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AN INNOCENT JUDAS.

[By Charx.es Proctor.] (Continued from Wednesday’s Issue.) CHAPTER XVIII. MARK SAMPSON'S SACRIFICE. Little more than an hour later Raeburn Chesterton knocked at the door of Mark Sampson’s chambers in Albany Studios, and entered to find Mark sprawled out in an easy chair before the fire. ‘‘Chesterton, by all that’s holy!” ejaculated Mark, springing up at once, and hurrying forward with outstretched hand. " Tim is a surprise, old chap." He hauled Raeburn over to the fire, laughingly pushed him into the armchair from which ho had risen, and began to ply him with questions. “Light your pipe and let yourself go, old man,” he commanded. “Tell rno what you’ve been doing—l don’t mean the things I read in the newspapers, but about yourself.” “ The things you road in the newsSra are about the only things I am I nowadays, Mark," Raeburn responded. “ 1 have no life outside of politics. '* “Humph! Little wonder, then, that you are looking so seedy, Raeburn,” commentad Mark, with the candor of an old friend. "Man, you’re aging fast. You look years older than you did when I saw you before the General Election, and soon the gibe about your youthful appearance will have no point. You’re wearing yourself out, old chap.” “ Perhaps so,” agreed Raeburn, a little wearily. “ Politics is a strenuous game, Mark a strenuous, nerve-wrecking game." “ And your position isn’t exactly a bed of rosea now that you’re a political convert.”

“No, it is a bed of thorns. I am not beloved by my new friends, am treated with scorn by my old party, and regarded with a certain amount of distrust by the public, who are always suspicions of the genuineness of political conversions.” “Yes. I noticed that one paper the other day hinted that yen went over merely because yon knew that your own party was tottering, and would not be returned to power. But you are making good, Raeburn, all the same, and if only you could do something that would appeal to the imagination of the public they would set you on a pedestal forthwith.” “ I know ; and I have been planning a great coup, Mark," said Raeburn. sluing up in his chair. “ You know, of course, that even when I was on tho other side I was on friendly terras with the Keri of Brocklow, who is now Prime Minister !” “ Ye*.“

_ “ Well, Lord Brocklow has an unmarried daughter, Lady Violet Vnnsart, with whom I nave always been on the best of terms, and although I am a commoner, I believe that her father would not object to mo as a son-in-law."

Mark Sampson whistled in surprise then held out his ha mi.

“Congratulations, my dear chap;" ho said, heartily. “ I had begun to think that you were a confirmed bachelor. Have you arranged matters with Ladv Violet?”

“ No; your congratulations are premature, Mark,” answered P,aeburn, puffing furiously at his pipe. " I haven't proposed yet, but I behove she will accept me, and her father will support my suit. It would bo a great coup, you understand, apart from the prestige which such a marriage would give me, as it would appeal to the Aia-gination of tho public." “I don’t quite follow you." “The public, as you should know well, dearly loves a romance, ami I could give the Press to understand that Lady Violet converted me to her father's views. That would do the trick, and restore mo to popular favor. For Ihe British public is nothing if not sentimental. Anti ray father-in-law could hardly fail t-o give me the first available Government post as a atop towards Cabinet- rank.” Mark grunted, then for a few moments sat silent, eyeing Paeburn curiously. “Yes; your reasoning sounds all right. Raeburn, and I don’t doubt that a wife would help you—if you got. the rieht wife. You discuss your matrimonial plans in such a cold-blooded manner that one Is left wondering whether it can he possible that love enters into your calculations "at all.”

"As a matter ,f truth, it does not.” said Raeburn, frankly. "I like Ladv Violet and she likes me. Wo have always been excellent friends, and shall continue 00 when we are married. My marriasre to her will help mo socially and politically, and she will become the wife of one of the most brilliant parliamentarians of the dav.”

“True enough, no doubt; bnt you can’t leave out love,” commented Mail:, seri-

ously. “Social and political prestige won’t make up for the loss of ho e, old chap. You will make the mistake of your life if you contract a loveless marriage." “Pshaw! Sentimental nonsense!” snapped Raeburn. “Skive that kind of talk fer your stories, Mark, love is a weakness—a madness—and I shoe id be a fool if I allowed it to intctfeio with mv career ”

Ha rose with an impatient exclamation and began to move restlessly up and down the room, frowning and nervouslv fingering his chin.

