ATR - Sn -cm—— % 5 TOT Tee POO 0.0. 0.0.0.0.0.0.9.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0,9.0.9 CHAPTER XXI—Continued, 7 — As he struggled forward, impatient at these delays, he came several times upon narrow, unguarded roads and crossed them; at other times the little wilderness which protected him changed suddenly to a well-kept lawn where some great house with Its garages and outbuildings loomed ahead, and afraid to cross these opeu places, he was obliged to retrace his steps and find a way round. The dis tance from the bridge to the place where the men he was following had got out of their motor, he had thought to be about two miles; but when he had been traveling more than an hour, he had not yet reached It. Then, suddenly he came upon the road for which he was looking; somewhere to the east along It was the place he sought. He crouched near to the road as he dared and where he could look up and down it. This being a malin road, was guarded. A motor- car with armed men in it passed him, and presently repassed, evidently pa- troling the road; Its lights him a man with a gun standing at the first bend of the road to the east. Eaton drew further back and moved parallel to the road but far enough away from it to be hidden. A quarter of a mile further he found a second man. The motorcar, evidently, was patroling only to this point; another car was duty beyond this. As Eaton halted, this car ap- proached, and was backed and turned. Its headlights through the woods and revealed Eaton, The man standing In the road cried out the as showed on second halted, swept he fired a second and third time caton fled madly back ow: as he did so, he heard the crying to another and from the car and following him. retreated went further along and came back to the road, 1u- ing flat upon his face again and walt. ing till some other car in passing should give him light to see, Eaton, weak and dizzy from his wounds and confused by darkness and his struggle through the woods, had no exact Idea how long It had taken him to get to this place; but he knew that it could have been hardly than two hours since he had left riet. The men he was therefore, had that much him, and this made him patience but did not discourage him. His own wounds, Eaton understood, made his escape practically I[mpossi- ble, because any one saw would at once challenge and detain him ; and the other man was still more seriously wounded. It was not his es cape that Eaton feared; it was con cealment of him. The man had taken from the car because his condi tion was so serious that there was no hope of hiding it; Eaton thought he must be dead. He to find the body concealed under dead leaves, hurriedly hidden. The night had cleared a the north, Eaton could see stars men one to the woods, following start wild with im of who him expected Httle: to Sud- at its sides flashed light of a motorear passing. Eaton strained forward. He had found place he sought; there was no doubt a car had turned off the road some time before and stopped there. The passing of many cars had so tracked the road that none of the men in the motors seemed to have noticed any- thing of significance there; but Eaton saw plainly in the soft ground at the edge of the woods the footmarks of two men walking behind the other. When the car had passed, he crept forward In the dark and fingered the distinct heel and toe marks In the soft soll. For a little distance he could follow them by feeling then as they led him into the edge of the woods the ground grew harder and he could no longer follow them In that way. It was plain to him what had oc- curred; two men had got out of the car here and had lifted out and car ried away a third. He knelt where he. could feel the last footsteps he could detect and looked around. The wound In his shoulder no long- er bled, but the pain of It twinged him through and through; his head throbbed with the hurt there; his feet were raw and bleeding where sharp roots and branches had cut through his socks and torn the flesh; his skin was hot and dry with fever, and his head swam. There was not yet light enough to see any distance, but Eaton, accus tomed to the darkness and bending close to the ground, could discern the footmarks even on the harder soil They led away from the road Into the woods, On the rotted leaves and twigs was a dark stain; a few steps ond there was another. Eaton picking up a leaf and fingering It, knew that they were blood. So the man was not dead when he had been Mfted from the car. But he had been hurt desperately, was unable to help himself, was probably dying; If there bad been any hope for him, his com- panions would not be carrying him in this way away from any chance of surgical attention, Baton followed, as the tracks led through the woods. The men had ¢ in out in one gone very slowly, carrying this heavy weight, They had stopped frequently to rest and had |ald thelr burden down. Then suddenly he came to a place where plainly a longer halt had been made, The ground was trampled this spot; when the tracks went on they were changed in character. "The twee men were still carrying the third —gt heavy man whose weight strained them and made thelr feet sink In deeply where the ground was soft. But now they were not careful how they jearried him, but went forward merely as though bearing a aead