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RESCUED. we] Boe The reminiscent: feeling was now more than ever strong, more insistent, The old saw failed: for once history was retelling a famillar chapter. All that she was apprehending, emotion- ally or through sensory perception, WAS mere repetition--all this she had known before, Precisely as now had Mario carried her down the stalrs of the burning tenement, Once more Mario lifted her Into a waiting motor-car, shut the door and, as the driver jockeyed a way through the mob, gathered her ten- derly into his arms. . Or was it Leonora to whom these things had one time happened and now were happening again? Was this too a dream? Without one regret she resigned her- self to the dominion of dream: and ability to discriminate between fllusion and actuality lapsed into unlamented abeyance. So with sense of personal- “Dear Wife” was confusion, but it was consequence ; whether Leonora there Streets mean and grim dissolved as road like a tunnel, roofed and walled with leaves whose silhouettes in the painted an earthly green... . Then In the ghostly crepuscle of early dawn their way wound through wilderness hills that reared desolate heads to a wan, cold sky. . . . And the world was aflame with the red blaze of sunrise when she was lifted up, borne across a veranda, through a living room to a bedchamber, and there put down upon a bed. Mario, standing over her, had a face worn and gray with weariness. Near. by a maid walted, a comely creature of middle age whose countenance of kindly cast was blurred with the stu- pidity of slumbers untimely broken. The man instructed this one In a flat, dull volce: “You will undress madame, please, and put her to bed. She will sleep late, I think; she has had a terrible adventure and is quite worn out: but should she awaken before 1 do, tell Hamanaka to call me instantly,” He knelt and pressed his lips to Priscilla’s, to her forehead, her leaden eyelids, her languid hands. “Dear heart of mine” mured . “dear wife . . . He rose. Like one walking In sleep he left the room. CHAPTER TEN The Day of Reckoning. I. THE BUNGALOW. On entering the living room she heard a clock strike. Immediately she paused, counting. Eight chimes died singing In the scented evening hush: but she did not stir, her pose remained that of one arrested sharply In some act of charm- Ing stealth, smo delicately poised in spprehensiveness she seemed scarcely to touch the floor. The room was quiet, dim with shadows, but for her. self untenanted. A slight sound drew her attention. 8he discovered a dining room beyond the living room. Soft-footed, a Japa- nese boy in white linen appeared, ear. rying two candelabra of three hrunches each, and vanished after placing them upon the round dining table, where their rich light foll softly on lustrous napery, burnished silver, an iridescent bowl of cut glacs filled with burning roses. She remarked that there were places sat for two, he mur ” ® Her regard reverted to the living room. She thought it delightful in ev- ery detail of its unpretentious luxury. Riches alone could never have cre ated it. The wood fire ready laid in the fleldstone fireplace would present- ly be grateful; already there was a hint of chill in the aromatic, rare alr of the hills, She moved aimlessly to the middle of the room and paused again. A long breath sighed on her lips. As she turned uneasily toward the veranda a duplication of the gesture made her aware of a mirror on the wall oppo- site. She inspected herself gravely, She had waked up without a shad- ow of doubt upon her understanding; she recalled without a break every link in the chain of events which had brought her to this place; she was acutely conscioum of her anomalous position in this household, profoundly disturbed . . . A remote droning noise crept into the stillness of the evening so gradual ly that she noted it without any as tonishment ; but when, gaining in vol. ume, it became recognizable as the sustained growl of a motorcar rapidly climbing the mountain road, she began to tremble, The car swept swiftly across the far gide of the clearing, swung into the drive that led to the garage. and dis. appeared. The throbbing of its motor was stilled. Impatient footsteps sonnd ed on the gravel walk. Her body was vibrating now reed. Almost the Impulse was strong than her will, to fly refuse to him face fo see or speak How him and How break his heart? And not his alone Running up the steps to the veranda could she waiting In the shadows to her in the name of not reply. Men her attitude at this meeting proved She had meant to gunrd sgainst his arms with a respect, an authority, her and cried out She” could he saw Leonora what should be value and powerless before she could lift a hand or syllable of protest. The his kisses, the murmuring of his voice were overpowering. The quickened tu. mult of her pulses was like the storm ing of a strong surf. him Stunned, quivering, hu miliated, she found that she had some how put him from her. The pained perplexity In his gaze cut like a knife. She turned aside. that she might not sae | . “Forgive me.” he begged. “I have been Inconsiderate, thoughtless, in the Joy of having you restored to me! Forgive" “There is nothing to forgive” she interrupted. “You've done nothing that wasn't right and natural. Only . . Oh! How can I make you understand?" He gave a helpless gesture. “Tell me what you wish me to understand. I will