll come out all right, now, mais, he must have nourishment, and plenty of heat. I'm going to bed now. Bonne nuit, cherie.'

' Bonnie nuit,' came the answer in a sweet, musical voice, that seemed very near him. It startled him. He opened Jus, eyes • slowly and with great effort, and looked up'into the face bent close to his. * He could not distinguish it in the dim light cast by the shaded lamp in the corner; but that voice, he knew that, ;he had heard that before. He was too exhausted to try to think where. He closed his eyes wearily, and permitted his head to fall back gently. The effort had been too much for him.

After what seemed to him to be a very long time he again felt his head raised, and then someting warm, very warm, was pressed to his lips. He looked up suddenly and found himself sitting on a couch, supported in an upright ' position by a young girl, with very black lustrous eyes, who was endeavoring with one hand to hold him up and with the other to keep a bowl of hot broth to his lips. He looked up at her, into those big, black eyes. 'Miss Lang!' he exclaimed. ' Hush,' she whispered, ' don't let them hear you.' He straightened himself. Who he asked.

' My uncle Dubawnt,' she whispered, bending close to him. 'He has sworn to kill the first man from the lumber camp that he meets. I did not know you were the Mr. Bartlett of the lumber company till they brought you in. They think you are a traveller. Please don't let them know who you are, for they will surely kill you.' ' Dubawnt kill me!' he exclaimed. ' Why kill me? I have come up here to adjust that claim of his. Are things really as bad as that? How is it that you are here You don't mean to tell me that Dubawnt is your uncle?'

These and a great many other questions followed in rapid succession. For fully an hour they. sat there talking, each as surprised as the other at their unexpected and strange meeting. Their conversation was suddenly disturbed by the deep, solemn boom of the clock in the corner, which announced that it was midnight. 'You must sleep now,' she whispered. 'lt is getting late.' She put her arm across his shoulders and helped him to a reclining posture. Miss Lang,' he whispered. 'Do you think I will be able to go out to the camp to-morrow?' She smiled. 'lt is to-morrow now; why it is nearly 1 o'clock.' He put out his hand to detain her. To-day, I mean,' he smiled, 'When it gets daylight.' b •> 'lt's snowing too hard,' she answered, 'you must not be caught in any more blizzards. I shudder when I think what might happen if uncle had not gone out when he heard your cries yesterday. At first he thought it was one of the men from the camp, or maybe the police were trying' to get him out in order to arrest him, but though he is big as a giant, he cannot see anyone suffer, his heart is as big as himself—and bigger,' she added, giving the pillow a final pat. ' You just don't let him know who you are for a while and perhaps everything will turn out all right. Good night,' she said, then suddenly: ' Ah, I forgot that you speak French. Bonne rtuit, monsieur, et bon sommeil.'

' Bonne nuit.' She was about to leave him. ' Miss Lang,' he called. She returned. He reached out and took her hand. He looked at her abstractedly for some

minutes, then he said: 'Quand vous priez ce soir, pensez a celle dont vous me rappelez.' •' Who .looked down at him, and there might have been a gleam of pity in those eyes. .- Oui, monsieur.' ; 'Jo vous remercie,' he said, pressing her hand, 'et priez pour moi.'. " -' Next morning he awoke with a start, having beeil dreaming about blizzards, logs, giants, and a number of other things all in one. He was feeling much. better, and thought that if the weather permitted he could make the camp without any trouble. However, he would have liked to adjust that matter with Dubawnt before leaving his house; if for no -other reason, to put Miss Lang's mind at rest. He was wondering how this could be done when he was aroused by a heavy footfall, and a man, something over six feet and proportionately broad, entered the room. ' Bpn matin, monsieur,' was his greeting in a loud voice. 'Comment vous portez-vous ? Mais, I forget you do not speak French. How are you feeling?'. . ' Bartlett assured him that he felt very good, and also that he spoke French, and after a short conversation, that, he had been I *in France but a short time before, and one thing led to another so that by the time breakfast was. ready they were deeply engrossed in conversation. Bartlett's first impression of the man was that he was a man of deep sympathy. It was not till one of the sons made mention of the fact that they thought perhaps he had come from the camp that he had an opportunity to see the other side of Dubawnt's nature. His features immediately hardened, he grew excited, words could not come fast enough for him to express what he thought of them and their thievery. Bartlett listened for some time to invectives poured on - the head of the superintendent, and anyone who had anything to do with a corporation who would willingly and knowingly take from a man the property that represented all the savings of a lifetime, and then see the man practically starve, were it not for the fact that their neighbors took care that they were well provided for. \ ' But look here,' Bartlett broke in, assuring Miss Lang with a look that he would not prolong the conversation on that subject. 'ls it not possible that there is a misunderstanding somewhere? Probably the people in New York do not know of the case at all.'

