Chapter 33152693

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Chapter NumberPART II XI
Chapter Title
Chapter Url
Full Date1898-03-18
Page Number58
Word Count1234
Last Corrected0000-00-00
Newspaper TitleWestern Mail (Perth, WA : 1885 - 1954)
Trove TitleThe Wealth of the West
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*' Why did yon not tell me at the firat th¿£ he was dead F Did he doubt me, or bad you the impertinence--" .

" Nothing of the sort, ma'am."

"Then, why did you not tell nie? Why was I kept in the. dark like the, others ? . Why was I not taken to him ?"

" Well, ma'am, if you witt only give me time, the thing is easy enough to understand. There is all the difference

between saying à thing "wïièh yon believe it's true, and saying the ' same thing know it isn't. As it was, when 1 people' asked .you any questions, your ,

tears, were g^nuiné^ydúv. 'words were1

genuine,' ¿nd- nobody that heard' you j could doubt you. you badr known that ¿he Warden bad swuni down the

river, and then crawled over to my place j in the dark, you would; have given yourself .away at the first" question, and answer. ? Yes, yes, I know all-..'about j what you are going to say ^though you j would " baye rather bitten your. tongue j out. first; but what good would,that

have been wten the.damage.was. 'done ?" j

1 It' was the' same Phyllis of'old, but changed; older, and looking twenty

years'beyond'ber age-careworn, thinner, ; sadder, and those eyes were not the same, eyes that had danced with the. fun of" joke and repartee with Margaret in the" old days. We see the same evidences in the street every day, but they have to be labelled and known before we. undera stand. There ÍB not much need to dwell" on the picture.

She was talking to Cornwall and pacing about the room impatiently. She "had some kind of loose wrapper around her, and looked as if she had been ill as, indeed, she had ;-but it was the ill- ness that has its seat in the mind, and

-? ? .-:-.* J

not in the body. Her eyes were cast

down, and she kept on restlessly puning -"^3 the wrapper about and about her. -m

" There would have been no damage

done, Mr. Cornwall. I have proved his j! friend in greater straits than this, and-« . ? ¿sj and-I thought he would have reuieui- f l bered. I think my prudence would. 1 probably have been as great as yours or S his own. I-I think I have shown that

I loved him better than myself-" »

" It's no use getting distressed, ma'am. í If it was a mistake, it was meant for the

best." *;

" Meant for the best!-but you could f calculate on a woman's tears to help yon s -on my distress to make your schema ; s the surer-you wretched, callous menial."' ;s

"Thank you." 3 She took a few more turns up andi ~*> down, and then- I

"I beg your pardon; I should not»

have said that. I am angry and indig-- y ~ nant at such treatment. I have not '4

deserved it." ' :y

"I don't know that we calculated on "â

anything you might feel, ma'am. The J5 thing was done on the spur of the J| moment, and we had to take all the pre- ¿Ji cautions we could think of. That was s£ all." . ~J

'"We, we, we,'" she 6aid with an

angry stamp, " Who made you and Mr, ;j| Yeend one and the same person?" -,* -¡/¿ji

" I have come to ask you if you will ,3j

come to him now," said Cornwall, diplo- ' "||


" Did he ask you, or was that another - of the decisions that ' we ' came to?" .

" He asked himself, ma'am. He seemed -|

to wish for it sbrongly." C

"I don't want you to interpret for ->Ü him, Mr. Cornwall. AU I asked was if H he wished it." . £M

"He did, ma'am." M "Very well. That is sufficient. Let

-us go at once." ?^sl

"You will understand that no one /~.|f|

must know anything--"

" Mr. Cornwall, don't treat me like a \~£*m child. I am not a child. I am perfectly ; |¡| well aware that no one must know. Da ' Sjjl you think," she said in a tone that she -''wt meant only to be proud, but which con

tained she knew not how much sadness, , -/M "that I have not spent enough time _ :¡M here not to understand?" '""Cf%

They set out.

It was dark. There was no moon. ;J Thick clouds covered every star from. \.;'ís|¡ sight. But with the instinct for safety, _ -;| Cornwall and. Phyllis continually mada -.;'Z0Ë wide detours. They both paused **&¿~'-¿ÍjsM Cornwall's door, and Phyllis drew 4ie»igpy¿í^p breath and put a strong "coi»traint':^¿?^^

herself for the meeting; ' -

". Within," was the xnan who, to ber, was:i:;> ^ the type of male aggression. Hei^lííe J ^^

was, to her, no longer entirely her own.".

In old times, she bad gone whither sh».'r^-p would; now one had arisen who led ber .'^ often whither she would not. But life,

apart from him, was motiveless and im- |^ .possible. We call it fate when we sea ' 'i consequences approaching which will ¿ affect us, but which we cannot avert. This man was her fate. He-dominateï ber. When he was not present, and sha.

proposed-anything to herself, she wonli ? say to herself, How would-be look, what would he say, how would he act if hit

knew ? Then she would see the gaze ia ; f\j. his eyes-their sneer, their contempt,, ; ;-'\--:j their command. She would see tue curl . ^ of bis-lips. ¿She would hear the sounxf ^| of his voiee. She would mark bis .step,.;, -j -'r his bearing, the play of his Augers as bor - J¿\ would stroke his moustache and gaze at

her. These'things were the expression; - .

of the something within and shining . 1 through bim that made up bis superiority

and mesmerism over her. She was npfe- ih. much given to analysing things. She had never probably even analysed ber sensations even to this extent. But thar sensations were there all the saine, anet

it was a confused jumble of them that^

iiiade her draw her breath/and pause afr' :r the door of Cornwall's . house. The»

goodness, what there wasof it, -was hers'J- ;

.the evil was-his, yet she' felt as if shé ,, were about to appear before a judge. -

She put her hand on-Cornwall's arni when he would have opened the' doorj' and then 6tood with her head bent, and closed, her ëyes,-and covered them with

I bei'fingers..- Cornwall di-ew back,pretty ;i I much as >if -he had surprised a saint afc - 1^' ;

prayer, though as a matter of fact. it - ^

was not much of a saint, nor much of a ' ; prayer. He had a vague sense that here' was a degree of tragedy, so far as the woman was ? concerned,- that was quita

outside Tus knowledge' as a practical ' " ¿liner. He waited till the woman who .

looked like-a saint, but wlK^was not, had! = ; v-í finished what looked like a prayer, but

which was' only nervousness, audiihea ;?

they went in. - v' ?<.ru.-^af' ..

(ï'o be Continued.)* -