One meat wit he edie Pat iiog otal
[Concluded }
“Pardon me, Robertson,” intervened
Standish, as he saw Grace's last bar
rier break down; “but I advise you to
clear the room before you let her
speak. Three people here already
know the name. I advise you to keep
the number as small as possible.”
“That is our affair, not yours,” re-
torted Mark. “She shall tell us all. In-
side of a few hours the whole country
is going to know that name.”
“Mark,” begged Grace, “let me tell
it to you alone!”
“No,” refused the husband. “It's too
late now to spare any one's feelings
And witnesses are necessary in an af-
fair like this. It concerns us all. And
we must move quickly.”
“Mr. Standish,” he went on with a
savage joy that rent away the last
remnant of the velvet from the iron
beneath. “It's been a long fight. But
you couldn't beat the organization.
You've been howling for a fight to a
fihish. This is the finish.”
“It is the finish,” agreed Standish,
his deep voice infinitely sad. “And
I am sorry for it. I don't think you
need me here any longer, gentlemen.
‘And I will barely have time to reach
ithe capitol before the bill comes to
& vote. Good night.”
He looked furtively at Grace. But
‘she was staring blankly ahead of her
‘with eyes that saw nothing.
“Good night,” he repeated. “I would
‘have spared you, Robertson. But you
‘would have it.”
~~ And he was gone. His words had
‘fallen on deaf ears. The men were
ii
;
Bg
ES
E
gloomy wonder, turn-
;
une
Out
to
i iF
:
I
188;
isis
2
o
d
raised a protesting hand.
“Mark,” he said, flinching not at all
before the bloodshot fury in the hus
leaning forward eagerly to catch
Grace's first syllable.
“And now,” Mark demanded, as his |
wife still hesitated, “who is she, |
Grace?” |
Blake had forestalled her answer.
He crossed the room to the telephone
“We win!” he was chuckling. “It's
a way we've got. Hell's full of losers. '
And I'm still loss-proof.” |
“What are you going to do?” queried |
Van Dyke, who had dropped back in!
his chair a few moments earlier, tak:
ing no longer even a passive part in
the scene. i
“I'm going to phone Gregg to let the
house know the whole story; names,
dates and all. By the time I get on
the wire Grace will have told.” '
“Hold on, Jim,” objected Van Dyke.
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?” What d'ye mean? Why
not? We're almost against the ropes
over there at the capitol. This is our
last punch and it's going to be a
knockout.”
“Wait, Jim!” begged Van Dyke.
“Wait till you hear the name.”
“We've got the name. Grace is go
ing to tell us.”
“You've got it, yes. But you can't
use it, Jim.”
Blake, telephone instrument in hand,
pased to glare down in angry amaze
ment at the saturnine lawyer who so
calmly opposed him in the hour of
victory. |
“Why in blazes can't we use it?” he
blustered. “Are you weakening?”
He took the receiver from the hook.
But Van Dyke, with a peremptory ges
ture, halted him.
“Wait, I say!” ordered the lawyer.
“Nelligan, go downstairs and get rid
of that officer. And don’t come back.”
“Go with him, Tom,” whispered
Wanda. “For my sake. You don't
want to hear the name.”
“You're right,” assented Tom, fol
lowing in Neligan’s wake. “It's nome
of my business. Now that you are
safe—"
The door closed behind the two de
parting men.
“Come, Grace,” prompted Mark
“Who is she?”
Grace's lips paled. But they were
CHAPTER XXI.
Jim Blake, Loser.
And so for an instant they stood. It
was an odd tableau: Grace,
clasped about the unheed.
ing W who did not so as
realize presence nor
And it was Van Dyke who broke the
brief silence. His precise dry voice
bandie little eyes, “we are here as law-
| vers, making an investigation. At last
we have struck the right trail. I am
sorry it leads where it does. I—"
He got no further. At a stride Rob-
ertson was beside his wife. Roughly
brushing aside Wanda's embracing
arms he caught Grace by the shoulder
and held her.