“Love has been my curse.he resumed, suddenly, coming n. a. standstill. " Yes', you may well stare, Mark bud it’s Intel I have loved. ■.n ! my love came near to costing me all that I have striven for. Even yet it may lie my undoing—may ruin me. I have suffered the torments of the damned through low-; I have Bah! 3 am talking like a fool! f rup; at that love for a woman, the love that y m write about in your novel-;, has no pi,ire in mv scheme of existence.”

“You have my sympathy. Raeburn,” remarked Mark, drvly ; "but. not knowing the facts of your love affair, I'm r t. sure that you arc deservi ig of t-vnip.-yhv. T would merely suggest that it would h* unwise to repeat your sentiment-.* to 1,,-uh Violet Vansart, if nut wi»li he; to accept you.” Raeburn laughed mirthlessly and sat down again. “Wo won’t discuss the matter. ’’ he said, In altered tones; “we sh-md-l never agree.’ It is quite possible that mv contemplated marriage with Ladv Violet’ may not take place. Indeed, it is within, the bounds of possibility that I may never propose. You will be_ amazed, no doubt, to ie.-yn that svwrything depends upon your sesretarv.’’ “My secretary? YThat" in th.. name of goodness are you talking at,out?” “Your secretary, MUs .Marion Lancaster. She is in possession o: ;■ secret concerning me which, if hj is revealed will necessitate my withdrawal from public life. I want you to give me her ;.o it>6-=, Mark. I must sue her at cueo and endeavor^—” “But how on earth can Miss LancasJfr—- you only met her once. You - Murk Sampson was stemmerin in hie bewilderment and staring at llae" bum a* if he thought tie had taWn- leave of his senses. “I knew her long before she came here,” said Raeburn, curtly. “ \Ve were—more than friends. I don’t want to enter into explanations. Mark. Will you let me have her address, please?” “Mote than friends?’’ repeated Mark, Ignoring the request. “Which means, i suppose, that Mips Lancaster was the woman you were in love with?” He paused, and Raeburn, after a moment of hesitation, nodded abruptly. “Oh, God! The irony of it !" said I Mark, alowly, getting on his feet. “You —•you who sneer at love must be the man aha has been breaking her heart about!” ‘H« thrust his pipe into ht;i pocket and euddenly grasped Raeburn by the shoulder. “Is that true?” he demanded, ' almost fiercely. “Did she love you?” “ She professed to do so in older to aerve her own ends," answered Raeburn, bitterly. “Let go my shoulder, and don’t make such a fuss.” Instantly Mark released him; turning : almost contemptuously and resting his *na on the mantelshelf.” i

| "So this is tli« solution of the mystery/’ he commented, in a curiously quiet voice “She ‘professed’ to love you, did she? | .And that, I suppose, is why she ho a been 1 eating her very heart out? That is why I she has been ill and wretched?” “ She did not look very ill or wretched or heartbroken when last I saw her—here, on the night wo came home from Brittany,” Raeburn retorted, resentfully. ‘‘Don't be a fool, Mark. You don’t know all, and I'm not going to explain.” “ I only know that the girl's heart is broken, and that your contempt for love has lost mo happiness. It may possibly interest you to learn that I love Marion Lancaster, that I asked her to marry me, and she refused me. She didn’t give reasons for her refusal, but I gathered fiom what she said when she was leaving later that there had been someone else, cr I might have won her. And now you dare to tell me that sho ‘professed’ to 'love you to servo her wo; ends! We’ve always been friends, Rae Chesterton, but . I lliiig the he in your face now ! You lie, I sav I”

