PHANTOM IN THE FOG.

Northland Age, Volume VII, Issue 48, 28 July 1911, Page 7

PHANTOM IN THE FOG.

GERTRUDE WARDEN, Author of “ The "Wooing of a Fairy,” “An Angel of Evil,” “The Sentimental Sox,” &c., &c. GOPViiIGHX* ' . . CHAPTER I. M BETTER let me put you up for 1 the night, Sin- ' clair. The p fog’s so thick r you can’t see s yonrhandbe- : fore your face. Cabs are not to be had, and wouldn’t be safe if they were.” “ Oh, I don’t mind weather! I 1 told my father I shouldn’t be late. Now that he’s got me back he’s as nervous over me as a cat with her kittens.” “It isn’t a fit night W turn a dog into. However, if you must—How is MajorGeneral Sinclair, by the way?” “ Down with a twinge of gout, I’m sorry to say ; the result, I fancy, of too much failed calf on my return. Give me a light before I go.” “ I suppose We shan'\, have many more bachelor evenings now,” Sinclair’s host and former college chum observed, as he offered a match. “ Your lather will be marrying you off as soon as possible 'o some nicelooking heiress, to keep the property in your branch of the family.” Sinclair lit his cigar, and paused a moment before answering. Then he said, gravely: “You may take it from me, Travers, that I shall never marry.” “ Nonsense, my boy ! In the case of entailed property it’s a duty.” “The property must go. My father knows iny decision.” “What’s come over you?” protested his friend. “ You used to be impressionable enough years ago. I shall begin to think you’ve left a wife and black family somewhere in Central Africa.” “ Think what you like,” Sinclair retortedwincing a little/however, at the suggestion. “ But you won’t move me from my deci- “ Bet you a fiver you’ll be engaged to be married before the‘end of the yearly “Done! But you’ll lose. Good-night, old chap !” “Good-night. If you’re going to walk, take care of the crossings. There’ll be any amount of accidents on a night liko this, and you must have forgotten your London by ibis time. Try to get a fellow with a torch or lantern to guide you.” “ Oh, I’m all right,” laughed Sinclair, as ho turned his coat collar up and plunged into the thick yellow obscurity. “ Shut the door or you’ll have your place full of fog.” “ Wonder what reason he has for that determination not to marry?” Travers reflected as he chained ana bolted the front door after the last of his guests. “ I seem to remember some old story years ago about Sinclair and a girl eloping from a country house somewhere; but the detailu escaped me, and he’s not a fellow you can pump. Ten to one, by the tone ho uses, lie’s been hard hit at some time. It’s a pity, for he’s a real good sort.” 1 Mean Lime Everard Sinclair, as ho made his way slowly through shifting walls of Yellow fog, let his thoughts drift back into bygone • days. He had come back from five years of exploration and travel •• to find himself something of a hero and a celebrity. ITo was in his thirty-second year, and in the pink of physical condition, handsome enough, with us fine figure, soldierly bearing, fair moustache, blue eyes, and bronzed face, to find favour in any woman’s eyes, and sufficiently well off, as heir to a fine estate and considerable income, to be something of a “ parti” in the marriage-market. Yefe as ho blundered on, wrapped in a veil of darkness which seemed to isolate him with his thoughts from the outer world, he found himself recalling with regret those days ten years ago when, fresh from college, with neither money nor position, he bad fallen madly in love'with a girl whose equal he had never yet found. Through his head the old Cavalier seng was ri»[dug : “I loved a girl, I loved her