welght, Now, too, no more stains ap- peared on the brown leaves where they had passed; thelr burden no longer bled. Eaton, realizing what this meant, felt neither exultation nor surprise. He had known that the man they carried, though evidently alive when taken from the car, was dying. But now he watched the tracks more closely even than before, ing for them to show him where the wen had got rid of their burden, It was quite plain what had oc curred ; the wet sand below was tram- pled by the feet of three or four men and cut by a boat's bow, They had taken the body away with them in the boat, # To sink It somewhere weighted with heavy stones in the deep water? Eaton's search was hopeless now, around be so! Eaton's eves searched fever ishly the shore and the lake. jut there was nothing In sight upon elther. crept back from edge of the bluft, hiding beside a fallen banked with dead leaves. What it he had sald to Harriet? “I the log was will He rehearsed t! How would he re As he words in mockery. to her now? in his shoulder shot through with and through the him agony and whelmed him, CHAPTER XXII Not Eaton--Overton, Santoine awoke at five o'clock. strong brought him: his saw had for his daug Harriet went up The blind man seemed man felt and steady: whild he returneq food enting thessenger the it, alone he man dismissed him, to heside without him; he held It speaking She snatched it in dread; the the packet and the was fastened out to manner father directed. “What ther?” asked. “That is the picture of Eaton? “Yes.” “1 thought so." She tried to assure herself of the meaning in her father's but she could not. She under stood that her recognition of the plc ture had satisfied in regard something over which he had seen in doubt: but whether this was to work in favor of Hugh and herself—she thought of herself now [nseparably with Hugh-—or whether it threatened them, she could not tell “Father, what does this mean?" she cried to him, “What, dear?” “Your having the pleture. did you get 1t?” “1 knew where it might be. for nn." “But—but, Father" It her now that her father who Hugh was. “Who-—" “l know who he {8 now,” her fa- ther said calmly. “I will tell you when I can.™ “When you can?” “Yes,” he sald. “Where Is Avery?” as though his mind had gone to An- other subject Instantly. “He has not been in, I believe, since noon.” “He Is overseeing the search for Eaton?" “Yes ™ “Send for him. Tell him I wish to see him here at the house; he 1s to remain within the house until I have seen him.” ’ Something In her father's tone startled and perplexed her; she thought of Donald now only as the most eager and most vindictive of Eaton's pursuers. Wag her father removing Donald from among those seeking Eaton? Was he sending for him because what he had just learned was something which would make more rigorous and desperate the search? The blind man's look and manner told her nothing. “You mean Donald Is to wait here until you send for him, Father?” “That Is It." It was the blind man's tone of dis missal. He seemed to have forgotten the picture; at least, as his daughter moved toward the door, he gave no direction concerning it. She halted, looking back at him. She would not carry the pleture away, secretly, lke this, She was not ashamed of her love for-Eaton; whatever might be said she shade iim to Where 1 sent cnme must know or thought of him, she trusted hlm; she was proud of her love for him. “May I take the pleture?” she asked steadily. “Do whatever youn want her father answered quietly, And so she took It with her. She found a servant of whom she inquired for Avery: he had not returned so she sent for him. She went down to the deserted library and waited there with the picture of Hugh In her hand. The day had drawn to dusk. She could no longer see the picture In the fading light; she could only recall It; and now, as she recalled it, the ple- ture Itseif-—-not her memory of her father's manner In relation to it— gave her vague discomfort. She got up suddenly, switched on the lght and, holding the picture close to It, studied It. What it was in the ple. ture that gave her this strange un- easiness quite separate and distinct from all that she had felt first looked at it, she could but the more she studied ft, troubled and frightened The plcture was a plain, unre touched print pasted upon common square cardbdard without photogra pher's emboss or signature; and printed with pleture, fout plain, distinct numerals She did not know what they meant or If they any real but somehow now she wus than had trembled as she held the picture again to her cheek ana then to her lips. She turned: some one had from hall; it with it.” she tell; the more she grew, when not the were 8253. bad siinificance more She she been come in the was Donald, She her back in relief. See light, he had looked idly hut he approached her quick “What have you threw Lead ing the into : when he cly. there?” he demand She right ished at te the ask?” tone, “Whn have you to concenl ture, but that would make it seem she the Dies i i Him, was ashamed of It: she held it =o Don. He did look and suddenly seized the picture from her. “Where did you Harriet?” pee “Don! od, “Ashamed? “Your father!” “Are you ashamed to say?” Avery started; but sion, It Instantly clsappeared. is? What did he say to you? “What do you mean, Don?” He put the picture