“You hear what this man insinu-
ates?” he cried thickly. “I den't ask
you to foul your lips by denying it.
I'll attend to him later. But give me
the right to do that by telling the
Woman's name at once.”
“Grace!” croaked Blake, his throat
, Gathered Her Into His Arms as
i Though She Were a Baby.
sanded with a horror that he would
not confess, “don’t you. hear what
, on his breast. He had all at once
' grown old—very, very old.
ea oe eevee:
| Robertson had forced his own dazed |
+ weakly for self-control.
brain back into a semblance of its
former strong control.
“Van Dyke,” he said as calmly as if
he were giving a routine order, “you
will have every trace of this story de-
stroyed tonight. It must never get
beyond this room. I can count on
you?
“Certainly,” agreed Van Dyke with
equal coolness.
There was no hint in his voice or
In his manner that Mark's command
entailed the defeat of a bill, the col
lapse of millions of dollars worth of
stocks, a probably panic on Wall
| street and the money interests’ total
| if temporary loss of power in con-
| gress. For the moment, the great
corporation lawyer chanced to be also
a man.
On his way from the room, Van
. Dyke paused beside Blake's chair.
i “Jim,” he said hesitatingly, “I'm go-
| Ing over to the capitol. Shall I tell
Mullins to let the bill come to a
vote?”
“Yes,” answered Blake, without stir-
ring or so much as looking up. °
| “Yes,” he sald again, and his voice
| was dead. “Yes—I'm—I'm licked.”
As Van Dyke opened the dor, Wan-
da made as though to follow him.
“If you don’t need me any further,
, Mr. Blake,” she said gently, “I'll go.”
ae lifted a palsied hand in nega-
“In there,” he muttered, pointing to-
ward the door that led to the inner
rooms. “I must speak to you-—after
ward.”
When the old man raised his eyes,
Mark and Grace alone were left in the
room with him. Robertson was stand-
ing moveless unseeing. Grace's sobs
broke the tense silence, as she fought
Blake crossed
over to her. She rose at his approack.
“Daughter,” sald Blake, almost tim-
idly, “they've all gone. None of them
will tell. But there's one thing we've
got to know. I'm with you, no matter
what you've done. But—but—tell me
—that-—that this was all over and—
and done with—before you married
Mark!”
“Father!”
The Woman faced him in dry-eyed
borror. Every trace of weeping was
seared away by the flame of sudden
indignation. And, at the sight, Jim
Blake gave a great wordless cry and
gathered her into his arms as though
she were a baby.
“Oh, my little girl!” he choked,
“Dad's own, own little girl! We've
been tearing your poor heart to pieces
and your old father was the bitterest
against you. It's all right, I tell you,
girl. It's all right. Dad'll see you
through. You shan't be bothered.
There, there! Oh, don't cry like that,
darling. Don't!”
His voice grew husky. Leaving her
abruptly, he crossed to Robertson.
“Mark,” he faltered, avoiding his
son-in-law's eye, “you promised to pro-
tect her. This is the time to do it. It
was ‘for better, for worse.’ If that
vow is any good at all, it's a good
for ‘worse’ as for ‘better’ Mark—be
gentle with her, boy.”
He seemed about to say more. But,
glancing furtively at Mark's set
changeless face, he forebore.
Slowly, with bent shoulders and
dragging step Blake made his way to
the big room's farthest end. There, in
the window's embrasure, out of ear
shot, his back to the others, he halted.
Drawing aside the curtains he
glanced out into the night. The gloom
of the sleeping city was below and
around him. But, in one black mass,
tiers upon tiers of garish lights
glowed. There, in the capitol, the
Mullins bill was coming to a vote.
There, Matthew Standish, freed by a
miracle from the toils that craftier
men had woven about him, was win-
ning the victory which was to clear
for him the pathway to the very sum-
mit of political power,
But he found his subconscious self
straying from the picture he was so
drawing. His mind would
not fix itself on the lighted capitol and
him. Even his tongue tricked him.
when he would have made it re
cite further the tale of his losses, it
muttered brokenly:
“My own little girl!
own little girl!”
g
Dad's own,
CHAPTER XXII.