I His face was white and his bine eyes | blaze-1 with passion re he snapped out the last wards, and Raeburn Chesterton [ recoiled as from a blow. “Mak!" he ejaculated, sharply; "be careful 1 ' I warn yin: ” He broke off abruptly, drawing in his breath sharply, and obviously struggling to control himself; but suddenly hie feelings seemed to master him, and he burst out in a fury . "I won't stand it! Good God! Are vou all mad here? First that maniac ’Breakspear, and now you—both in love wtih the curl, and both accus’ng me of navine acted like a cad ! What right have vou, 'who kn'-w nothing of the circumstances of th-' case, to condemn and insult me? What croonds have you for assuming that i have broken Marion. Lancaster’s heart? Confound you! I I He paused attain, brenthW-s, panting, his big head tin net forward, bis big white hands' twitching, and Ivs eyes Mmt’ng. Mark Sampson was ?t : B pale, but he h-d retrained his self-possession now, and ho held up his hand. “Sit clown, / v f h*v*t“-fcon. hf l • 1-efore Raeburn could resume. "We are both behaving like hot -ben led schoolboy*, who have not Darn’d 'elf-control. Perhaps I was wrong to judge you so hastily, but I know that Marion Lancaster has a heart of gold, and is incapable of playing fast and loose with the affections of any man. Sit down. ’ .... Reluctantly Raeburn seated him = elt. still gazing resentfully at Mark, but mastering his anger. ‘-1 believe that yon are mistaken in regard to Marion.” continued Mark, alter a pause. ”T know that she has been breaking her heart over something, and what vou have told me leads me to behove that the something is yon —or the way yon treated her.” "Did she seem as if she were bieakmg her heart about me the night I v as here--the last time I saw her?” asked Raeburn, hntlv. “Do you remember? She flout eel me treated mo with disdain, tried to make of mo a laughing-stock. How do you know it isn’t Breakspear she’s breaking her heart about?” "This i; the first I have heard ofßrcakspear having had ?ny part in the affair.” said Atari;, rather stiffly. " Perhaps you will explain.” Briefly and curtly Raeburn related what had passed between Breakspear and himself after the break-up of the party, “That only explains why Breakspear left here so suddenly,” commented Mark, after listening in silence. "Probably he proposed to Alis,. Lancaster and learned that there was someone cl-e. so he went away to prevent tho possibility of making her feel uncomfortable here. You have merely proved that what 1 said must bo correct—that yon are the man. and that Miss Lancaster still loves you.” It svas not an easy thinir to sav. for since Marion had been away Mark had realised that he really loved her, and life without her was something of a blank, hut he said it steadilv and bravely in his own blunt, manly fashion. “It isn’t possible," Raeburn responded, moving uncomfortable in his chair, and without meeting .Mark's eyes. “ You are quite mistaken. If yon know the whole truth ” ” Perhaps you would rare to explain everything?” interposed Mark. Raeburn darted a glance at his grave, set lace, half rose from his chair, then sat down again, flushing slightly. For a full minute he remained silent, but at length began to speak quickly and nervously. " I must pledge you to secrecy. Atari;.” he said first, and waited only ' till Atari; nodded before plunging into details and relating the whole story of tho betrayal of Ins secret. “Do you dare condemn me now. and repeat your assertion?” he concluded.

’’he?.” Mark rose from his rhnir as hj? spoke. “I dori'd believe Marion—Miss Lancaster—cold vonr sc'-rc-t." ” Tbit she admitted it.” “There must be some explanation. Yon have never given her a chance to explain, Chesterton. Yon condemned her instantly, cud you have come near to breaking her heart. You don’t love her—you never loved her!" “I do—l did—l do love her I" broke, in Raeburn, passionately. “ What, do you mean? How dare ” ” Yon loved power nrd place better. Rea! lovo was a eeeo,nda.ry thin?, or veil would have been willing to fortrive. even i f she did bet;ay your confidence,” went on Mark, dogged! v "If ion love her, you will no to her now. beg Imr forgiveness, and trv to—to make her happy. 1 hehV.ve she loves you still, and will* forgive. fb'.d ! To think that a man should wilfully fling away his chance of happiness as. you have done!” Raeburn’s lace flushed, then paled am in. Ho rubbed his chin agitatedly, ran his fingers through his hair, hit nervously at his mulct- lip. and at Irst spiting up,' “ Give me her address, Mark!" ho gaeped. unsteadily "You may he ri.rht. 1 —[Vil! go and find out.” CHATTER XIX. A PLAN AND A PROBLEM. Bernard Mostyn strolled into the con verted box-room which was by courtesy vefeired to bv the occupants of the Cedars ns :hn “stttdv," to find hi>! father dozing in an armchair before the small fireplace. Captain Mostvn was not a. distinguished figure when atlcep : indeed, he looked almost grotesque. His mouth was wide open beneath hts huge drooping moustache, and the long wisps of hair which he had trained to conceal hie baldness hung clown ever one ear in a ludicrous manner. "The sleeping beauty!" murmured Bernard, grinning broadly a« be gazed at his parent. “\\ ish I could take a snapshot of him now.” He coughed loudly, moved a chair noisily, tlu-n picked up a poker and raked together the embers in the grate. Captain Mostyi. gave vent to a.sudden snorting snore, etirred uneasily in his chair, opened his eyes, and, after gazing blearily for a few moments at the figure before him, sat up with a jerk. *’ Halloa, dad!” said Bernard, cheerfully. “ Been asleep, ch? Thought you were in bed.” "Huh! Certainly tied,” grunted his father, und frowned fiercely as lie discovered that one of hie, logs had "gone to sleep.” “Merely closed my eyes for a few moments. You’re late. Where’s Marion?”