down om the table beside him and, as she rushed for it. he seized both her hands and held her before him. “Harry, dear!” he sald to her. “Harry, dear" “Don't eall me that! Don't speak to me that way!” She struggled to free herself from him, “1 know, of course,” he sald. “It's because of him.” He jerked his head toward the picture on the table; the manner made her furious, “Let me go, Don!" “I'm sorry, dear.” He drew her to him, held her only closer, “Don: Father wants to see you! He wanted to know when he came Mn; he will let you know when you ean go to him." “When did he tell you that? When he gave you the picture?” - "Yea" Avery had almost let her go; now he held her hard again. “Then he wanted me to tell you about this Eaton.” “Why should he have you tell me about—Mr, Eaton?" “You know!" he sald to her, “What have you to say about him, Donald?” “You must never think of him again, dear; you must forget him foréver!” “Donald, I am not a child. If you have something to say which you con- sider hard for me to hear, tell It to me at once.” “Very well. Perhaps that is best, Dear, either this man whom you have £% Brown sad Company or, if he is found, he cannot be let to live. Harry, have you never seen a picture with the numbers printed In below like that? Can't you guess yet where your father must have sent for that picture? Don't you know what those numbers mean?” “What do they mean?” ber in what Is called “The Gallery.’ mitted a been triéd and crime and gor that he has committed a8 murder! “A murder!" “For which sentenced.” “Sentenced I" he was convicted could be carried man, before the sentence out, he escaped. That Eaton, is Hugh—" “Hugh! “Hugh Overton, Harry!" “Hugh Overton!" “Yes; 1 found It out police have just learned it, too. I was to tell your father. He's Overton, the murderer of Mat thew Latron!™ “No; no!" “Yes, Harry; for this tainly Hugh Overton" “It Isn't so! [I know It isn’ “You mean he told you some Harry? “Xo: I mean She faced him fiant! tograph I asked ‘Do whatever you knew 1 meant to keep today. man is cer. one © *ather let me keep the p him, wish and with fr! He so he would not said t Khe sound behind her father And face had come ax she saw his she knew that what Avery had just told her was the trut! Shé shrank away Her y hands went to her face from then and hi She knew now why It was that her me enrious abv life, heard only for an Instant fixed wuwpon nind by ti ir nees attending slances tten She wzed at the pi to he a k iar to her and threatening g unknown and ter w for a ’ ¥ reason ni ngs Hugh ha hes Baal he had $ thi i said to looked many times way all that! moment, to explain every! g one thing. It did not explain himself: the kind of man he the kind of man knew him to be--the man loved-—he could not be a murderer! Her hands dropped from her face: her head back proudly and as she faced now both It seemed to her, In she she “He, ghe erien quietly. the murderer of Mr. Latron!™ “It isn't So The biina man was very pale; he stalrs and still stood beside him taining him Jat the will which sus had was holding him firmly now against She saw com- passion for her in his look; and com- the present circum. stances——terrified her, Stronger, far passion for her, she saw purpose recognized that her father had come to a decision upon which he now was going to act: she knew that nothing she or anyone else could say would alter that decision and that he would every power in acting upon it. The blind man seemed to check him. self an instant In the carrying out of his purpose; he turned his sightless eyes toward her. in his look: but, except that this emo tion was in part pity for her, she could not tell exactly what his look expressed, “Will you walt for me outside, Har riet?” be sald to her. “I shall net be long.” She hesitated; then she felt sud- denly the futility of opposing him and she passed him and went out into the hall, The servant followed her, clos. ing the door behind him. She stood just outside the door listening. She heard her father—she could catch the tone; she could not make out the words—asking a question; she heard the sound of Avery's response. She started back nearer the door and put her hand on It to open it; Inside they were still talking. She caught Avery's tone more clearly now, and it sudden. ly terrified her. She drew back from the door and shrank away. There had no opposition to Avery In her father's tone; she was certalu now that he was only discussing with Avery what they were to de, (TO RE CONTINUED.) ————— AAAS AS, Technique, Her Friend—"Why do you hang this pleture upside down?” The Artist—*} sold It that way."