Without a reason why, For she was a gay young giglot, And a careless boy was I. I lost that girl, I lost her, And I haven’t a notion how: But oh, I would give my right hand For a glance of her gay eyes now!” Those gay eyes haunted him tonight. Tffi seemed to see Leonie’s face before him, to watch tho love-light in those brilliant brown eyes of hers under their long, black fringes, to note the dimples appearing and disappearing round her soft, red mouth, and to kiss into confusion the silky dark ct-tls which clustered round her smooth white brow. " Great heaven! What a fool I was to let her go !” he muttered half aloud. “ To think that she was mine, and that she may ho dead now and I shall never know!” The fog grew thicker as he made his way along U'oper Oxford Street, and struck oft a* he, imagined in the direction of his father’s house in Burton Square. It was •dneo on midnight of Guy Fawkes Day, and a. 3 ha drew near the doors of one of the great London hospitals he came upon a group of men and lads celebrating the day with fireworks and horse-play. So absorbed had he, been in his meditations that he had hardly noticed the reverberations, dulled by the fog, of squibs and rockets which some scat tered: adventurous souls were letting of! in the darkness. But suddenly a group of shouting and hail-tipsy revellers started into weird distinct ink': before his smarting eyes, by rcasern of Ike magnesium lights they carried ; like dancing, shouting demons, their figures showed black against the glow of red fire which flashed and flickered upon the hideous masks and paper head-dresses in which they were disguised. The effect was gro* t.equo and uncanny in the extreme, and brought Sinclair with a start out of his reverie, banishing for the moment the bittersweet memories which haunted him. But a moment later, as he was feeling his way with his walking-stick across the road, the past was. brought back to him with startling suddenne&s and reality. For in a circle of blue fire which sprang m •• :n ti;.: v -1 at his feet he beheld i ii . - of a woman, pale and sad in its beauty, the laughter gone from the dark eye., the dimples from the sweet red mouth, bu unmistakably the face of the woman he had so fondly loved, his wife who yet was not his w ife, Leonie I V CHAPTER H. Just for a few brief seconds the t. utifui pale face evolved itself from the moky atmosphere and then was gone. But in Everard Sinclair’s mind no doubt was po:- .iblc. He did not stop to reflect, to reason with himself, and recall his own pre-occupation with Leonie’s image, the Uugth o't time which had elapsed since he

bad last seen ner, or the uncertainty of the light. A flash of blue fire in a London fog, and 10, out of the dead past he had conjured up the image of the woman for whom his soul had hungered so long! It was Leonie or her ghost he told himself wildly as, crying aloud her name, he groped with outstretched hand in the direction of the vision. But his eager hands embraced nothing but stifling fog; aid the gibing voices of the street boys, as they prepared other spectral fires on the kerbstones, struck in muffled discord upon his straining ears. She must have gone on across the road and up the street, he told himself. He even imagined, as he dashed in that direction, that he could distinguish before him, almost within arms’ reach, a slight female figure in a long black cloak, her outline blurred by the all-pervading fog. “Lconie, Leonie, turn back! It is 1— Everard Sinclair.” Whither or how far he hurried in pursuit he could not tell; but always ho retained the fixed idea that the woman he sought was ahead of him, and that in a few strides he would overtake her. Once indeed his fingers grasped what seemed like a cloak; but immediately it was v rcnched from his hand, and blundering in the darkness his foot slipped over the kerb at the moment when a hansom cab, driven by a muddled and gin-dazed driver, collided with a lamp-post, and dashed on to the pavement A stunning blow, which felled him to the ground, a sensation of acute pain which was speedily merged in insensibility, were his next impressions; but before total unconsciousness supervened, he could hear confused shouts, the cabman swearing and exculpating himself to a policeman, and above all, the sweet dominant note of a woman’s voice, which was as music to his ears.

“Here is his address! Now help to lift him into the cab, and I will take him home 1” Major-General Sinclair, Everard’s father, was a slightly-built, gray-moustached veteran of sixty; a widower who had closed a brilliant army career, and whose entire hopes were centred in his son.

At a little before twelve o'clock on this foggy night he was still sitting up for him in a smoking-jacket and slippers before the library fire. At length a ring at the bell heralded Everard’s return. The old officer heard the opening of the front door, then the shuffling of feet in the hall, and an exclamation of dismay from the butler. Limping a little as he leaned on his stick, Eva raid’s father hurriedly threw' open the study door and passed into the hall, to find himself face to face, not with his son, but with a hospital nurse, wrapped in a long, dark cloak, her neat black bonnet with white strings emphasising the extreme pallor of her face.