Dubawnt interrupted. He : seemed to be getting a trifle suspicious. .-;..•■' ./'■".-•''.•" :..'v": •• ' ■ Why, they say over there,' he indicated the direction of the camp, 'that they have sent down to New York to get their people to bring the Canadian police on me. But I tell you, sir,' he brought his fist down on the table. ' They get me dead, see, dead. The first one of them I sees dies. ! They have stolen my land, they have killed my son. The law does nothing to them. But me! I am an outlaw. My sons, they are outlaws; and sir, if they find yon here talking to us, you too are an outlaw. Is it right? Is that what the law is for?'

Bartlett had his answer ready, but. seeing the look of fear in the eyes that were fixed on him appealingly from the other side of the table, he let it die on his lips.

Uncle,' asked the owner of those eyes, 'don't you think Mr. William would be safer at the camp V ' I didn't know your name was William,' said Dubawnt.

' It is,' answered Bartlett.

Well, Mr. William, I do think you would" be safer at the camp, though you would not be. in such good, wholesome company. However, you'll have to stay here for the remainder of the day. The storm is too heavy now to venture out, and after all, I think you are as safe here; for if we cannot get out, neither can they get in.' The greater part of the day was spent in talking, reading (for the average Northwestern lumberman is, as a rule, more educated than we are inclined to think), and in smoking bad tobacco. The subject of the lumber deal was injected every little while, and more than once Bartlett was about to explain to them who he was and what was his purpose in coming from New Ydi'k, but the scowls ahdrthrea'ts of < the three giants

made him realise that he would not stand a show with them,> although something of an athlete, and he did not ; fancy for a moment having the threat of killing the first man from the lumber company that they should meet executed upon him. Another time he might have taken the chance, but now that he had met and grown to like Miss Lang somewhat differently than he loved his neighbor and differently than he" liked even his friends, life held something for him which it had held before. ■-» .---• „- ;■- • » , Finally, when the evening drew on, they all knelt about the statue of Madonna, as is the custom in all the Catholic homes of Canada, for the evening prayer. There were Dubawnt, his two sons, and Miss Lang, Bartlett having been forced to retire early in the afternoon. The prayers were said in French, Dubawnt leading. Their voices rang through the small house. ' Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread,, and forgive us our trespasses, as we—' The men paused suddenly, their faces hard set. Miss Lang's voice, entirely feminine, but with an unmistakable determination, alone continued.

' As we forgive those who—' 'Annette,' interrupted the elder Dubawnt. She paused: Yes, uncle,' she said, a touch of inquiry in her tone.

Annette, don't say that. Don't call down the curse of God upon us.' _ But, uncle, I do forgive those, who trespass against us.' v

' You forgive the murderers of my son ! You forgive the thieves who have stolen my property, my land, who have left me penniless, made me an outlaw You forgive them?' There was a moment of deadly silence. Dubawnt, his face white with hate, was staring almost strangely at the girl. 'Do you forgive them?' he finally asked. The girl's face and voice were full of sweetness. A sweetness born in heaven. ' Uncle,' she asked, with determination, do you remember how, when Christ was dying-on the Cross, He raised His eves to Heaven and prayed for His murderers: "Father,"forgive them, for they know not what they do." He was God. He forgave His murderers. Should we not forgive our enemies also ?' She paused. Dubawnt made no reply. She looked up at him. 'Uncle, can you forgive them? "Unless you forgive every man his brother from his heart, you cannot, enter the Kingdom of Heaven.'" 'Annette,' said Dubawnt, 'leave the room.' She rose and without reply withdrew from the room and went directly to her own. Stolidly the three men repeated the prayer. After the words, 'Forgive us our trespasses,' they paused. They understood the words that followed too well to repeat them unless they forgave their enemies, and yet they had not the moral courage to forgive. Then they continued: 'and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.' It seemed to Annette, who could hear them from her room, that she had never before realised the t full meaning of those words. The night passed slowly for her. She could not sleep. She thought of what would be Bartlett's fate should they discover his identity, and she felt sure that he would declare himself should they put the question directly to him. Hour after hour passed, each longer than the other. She thought of her uncle, her cousins, of their thirst for revenge, and finally, unable to bear it any longer, buried her face in the pillow and gave vent to the tears that were struggling to her eyes. For a long time she wept silently, then came the relief of sleep. b She was awakened in the morning by the biff clock, which had just finished striking six, and, hastily dressing, she left her room and gently knocked at the door beyond which Bartlett lay. 'Do you wish anything?' she whispered. ' I would like a little water,' he answered. Hastily filling the glass she brought it to him.