“ Marion went straight off to bed as soon ns we got home,’ Bernard answered, seating himself and lighting a cigarette after carefully tupping it on hu silver case. " How did" von get on to-night?” asked the captain after another "runt. “Eippin’l" Her ant'd replied, stretching out hts long lens. “Had a very decent sou of dinner, the play wasn’t bad, then wo had the usual ruth for supper. Rather enjoyed myself, though, as a matter of fact.”

“Confound it! I don’t want to know how you enjoyed yourself,” snarled his lather', getting gingerly on his feet and beginning to Lmp up and down, suffering the tortures of “ pins and needles ” meanwhile. “ I want to know what progress you’ve made with the girl. Do you think I’m paying for dinners and theatre tickets for you, you ass?” “ Oh, I say, dad!” protested Bernard, in injured tone’s. “ What the dickens do you expect a chap to do? Marion has only

been hero just over a week, and I think I’vo done jolly well considering. I had a hard enough job to get her to consent to come with nie to-night, and had to get the mater to back me up.” “Bah!” blared his father, contemptuously, still hobbling to and fro. “ You have no enterprise.” “ All very well for you to talk, dad,” said his son, sulkily. "I can’t make ner fall in love with me at once, can I? Why, we hardly know each other yet. I’m doing my best to create a good impression, and I’m getting on jolly well, I think.” “ Witch I was your ago I could have made such a favorable impression on a girl in one that she would have been willing to marry me right away,” remarked the Captain, resuming his chair. “ Even now 1 believe I could give some of von youngsters points when it comes to—What are you grinning at, you idiot’”

•• Er—your—cr—front fringe has broken loose, dad," explained Bernard, lamely trying to stifle his milth as his father glared at him and hastily spread his banover his bald head. "And 1 was—er —just thinking that you must have been a bit ot a rip when you weio younger. Don't know what the mater would say if she heard von 1”

■ " Confound your infernal impudence!” snapped his father, angrily. “ You’re a looi—a grinning, empty-headed noodle : and fur two pins I’d—F<l . Oh. why the deuce weren't vou born with brains?”

“You needn’t fcc so bally rough on a chap,” retorted Bernard, resentfully. “ I’m not a bloomin’ Don Juan, and can’t do wonders. I’m as anxious’ as you are to marry the girl—l mean, as anxious as you are to get her to marry me—now that I’ve seen her, and I’m doing ray best. Yet you been nagging at me. it’s enough to make a fellow chuck up the whole tiring and — and emigrate, or something.” " If you tail to bring this off you may have to emigrate, whether you like it or not," said tne Captain, grimly. " Remember that you have barely a month now, and that if you don’t seize this opportunityall this expense is wasted, and we’ll he in a devil of a hole. Pull yourself together, Bernard. It—cr—annoys mo to see you treating the matter with such—er—levity when so much depends upon you.” "Oh, I'll pud it on all right,” raid Bernard, somewhat mollified. " But 1 caaT rush matters, dad, you know. In another week or so 1 may bring it off 0.K.” "It isn't a question of 'may'; you must,!” retorted his father, rising again. " I'm coing to bed." He mnocked a small cupboard, produced a bottle of whisky and a glass, poured oui a generous "nightcap,” and swallowed it neat; then he replaced the bottle and locked the cupboard again, and marched out of the room with another grunt, "Humph! Extra grumpy to-night,” muttered Bernard, as the door closed. "Won well fed up with all this grousing and nagwell fed up with all tihs grousing and nagging. Enough to make a fellah sick!” Ho lit a fresh cigarette, sat for a time gazing gloomily at tho dying embers, and at length rose, produced a key from his pocket, and opened the cupboard which His faiher had locked so carefully a few minutes before.