“You are Major-General Sinclair, are. you not?” she asked, addressing him in tones of singular sweetness. “ Your son has met with an accident. He was knocked down by a cab in the fog. Don’t be too much alarmed! The doctor will he here almost immediately, and I think he will be able to reassure you. I myself do not believe there is any immediate danger, but your sen is badly bruised and stunned, and I fear tho right arm is broken. I was close by when ho was knocked down, and finding his card in his pocket, I brought him home.” “ My boy ! my poor boy !” the old soldier murmured a little later, as he bent over the inanimate form and white drawn face of his only son. “There is no danger, doctor? You are sure of that?” “ There is a good deal of fever, and he is badly knocked about,” the doctor said. “ But now that his arm is set, rest and quiet and good nursing are all he requires. You can’t do better than engage Nurse Clare, who brought him home. She was a long time with us at St. Barnabas’ Hospital, and she is one of the cleverest and most careful nurses we have ever hod.” “ She seems an exceedingly nice woman, and most gentle with my poor boy. Is it Miss or Mrs. Clare?” “ Really, I can’t tell you! Mrs., I think ; I have an idea that she is a widow. But Nurse Clare is what we always call her. I will call again the first thing to-morrow morning. Meantime, Genera’, I should strongly advise you to go to bed. You can’t do your son any good by sitting up, and Nurse Clare will look after him. But Everard’s father was far too anxious on his son’s account to take rest. In his dressing gown and slippers he crept to the door of his son’s room more than once in the night, always to find installed near the invalid’s bedside the slight figure of Nurse Clare in a dark stuff gown and snowy apron, and a cap which framed a face no longer young, but of a gentle, restful beauty. Tho nurse’s plentiful hair, wavy and silky as that of a young child, was already gray, and under her lustrous dark eyes were hollows that told of mental and physical pain. In her voice and touch, and in tho steady sweetness of her regard, there existed a wonderful charm of magnetism and sympathy. “ I am suffering with you, for I have euf fered too,” was the look in her face, and Everard’s father was even more alarmed than touched when, as he crept to the open door of his son’s room, he found Nurse Clare gazing intently on Everard’s unconscious face, while big tears rolled silently down her cheeks. “Why do you cry?” whispered the old gentleman, almost fiercely, as he laid his hand upon the woman’s shoulder. “Is it because you think that he will die?*’ Clearly his abrupt question startled her; but she dried her eyes and answered him in level tones of extreme sadness : “It is not that. lam sure he will get well. But your son is very like—someone whom I knew years ago—whom 1 lost, and who was very dear to me ” “Ah ! your husband ?” She looked at him in surprise a moment. Then she bowed her head. “Yes, my husband!” “ Poor girl, poor girl!” He pal ted her shoulder kindly, and limited out, considerably comforted. She was probably a woman of between thirty and forty, he decided ; but she must have been wonderfully pretty # in her youth. She would certainly take care of his son all the more, since he resembled her dead husband. Poor little woman! CHAPTER 111. “ It’s all thanks to you, Nurse Clare, that I have gdt well so soon.” “Thanks to a splendid constitution and a capital doctor, rather. And then I must say you have been a very good patient.” “Are not all your patients good? Why, there isn’t anything you tell me to do that I wouldn’t do 1” A flush passed over the nurse’s pale face. “ Now I shall tell you not to talk!” she said. “You want rest and sleep, to build you up You musn’t excite yourself„ by talking.” “ All right, Nurse! Give your orders, and Pll obey. Tell nr to go to sleep, and sit over there with your work or book, and I ask nothing belter than to look at you." “Oh ! No more talking please !” Sh© took the seat he had pointed out and bent her head over her work, trying to appear unconscious of her patient’s silent scrutiny. At length a deep-drawn sigh from Everard made her put her work down and look across at him inquiringly. “ Is there anything you want?” she asked in anxious tones.

“ Yes ; I want you to listen to me. Can’t you sit nearer, and let me hold your hand, as I used to when I had the fever? Your touch calms me, and helps me to collect my thoughts. There—that’s better! Now you musn’t stop me, for I have something on my mind which must be spoken! It was right after all, that you should have brought me home and nursed me back to strength : for do you know it was through you that my accident happened?”