=Life. Neckwear Is in Fashion Picture Lingerie Collar Is Given | Prominence by French Dressmakers. No part of dress has had a more in- teresting history than neckwear, writes a Paris fashion correspondent in the New York Tribune. Few realize how Important a part it has played in wom- an’s dress since the beginning of time, Once upon a time the size and splendor woman's neck ruff indicated her rank or station in life, During the three seasons just past a number French which to “best in this of models be sellers” the. neck and sleeves, but in the Now that the lingerie collar and cuffs given great prominence by the greatest French designers we may hope to see more made of them in this coun- try. A number of new French models Dashing high collars of lingerie ma- period, combinations Smart, high, and in or i Many black are featured plaited frills white these, of black ribbon run through the | back or the front, Frequently net and embroidery are | combined in vests or guimpes featuring the Directoire collar. The white while the tucked trimmed collar is of por- with | organdie, vest of net A most flattering plece of neckwear consists of a finely plalted standing col- lar and Jabot of organdie. A narrow luck velvet ribbon encircles the lower Open Coat Effect in an Imported Sweater 4 X/ The open coat effect of white with black bandings adds charm to this seasonable garment. It is worn with son. They have been son serve spring, called four-sea- they can purpose through and winter. an in one of little fuzzy coats will repay oats, 1 use, literally, ordinary sutnmer, autn every this rate investment the pretty the expenditure in no time, f« possible to ture for four the » EVEry had the into purchase purpose Wort who hrough i to say: “] am aring thi is new spring Color and Design Work amount of of color or in Hows shouldn't lor or 100 NBS a need a It doesn’t iabor to put the great little touch design makes the difference home } decora . Sofa pi ther « fe- t foal worl § WE OVER Oe Lil borate decors Modification of Deauville Kerchief Made Up in Chipmunk, a Soft Fur. edge of the collar, holding the plalts in and allowing collar to frilled at the top. White lingerie collarx In both plain and frilled effects are particularly smart when offset by black, Fine em- | place the be | Is used. A further touch of black some times Is added by a bow of ribbon -or perhaps by long streamers, Short Fur Coats are Continuing in Vogue The short little fur coats which re- | ceived initial recognition during the | winter continue their vogue into! spring. There are many days when a | coat of thin fur is not warm in spring and then, considering the fact that these Jackets can be worn open, they recommend themselves largely to the woman who likes to have a coat last her through more than one sea foo instead of adding to its article a graceful little sp and not too mu is the subtle something that when there is enough decoration It can be developed if the will and we call art, needle-worker study effects ration. Ribbon Buckles. Ribbon buckles and buckles of bril- lisnts outiined with ribbon or velvet ysed on the new satin and Hemstitching. Hemstitching is seen many d#or and afternoon frocks of crepe de chine and voile. Frequently it is the only trimming. on out Spring Millinery, A charming hat of sapphire blue taf. feta is embroidered In gray yarn. Yarn flowers are popular on spring millinery. Hang the furs out in the sun for several days, them give them a good beating and shaking up to be sure that solution and wipe the furs with this | of camphor in 8 cloth and place it with the furs. Wrap the furs in a news Paste the edges fo- placed loosely in a box. Paste a strong strip of paper over the crack left be tween the box and its cover, If there are no moths in the furs when placed in the box they will be sufe without eamphor or tobacco. Another very good way is to put the furs in a strong paper sack, tie the sack securely at the top and store in a dark place. To dry-clean any kind of furs, first warm some clea bran carefully in a pan, stirring occasionally with the hand so that it will not burn; rub the warm bran into the fur for some time, then shake and brush until free from the bran. You can do the work better If all linings and stiffenings are re moved and the article Is spread out flat on a board or table. Moths will not stay where there are cloves, so put some cloves in the bot tom of trunks and wardrobes, in the folds of blankets and other woolen articles, in the pockets of coats, and In other places where moths are likely to lodge. The cloves are agreeable in odor, and can be easily shaken out. follows: Take one ounce each of cloves, caraway seeds, nutmeg, mace, cinnamon and Tonquin beans, Add as ingredients all put together, Grind sii well to a powder and then put in dittle bags and place the bags among your clothes in drawers, trunks, boxes and other places. Things Women Should Know About Hosiery Mock seams and a mock fit that will not outlive the first Inundering cannot deceive the woman who is wise in the ways of hosiery buying. It is the cloudy, thickened ankle that betrays the stocking that would mas. quernde as something It is not. A stocking to keep its fit must be seam- jess, fitted In the knitting, or it must have a genuine seam down the back, In either case the threads will con verge toward the back, and the texture of the stocking will be the same at the ankle as it is just below the hem A stocking that is shaped after the weaving *has the fabric crowded to gether at the angle. This makes It thicker and darker. Also the threads run perfectly straight with no converg: ence. It is a simple matter for the woman buying hosiery to lay the ankle agninst the top of the stocking to com. pare the texture and at the same time examine the threads to see whether they run straight or converge. The woman who learns to do this insures herself against shapeless hosiery, Gilets of Pique. Very attractive are little waistcoats or gilets of pique with tiny bands of figured linen,
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