"Locking up the liquor as if I was a bally kid!” he grumbled, as he helped himself to liis father's whisky. “Keeping me short of everything, and then growling at me because. 1 don't manage to make Alar ion fall in love with me right away. All ballv rot!”

fie went back to his chair, sipped the whisky slowly, and resumed his gloomy contemplation of the ember*.

" Alust Bring this off for my own sake ; but it's going to be hard woik," he soliloquised. ".Marion makes me feel uncomforable, and 1 believe she suspects that all tho cards aren’t on the table; but if I told the old man or the mater that, they'd blame me for muddling things. .She's a fine girl, but she's clever, and makes a fellah feel such a fool when sho starts talkins about books and politics and things. Wonder what she'd do if she found out whit the game is? She seems kind oi half suspicious sometimes, and looks as if she was puzzled.

Ilernaid Mostyn’s’pnwcrs of observation and deduction were not particularly treat, but in retard to Mar.on being half-susp ! - cious and moro than a little puzzled he was absolutely correct. Marion had been at the Cedars for ten days, and already eho fenotiy repented of her decision, and wished_ herself back once more at Albany Studios, although she wo'dd have found it difficult to explain in what particular she was di-sntiefie-d. Mrs Mostyn vas kindness personified, and almost too fervent in her demonstrations of affection ; the Captain was unfailingly polite, and seemed always anxious to do anything to add to her pleasure.; and Bernard Mostyn was assiduous in hi.s attention, reatly at all times to /etch and carry for her. anxious to walk with her, talk with her. and constantly malting plans for her amusement.

Yet there seemed to be something lacking, and Marion found herself time and again wondering if the regard of the Mostyns could really be genuine, and speculating as to why they had burdened themselves with her.

Bernard had let drop the information that Captain Mostyn had little more than his half-pay, having gambled away hi# own and most of hu wife r- money some rears nreviously on the Stock Exchange; and Marion herself had observed that the Cedars was mn on very economical lines. She had learned, too, that tiro Mostyns did not go much into society, a.nd entertained but seldom ; bub when she had suggested that she should go back to work and pav for her keep her aunt had seemed horrified at the very idea. “You have no need ever to work again, my dear.” Mrs Mostyn said. "And ns for vour suggestion that you should pay something, you seem to forget that your dear father provided for you. Do, please, try to content yourself. Marion, dear. I can t tell vott how pleased I am to have you n ith'iTC. I have always longed to have a. daughter, and I hope' in time you will come to love me and regard me as a a kind of ■second mother.” “You are very kind," responded Marlon, touched by the words, and feeling a little nehmnofl *'f li-i’ suspicion.?. iou *i.re nil vevv kind ; but—well, the truth is, aunt, T want to do something. I cannot bear to b-> idle. 1 want to work-.” " I know it must be a little dull for you here, my dear.” said Mrs Mostyn, looking a trifle nonplussed. “ You see, having awav from England for so long we —or—have lost touch of our friends to a great extent. Bnt in a month or two we shall be going into Society again, I trust, and then you shall have plenty to occupy your time and your mind. ’ Despairing of making her aunt understand that it was work and not entertainment that sho longed for, Marion allowed the subject to drop for the rime, but later in the dav Mrs Mostyn had suggested that Marion would allow Bernard to take her ou.t to dinner and afterwards to a theatre. Guessing that the suggestion was the outcome of their conversation of the morning. Marion had protested that she did not want to go; hut at length surrendered to the continued entreaties of Bernard and his mother.

It, was the first time for months that she had visited a theatre, and the experience made her forget her trouble* k'r a time. Sho chattered vivaciously with her cousin as thov sat at supper together later, and she was smiling as she left the restaurant with Bernard And as Fate so willed it, Raeburn Chesterton, driving home from the House, caught sight of her from the window of his cab at that moment.