"Yes. I was walking home frm t friend’s house, where I’d been dining. Suddenly, in a circle of blue light the street boys were playing with I sow a face—your face it was, as I know now. But I thought —I thought it was the face of someone elsel” “Someone you were very fond of?” She breathed the words rather than said them. “ Someone I loved with all my heart and soul! My wife.” “ Your wife! Ah, you were married seven years ago, were you not? 1 saw it in the papers.” “My marriage was never in the papers, and it took place not seven years ago, but ten. Tho Everard Sinclair, who was married seven years ago to Lady Mary Clcethorpe was my first cousin. Why, nurse, how white you look! And your naod is trembling! What is the matter?” “Nothing! lam a little tired Let me go back to my old place; 1 get the air from the door there. Now go on with your story, please. Is your wife—dead?” “ I can’t tell. There’s the terrible A -art of it. Hardly anyone even knows that J was married Within a week my wife was taken from me, and I have looked for her vainly ever since. Yoh will laugh, Nurse Clare, but by that foggy light, seeing your lace suddenly, I thought I had found her at last, and that you -were she?” j “Aml so very lik . her ?” “ like and ye. not like. She, my Lifonie, was a girl, not 18 ; she would only be about seven and twenty now. She had an enormous mass of curly dark hair, the longest and finest I ever saw, and a skin like a 1 peach. Her figure was plump and wonderfully pretty, and was the gayest, merriest creature you can viagine, singing and laughing from morning till night. We were like'a coupk' of children. But all this was ten years uao.’ “Yes. People c V& with time,” she said quietly. “But do j" mean by saying she was taken froc you? How can anyone separate husband and wife?” His brows knit. “ Unluckily, she was French,” he said. “ We were slaying at a country house. She was schoolfellow to one of the girls. The moment I saw her I fell madly in love with her; and she loved me too, though at first she was too much afraid of her parents to own it. I wrote to them to ask their consent, for nothing would oatmt me but an immediate marriage. But old Mons. Dupont, her father, was a self-male man—a wealthy merchant, with no ideas but moneymaking and an inveterate hatred against the English. Iconic was his only daugh ter, ana he refused my offer in most insulting terms, and ordered bis daughter home in a week. 1 knew nothing of French law, and I took no one’s advice, but I got a special license, and we were married secretly at Wyi hinge Church, not far from Folkestone. Then we wrote to her people; my mother was dead, and my father wai j fighting in Zululand, so that I could not consult mine. Monsieur Dupont gave me ; no reply, but a telegram, informing me that ! the marriage was by French law illegal and j void, as the consent of Loonies parents ! had been refused, and demanding the instant return of his daughter. “ Need I tell you that I didn’t under* stand, and couldn’t and wouldn’t believe it, or LAonie either? I left her at YVytbinge, and hurried up to town, having telegraphed to my lawyer to meet me for a consultation. To my amazement and horror I found it was perfectly true. Outrageous as it seems to our English ideas, French subjects cannot be legally married at short notice without the consent of their parents! Love or liking is set aside in the case of that unfortunate nation. The young man or woman must wait until their parents and guardians have well studied the monetary aspects of tho proposed match, and t when they have done haggling, and not before, Romeo is free to meet nis Juliet, always in the presence of their respective guardians ! “To old Dupont the fact that his daughter was already the wife of the man she loved w’us nothing; tho fact that she was heiress to his scraped-up thousands of francs, and had thrown them away upon an Englishman without fortune, was everything. “ When I returned to my little home at Wythinge, it was empty ! My wife had been stolen from me by her father and mother, and from that day to this, Nurse Clare, I have never seen her face. . Do you wonder that I refuse to marry ? How could I take another woman as my wife while in my secret heart I fed convinced my Ldonie is alive?

“ For three years I sought her, but the Duponts kept close, and swore to me she had entered a convent. At last, in despair, I went abroad, as you know, risking my life fin - the sake of the movement and excitement of travel in a savage country. But the thought of my little losl w ife has never left me, and the reason why 1 delight to look at you and obey you, the reason why I am, as you call me, such a good patient, is just that, by some accident, your voice and your face remind me wonderfully of her.* As you bend your head now by this light it might be Iteome ” “ A 'much older and sadder woman than your Ldonie, Mr. Sinclair !” “Of course,” he returned dreamily, wbh his eyes still fixed upon her face. “ And yet—w'hy are you trembling? And why an your eyes filled with tears? Answer i»e, and don’t run away, Nurse ” “ I—l have to see about your beef-t« and ”

“ Stop !” be cried, springing suddenly ujr from his pillows, regardless of his ban'Wwl arm. “For mercy’s sake, don’t go I lAoni< Sinclair, Nurse Clare! And you thought . ! had forgotten and had married again! What a blind fool I have been! Lifonie, my wife, come to me!” For a moment she stood by the door, hesitating, with her hands tightly clasped ov« her heart, a slender, pathetic-looking fig-ur« in her nurse’s dress, with her sad dark eyei and prematurely gray hair. Then sk* k-vJi by the bedside of her patient, and drawing his uninjured hand between both hers. 1 id it against her cheek, which was w*>. wioi tears.