The Hour of Reckoning.
Mark Robertson and his wife, left
alone, together, in the other end of
the great library, faced the situation
for which Grace had so long been pre-
and for which her frightened
And, in the end, all he
was:
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
was not what he had intended te
was banal. It expressed none,
that seethed »
say.
of the stark moods
Yet.as she did not answer,
himself asking once more:
didn’t you tell me?”
unknown and unwished
into his bald question
i
|
|
|
|
{
|
i
|
{
|
i
i
“Haven't | Pald? Won't You Say
We're Square?”
would never have forgiven me. You |
know you wouldn't. If I've wronged |
you—"' |
“If you had loved me as a true wom- |
an loves, you would have told me. |
You would have had to. You could not |
have deceived me like this. Love!
doesn’t feed on lies. It was my right
to know everything, so that I could |
decide my own course. Instead, you
have led me into this
no escape now. And it
reproach you or to try
realize what you have done.
your love for me
ing? Believe that, if it
fort to you. I~"
“You say I don't know what true
love is,” she laughed bitterly. I'm
afraid I can never learn it from you.
So your love has died? Love can’t
die, any more than God can die. You
have never loved me.”
Yt
“Never. I see now that you didn’t
For you don't know what love means. |
{Continued on nage 7. CH. 1. |
Medical.
Great Mass of Proof
REPORTS OF 3.000 CASES OF KIDNEY
TROUBLE, SOME OF THEM BELLE.
FONTE CASES.
Each of some 6,000 newspapers of the
United States is publishing from week to
week, names of in its particular
neighbortiood, who have used and recom:
mended s Kidney Pills for kidney
backache, weak kidneys, bladder trou.
bles and urinary disorders. This mass
of proof includes over 30,000 testimonials.
lefonte is no exception. Here is one
of the Belletonte cases.
James H. Rine, W. High St,. Belle-
fonte, Pa., says: 2 's Kidney Pills
are certainly a wonderful kidney remedy.
Ten years ago I first used them and at
that time I told in a public statement of
a
i ve often ui my
friends to try Doan's Kidney Pills and in
here my adyice has been fol
has been had from kidney
r [ hear an com-
of kidi disorders, Y advise a
's K Pills, knowing that
they will have a
effect.
For sale by all dealers. Price 50 cents.
Foster-Milburn Co. lo, New York,
sole agents for the United States.
ber the name—Doan
no other
58.30
Coal and Wood.
A. G. MORRIS, JR.
Shipping and Commission
Merchant, and Dealer in
ANTHRACITE anxp BITUMINOUS
{COALS
CORN EARS, SHELLED CORN, OATS
and other grains,
——) BALED HAY AND STRAW (—
Builders’ and Plasterers’ Sand.
FEDERAL STOCK FOOD.
KINDLING WOOD
by the bunch or cord as may suit purchasers,
respectfully solicits the patronage of his
friends and the public, at his Coal Yard
near the Pennsylvania Passenger Station.
{Commercial 2065. |
$8231v Telephones: {omercial 23
Dry Goods,
Etc.
LYON & COMPANY.
Fall Opening
We are receiving New Fall and
Winter Merchandise in everv de-
partment.
Dress Goods
New Dress Fabrics, exclusive designs, in Cloth
Effects and Brocades in the new Autumn shades.
Silks
A large assortment of new weaves and colors in
Silks, Crepe de chines, Meteors, Brocades, Messalines,
Charmeuse, Poplins, in street and evening shades.
Coats and Suits
An advance showing of “La Vogue” Coats and
Suits.
We extend a cordial invitation to all,
Clearance Sale
of all Summer Goods still on.
Lyon & Co. .... Bellefonte
Yeager's Shoe Store
“FITZ
L7Y »”
The
Ladies’ Shoe
that
Cures Corns
~ Sold only at
Yeager’s Shoe Store,
Bush Arcade Building, BEI LFFONTE, 1A