Raeburn, after his conversation with Mark, had gone home in ft strangely disturbed state of mind. His first impulse had been to rush off and sea Marion at once, but he had decided on second thoughts to postpone the interview till next day. He was expected to speak in the House, 'and his absence would cause comment; besides, he could not very well call in the evening on Marion without explaining his business to her relatives. So he had decided to wait until next day, and all evening Marion had been in his thoughts, Mark’s words had been ringing through his brain. “ So that it the girl whose heart is supposed to be broken!” he commented, with a bitter laugh, as he was whirled on after one glance at Marion’s smiling, animated face. “ She seems to be bearing up remarkably welll 2 wonder if fnena

Mark knows that she bus ab-—d-- -'t recovered as to be able to take supper w : For a long time after he had reached his chambers he sat thinking, brooding over the events of the past, reviewing what had passed at his interview with Sampson, and wondering if, in spite of Alarion’s apparent happiness in tho company of another man, there could possibly be some truth in what Alark had said. I “ To-morrow I will give her a chance to ' explain—if there is any explanation,” he j decided, at lost, annoyed to find that his | chief feeling was jealousy—jealousy of the j tall, red-haired, dandified individual who i had been Alarion’s escort. “Yes, to-mor- | row I’ll settle it once and for all.” Flo slept but little that night, left his breakfast almost untouched, and went out early Ho walk in the park, in an endeavor to shake off his depression. And hero again Fate played another of her fantastic tricks, for Raeburn bad not been in the park more than five minutes when he came face to face with Lord Dartford. The ox-Foreign Secretary smiled slightly as he noticed Raeburn’s momentary confusion and his embarrassed flush, and ho guessed that his former n-d<tent half expected him to “ cut ” him dead. “ Morning, Chesterton,” he said, lightly, pausing at once. “ How d’you do? Haven't yen for mm-ths. 1 hope you have quite recovered from your indisposition ?” “ I am quite well again, thank you, sir,” responded Raeburn, quickly recovering himrclf, but still feeling exceedingly imcomfortable and mii Itv under tho scrutiny of Lord Dariford'e piercing eyes. “ I trust you are in the best of health ';” “Fit as a fiddle and happy ns a. sandboy now that I have got rid of the cares of office. I am quite content to leave your new friends to run the Empire. Obestorton. as long as they don’t try and interfere with the mainspring or play any tricks with tho mechanism. 1 h-v-. he-- • greatly interested in your speeches, by the way, eince you returned to tl: House.” “ Indeed ?” Raeburn flushed npabi in spite of himself, for the old diplomat’s brkrht everwere twinkling with malicious amusement, although his wrinkled vellnm-like face was quite crave. “Yes. D'you know, Chesterton, yon remind me of one of these men that l'" Salvation Army produce at their nice* ings—‘Once T was a horrible sinner, bid

now, glory be.! [ have seen the er e'er my ways.’ Yon know the sort of thing Alost impressive! Converts, political or otherwise, are always interesting.” “ f am flattered by your interest, Lord Dartford,” said Raeburn, stiffly. “Glad to have seen you again. Good mor— —" “ By the by, are yon married yet?" in ternos-d T.ord Dirtte--d. “ Xo.” replied Raeburn, stiffly, surprised by the question. “ AVhen doer, the happy event take place, then? I have been expecting t hear of your impending marriage to Alias Lancaster, now she has succeeded in con- j verting you to her point of v-ew. Vou i will have a very clever wife. Chesterton. The lady engineered your conversion very i adroitly—although, personally, I rather j took exception to her methods." | “ The engneement get ween Aliss Lon- ! caster and myself was broken off.” j snapped out Raeburn, curtly. j “ f beg your pardon, Chesterton,” said \ Lord Dartford, quickly. “ I had no idea j —er —pray accept my apology. Good j morning.” * I Raeburn sainted and walked away | quickly, stung to the quick by his fonper j chief’s barbed but polite inquiries and i remarks. | “I wonder.” he thought, as he strode I along—“ I wonder if that is why she did j it? I wonder if she did ‘engineer my ] conversion.’ ns Dartford termed it—won- I der if she was far-sighted enough to re- j cognise that I would lie compelled either ! to go out or change my party? If I ’ thought that T>l IV] ' Faugh! The thing is absurd. Yet !” (To be continued.)

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Bibliographic details

AN INNOCENT JUDAS., Evening Star, Issue 15650, 14 November 1914

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AN INNOCENT JUDAS. Evening Star, Issue 15650, 14 November 1914

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