“Dearest!” she whispered. “I .m not worth loving now. But, thank God, I hue lived to meet you again, and to know \oi» were true to me all these long, weary yean 1 I was kept in a convent until my father'* death. Then I escaped to England, hoping to find you, only to read, as I thought, of your marriage. I will not tell you how bitterly I suffered! I resolved to devote my life to others; but in nursing a sroallpor case T fell ill, and when I recovered my colour was gone, my hair was gray, i wa* an old woman in appearance at five and twenty ! For all that, I used to long foa sight of your face, but I never dreamed that you would recognise me, changed ** ! am; and when we came face to face ru th< fog that night, and you called my name, I ran away from you. I thought you ««< married again, you nee, and I could bear that you thould see my pale fact and gray hair.' And then, my darling, your accident and the immense joy to n\f of nursing von, my husband, a jov bey oik my wildest hopes. I would uever have fold you, though, if you had not found out fox yourself it was I. I would have gone back to my work and " “ And now your work in life is to make me happy, mv dear one, as mine is U cherish you As soon as I can crawl about, we will be married all over again, in Eng land, in France, in every country in Europe, if you like! I don’t mean to lose you » second time! Send for my father. He wifi be nearly as happy as I. But kiss roe first, iny Leonie, my wife!” And so Everard’s friend, Travers, won Mi bet; for Major-General Sinclair’s son and heir was not only engaged but married bo-, fore tin* end of the year.

' THE COMING OF KATHI. (By W. 11. ROSS.) I A little dau of light entered tihe h*ll*vay is Jofin Ravmond pushed open the Imnt door. He had been so quick with #uh latchkey that he had the door open t>efare Mabel could reach it. She had Plaited in the hallway, a < lain tv little figure in white—John thought that she never looked aa weld as she did in white, and Mabel knew his praference —and he raw tluU ah* I Kid her finger rained. “ W hat is it?” he uskuu. 1 “ Hush, John.” She came a little closer. Even in the dim light he could see that ghe was pleasurably excited. “ I’ve engaged a girl.” “ Good." said John. “ I wanted you to get one long ago. “ Not quite so loud, John, dear. She’s in the dining-room.” She took him by Kin- arm and led him into the cosy little Mbrarv. “ iShe inakn* me fed so mutronly. dear.” . “ I don’t like that,” said John. “ She ohould lift your burdens ami renew’ your youth. How did you got her ? Advertise?” , ” No.” 14 Agency ?” “(Vrnie, oome. Mrs. Stiggins didn’t let ■rou hive that treasure of here, that she's tor ever hoisting about ?” " No,” laughed Mabel. 44 Mrs. Stiggins has host her treasure. She went to Mrs. Jonas Parley’s for aO cents a week more.” ” Such ingratitude ! 1 can faintly imafioo Mrs. Stiggins’s views concerning the fude of honour of Mrs Jonas Parley, But how did you get the newcomer ?” And he |xni»ied bis thumb over his shoulder at the Orring-roam door. ** She came to me, John.” *Eh ? Any references?” i ** Plenty—in Germany.” I John looked grave. “ Isn’t that taking chances?” ** I don’t know, Joihn. I hope not. You *ee, 1 was sitting on the porch this afternoon, when she came along. She didn’t •ec me. I'm sure, for she stopped and sat on the steps, and looked, oh, so tired. 1 •poke to her, John. 1 asked her if she was looking for a place. She stared at me for a moment, ami there w-ere tears in her eyes, and she slowly nodded. 1 think that something in mv voice touched her. And—well. John, I’m going to try her for a week. She doesn’t claim to tie able to do much, but she seems so willing—and I'm to pav her just what I think’s she's worth. Oh. I know rou’ll like her, John Bhe's so good-natured—and so funny.” John shcok his head ait Mabel. 44 I really don't think we were exactly lufferinc for some one to arouse us.” he laid. “ I’m practical enough to want my coffee palatable and my muffins light, even if we don’t get a ghost of a laugh out of the merry muffin-maker.” There was & light rap on the door of the dining-room. 44 Blease, lady,” came from the other tide. Mabel opened the door. . 44 Come. John.” The new maid awaited them near the foot of the table. As John entered the room she made a sweeping gesture as if inviting him to scat himself. He gave her a quick gLance as he took his place. Bhe was of medium height and just a little inclined to stoutness. Her face was very fair, her eyes light blue, and her thick masses of blonde hair were drawn back and coiled in shining bands low down on her neck. It was an unmistakable German face, but by no moans a phlegmatic one. On the contrary, there was a quick twinkle in the eyes and a decidedly amusing twist to the red lips. The new maid looked at her mistress Mid then at John. 44 Isa it your goat man ?” she asked. ■Mabel wits a trifle startled. 44 John,” she said. 44 this is our new maid.” John responded with a friendly nod, and the maid gave him a cute Irttle curtsey. It certainly was cute, despite the owner’s inclination toward stouto**9B, and * merry twinkle of the eyes accompanied it.