try. 1 love you so , . ." Touched, she sought to smile kindly through her tears. “Give me a mo- ment,” she pieaded tremulous hands busy with the disarray of her hair— “give me a little time, Mario" The mellow booming of a tubular gong sounded. Mario turned impa- tleutly. Bowling and smiling, the Jap- anese boy stood in the entrance to the dining room. “Dinner is served” By a resolute effort she succeeded in composing face and manner. Mario maintained an inquiring attitude, def- erential, puzzied, hurt. Somehow she articulate She loved breathless, contrived to him the more. “Do something for me, Mario . . . “You know you need but ask” “Let us have dinner. I think—I'm sure I'm hungry. And let us not talk during dinner; let's pretend nothing has happened. Afterward, I promise you . , “But it shall be as course I" " you wish-—of Il. THE IMPOSSIBLE. She thought: never was there a meal more difficult, consumed under stranger circumstances in an atmos phere of greater constraint, never had two people broken bread together hav- ing more to say to each other and leaving more uneald, Opposite her, Mario barely tasted the dishes set before him. The care. worn eyes in that dark, ascetic face watched her constantly if covertly. If she looked up from her plate, he dis- sembled studiously, his smile flashed eagerly. She was none the less con- sclous of his anxious expression when she was not looking-—aware and dis- tressed, . "You slept well? he inquired, She smiled: “Famously I" “I am glad. You show the benefit. 1 think you are even more beautiful than you were, thore pale, perhaps, but-—how does one say it t-—spirituelle, But it may be I am not a fair Judge; tonight T am so happy, 1 see all things conleur de rose” His lean brown hand stole across the cloth to eover hers for a moment. “And you-are you not glad, dear, to be home with me once more?” - She sald, with difficulty, in a low voice, looking down at her plate: “I am glad to be with you, Mario.” It was true: In spite of everything, she was strangely glad. But it was wrong of her to say so. “I myself slept till noon,” he volun- teered. “Then 1 walted and waited for you to wake up, but you were sleeping like a child, you never stirred ; one had not the heart to disturb you. Then, when It got so late, and I could no longer put off going down into the valley, I gave Martha instructions not to leave your bedside till 1 returned or you awakened.” She wondered: “Why? “I was afrald, I dared anything to chance. One not foretell fn what condition would wike up. If anything had happened I think another disappearance would have driven me insane She avoided his and asked, rather mechanically, more to Bay something than out of desire to know : not leave could you eves the valiey? “To telegraph New York and call off the detectives I had employed to look for you. Also to tell the villagers you were safely found, and thank They were most kind, those good ple; fully half a hundred of stayed up all night with me, them rO- them while gearched the woods: and though many wink of sleep, thes vesterday after i An to seek New York" ded of the sad futility of you 11 Thus rem irch, she was ton deeply lig 1 to wonder vhy he could not has t to the will have The the clephoned living room It was now dark, and the al keen The windows the quite though fire was the but closed ¢ Liners ino suming and door were not and acrid smell of wood smoke faintly blended pungent perfume of the pines Mario pleasantly with the for cush placed aun chair Priscilla, made it easier with for her back and bead her cigarettes—and showed when she refused for and threw Hit knell down his elbows on its and capturing one of her hands She tried to herself against the weakness of the flesh, the protests of her affections, the enervation of her sympathies reminding herself she must be cruel to be kind. But it was enxy fons surpr ise them«-lighted himself away beside resting steed didn’t care The mere contact of his hand thrilled her heart to a faster tempo, quickening breath and pulses, affected all her be- tremors of fear and glad made her infirm and weak of purpose She had for him only a pathetic apology for a smile, a foriorn little shake of her head. A deeper concern shadowed his face. He asked tenderly : “What is it. dear? You must tell me . " “It's going to be mo hard” she sald reductantly, “to say what I must I can’t think how to begin, except In the bluntest way.” “Do not be afraid. Tell me frankly how I have failed you, in what respect I have fallen short" “But you haven't!” “Then what it was I did to make you run away from me.” “T'tn sure you could have done noth- ing" “Still, you ran away” “No—1 didn't.” He remonstrated nora !” “I'm not,” she declared desperately -“I'm mot Leonora.” “What!” “I am not your wife, Mario” “One moment . . . " Clouded with doubt, his eyes challenged the candor of hers, but found it flawless. At a loss—“What are you saying? be mut- tered, “The truth,” she affirmed. sorry. Mario, 80 sorry" “But 1 don’t understand . , .* She sat up, closing his hand within her own, “I'm so sorry,” she iterated—‘but I must tell you, I can’t avoid telling you: Leonora is dead.” He disengaged his’ hand and stood up sharply. “Leonora I” ‘ “Is dead. She was killed day be fore yesterday—-" “Are you out of your mind? Or am I” “Please listen—don’t make it any harder than it is. Carnehan murdered Leonora while you were away, in town, You see, he wasn't killed in the fire, after all