'The fever seems to be letting up a trifle now/ he said in answer to her inquiry as to how felt. She related to him the events of the 1 preceding, night, of how her uncle had renewed his I threat, and reprimanded her. , ' Bartlett , became very angry, and feeling that he was the cause of Dubawnt's anger, wanted to go to him at once and undeceive him in regard to the f injustice of the lumber company, but she restrained him. ■ •'■ Mr. Bartlett,' she pleased, Jbe patient. In a day or two you can go out to the camp, and then you can send uncle the money and explain how your; superintendent had kept the matter from you, and I-am sure he will understand. Suppose you should tell him and in an angry impulse he would kill you; think of what it would mean to me!' She buried her face in her hands. ~ . . ~,. ,

' Come, come,' he said gently; 'I won't tell him,' She heard her uncle moving about the living-room and stirring the fire. Then there were several moments of silence. ::] ...,._ y Excuse me, Mr. Bartlett,. she said;; and leaving him she went out to the other room, .where, she saw her uncle seated on the long bench before the fireplace, his head in his hands, looking intently at the burning logs. He did not realise that he was not alone till she came over and seated herself beside him. 'He started and looked up at her, then putting his arm gently about her neck, and bending over kissed her gently on the cheek. : Annette,' he said, 'l'm sorry I. spoke to you that way last night. I forgive them, child. They have done me great injustice, but I forgive them. All night I was thinking of what you had said. I could not sleep. I forgive them entirely.' 'Oh, uncle, I'm so glad,', she said, and throwing her arms about his neck she kissed him. She took his big hand between her dainty fingers, and looking up into his eyes, asked: - l ' ' Uncle, what ever made you say you would kill the first man from the lumber company that you met?' He looked at her kindly. .' I was mad with grief, child,' he answered.

'Oh, you wicked uncle,' she said teasingly. ' Now, Bluebeard,' she asked, if Mr. Bartlett himself happened to be in this house right now, what would you do?' . ... J For a moment he thought in silence. 'I don't know what I would do,' he answered slowly. ' But you would not kill him ?' , . 'I would have killed him yesterday,' he answreed earnestly, 'but to-day—no, I forgive them all.' ' Sure she asked with a smile. 'Sure,' came the answer, and it seemed almost solemn. They were interrupted by Bartlett, who had entered the room at the moment. Dubawnt rose and advanced to meet him.

'Bon matin, Mr. William,' he said, 'and how do you feel this morning?' ..J : 'Not Mr. William, uncle,' interrupted Annette, Mr. William Bartlett.' •;•'.• Dubawnt stopped short. His hand instinctively fell to his side as though some force had repulsed it. For fully a- moment he stood there stolidly regarding the other. Then drawing himself to his full height, he extended his hand.; 'Good morning, Mr. William Bartlett/ he said. I m glad to know you.' ' Bartlett took the proffered hand and for what seemed an age they stood face to face, each looking the other full in the eye. Together they relaxed their grasps and Dubawnt turned instinctively to Annette. She read the look of inquiry in his eye. ■ 'Mr. Bartlett and I have known each other for some time. We first met in New York, but you understand that I would not introduce him to a, Bluebeard ' she said, taking both their hands. .-. -.-_... ' Bartlett drew the other man'aside. , 'Mr. Dubawnt,' he said, I'm more than sorry that our company should have given you so much trouble, and I assure you if I had known anything of the matter you should long since have had your money

with interest.' He said a great many other things ; and Dubawnt said some things, too, and when they sat down to breakfast, he had in his pocket a cheque for the full;amount due him with interest to date.

'After breakfast Bartlett and Annette found themselves sitting on the bench' before the big' blazing fire. Somehow or other she found her dainty little hand resting confidently in his and she heard him say: 'Now, Miss Langhe seemed to emphasise the 'Miss'— for some days you've • been calling me "William." Don't you think it time that I should be permitted to call you "Annette"?' She didn't just know how she wanted to answer, but she smiled, blushed, and said: ■■•" 'Yes.' ■

Well, the wedding took place in the "little church a few doors below on the other side of the street,' and after the ceremony they went to France, for both she and Bartlett knew of so many nice places there that they were sure it was just the place for them to spend their honeymoon. ' Billie/ said Annette, after they had been sitting on the deck of the French liner for more than a half hour, looking out over the moonlit ocean, ' some evening next week, when we are walking beneath that romantic grape-arbor you were speaking of, Won't you. tell me all about that girl that came into the tea-room with you?' For a moment he was puzzled, then suddenly recollecting: Why, yes,' he said, ' haven't I told you already?. That is my sister, the sister of whom you reminded me, and she has taken the veil in the convent attached to that little church across the way.' She pressed his hand, and. together they continued looking out over the smooth surface of the ocean. Messenger of the Sacred Heart.