44 1 hope ve get some better agwaintmces,” she said. John wnnted to laugh, but he heroically re-t rained hirnoelf. As for Mabel, her face grew very red. It may be possible that there were some features of the dinner that didn’t come np to John’s fastidious tastes, but he was •nt a fault tinder and was quite ready to make excuses for the new help. It really was a jolly meal. There was a suggestion of breezinew about the stranger. 8b« came into the room with such a dash ind there was something almost impressive about the way she handled the fray mucr dishes. John’s eyes followed her as she left the room and Hosed the door. 44 Mabel ” he said. 44 did you notice the Way the handled the batter knife T f "Vo, John.” 44 She did It with the air of a tragedy I couhbi’t help thinking of Lady iidacbeth.” Make! laughed. * 4 Bke’» trying so hArd. John. Don’t let her see that you are critidiring her/ And then the nabjeet of the conversation entered the room and the conversadon switched to the wcwthsr. When they pushed hack their chsjre the new maid made another curtsey. 44 1 hope you oxcocse,” she aud. “ Let ecu all to now. I do better yet soon.” John nodded and Mabel nodded, and then they both sought the library. 44 Mabel.” wiid John, 44 I'd hke to wager my best hair brushes that the now maul is an a< trees” Mabel started. 44 Oh. John, do yeo ttrfnk so ?' *lf she isn't HiHs a wonderful imitation.” A "W from the inner room suddenly arose in song. It was a rich ■'owtralto and the song wm a German folk ballad. There wan a strange tendornem in it, aad the sinrer sang it very well. And the two in the library sat and lifctwwd ur.tfi Hw Vwrt rwte died away. PreMacho! xrom. “ Road fshe psper. dear. I’m going to Ind out something about ‘her.” John Lad quite finished the paper when r . He noticed that her eyes wrrv *Mren*r, and her face a little flushed. 9hc Aw her dhair close to 'him.

“ John dear,” she said, 44 you were i right. She is an actress.” “ Yes ?” 44 She is a souliretite, and Iliad gainenl | some notice in Berlin, when >the agent of , au Ameruun manager coaxed her to conic to this country. Ihrt ihss plans for establishing a German theatre fell through, his ghtiering promises faded, aaid the company he Ikul imgagoJ was stranded in a strange kind. K«thv— her minte is Kathi Braun—had but little rnoaiey, asxd she sixxn [wwned all her Mtlunliftcs, and then she was quite lit a loss what to do. Her English is not good ami she had no knowledge of any work save that of her profession. She was quite desperate bo-day when I took her in, and rfhe seems so grateful to have a roof over her head. l>o—do—you think her story makes any difference, John ?” “ No, I don’t.” 'he answered. 44 But my tibtle wffie imistn’t let her fcefcngs be worked on too far.” 44 Oh, I don’t, John. DTI keep my eyes wide open.” tfhe suddenly laughed. 44 She thinks you are very race, dear. She auid if your moustache was a little longer you’d look just like Field Marsliol Mem Elster.’ •* Imt’s kind of her,” John. 44 But she might lmve made it hhe Kaiser. “ No.” said Mabel, 44 she wouldn’t do that. She told me she sang a htitle nursery rhyme about tihe Emperor one night in Berlin { and they almost sent her to gaol for it. 4 ‘ She sings very well,” said John. 44 Hasn’t she a beautiful voice ! When I went out there she was wiping the dishes and singing and crying all ait 'the same time. It was homesickness. I't seems that she comes of a good family, and ran away to be an actress when she wus only 17 — ami she hasn't been home for more than live years. And she’s so proud she won’t write to them about 'her troubles. .She likes nie, John. Site brightened up as soon a< I came into the kitchen. And, oh, John, we've made a bargain. I’m going to teach her 'how to cook American dishes and she’s going to help me recall my German lessons. You know I studied it at school, and Kathi speaks it ilieautifuily—the very l>est German, you know. She was brought up to be useful, but she doesn't know much about American ways, and 1 think it would be a fair exchange, don’t you, dear ?” John laughed. ” I’ve no doubt of it, my love,” he said. 44 Anyway, 1 fancy I’ll be Che gainer by it. I refer to t'he cooking, of course.” There was a gentile tap at the door. 44 Blease. lady.” 44 Yes. Ivatihi.” The door opened. The new r maid appeared at the threshold. ‘‘ If you blease I vill to my room go,” she aaid. 44 Goot night. May aD beneait’ Jis roof sleep veil.” And she was gone. There wms a brief period of silence. ” That won’t do us any hurt,” said Jchn. 4 * No. dear.” Kathi was caroling gtiyly oarlj r the next niorning. when John descended to the region below. Maliel had preceded him and breakfast was almost ready. The new maid eamrht sight of him as he entered the library. 44 Goot morning, mein herr,” she called to him. 4 Wie befinden sie sich ?” As this was one of the few phrases in German that John understood, he told ' her he found himself quite well. Whereat | the new maid Laughed merrily, with a great display of dazzling teeth. 44 You understandt Gherman poofy fine,” she said. 44 Almost so veil as I understandt English. Tss it not so ?” Ami John admitted that it was so. She paused with the water pitcher in her hands and intently regarded him. And she lowered her voice when she spoke. 44 You haf a lofely vife, Ilerr Raymondt,” she said. 44 Sooch a goot heart ; sooch a kindtness ! She ton’t vait to say 4 who are you ?’ She ton’t push you back in de streets again pecause you ton’t haf no recommendationings. She looks at you un she says 4 Come in.’ Chust like dot. ‘Come in.’ ” There was exquisite pathos in her tone. Jolrn felt sure it was not all the art of the actress. 44 She open de door und she sav, 4 Come in.’ Und de poor vandercr, mit no roof, mit hungriness, mit sooch a heimweh, she valk in und findt a shelter, und chentle vords. und a crate I kindtness.” Her tone suddenly changed. 44 Take goot care of vour lofely vife, Herr Raymondt. You ton’t nefer findt auudder so goot.” She gravely nodded at him several times, then put down the pitcher and hurried out. . And somehow John didn’t laugh at her words. Instead, he looked a little thoughtful. Was he us attentive to Mabel as he should he ? Did he do as much to entertain her as was her due—yes, her due ? Wasn’t he falling into a rut Chat it would be hard to escape from when once lie was fairly caught in it ? What was lie becoming, but a mere business machine ? What was his home but a place of rest ? 44 Breakfast, John.” He took his scat at the table. “ Mabel,” he said, 44 how would you like to go to the theatre tonight ?” She looked up with a quick flush of pleasure. 44 I’d like it so much, John.” 44 Baxter tolls me it’s a capital play. He and has wife were there the opening night.” 44 But can we leave Kathi alone in the house ?” 44 Why not ? I'll ask her.” And just then Kathi came in with the toast. She looked at it ruefully as she put the plate on the table. 44 Eet : iss all of a plackness,” she apologised. 44 You must oxcoose. De fire vas too much. I am ashamed mit it.” Mabel looked at John. He was inclined to be fussy about his toast. To her surprise he seemed to pay no attention to the mishap. “ Kathi,” he said, 44 we can leave you at home to-night, can’t we ? I want to take Mrs. Raymond to the theatre.” Kathi’s face beamed. 44 Sure,” she promptly replied. 44 1 stay at home, yes, yes. It iss a pleasantness. Vat vas it dey playing by de theatre ?” 44 1 want Mrs. Raymond to see 4 The Two Hollanders.’ the new comedy.” Kathi laughed aloud. 44 Oh. I know it,” she cried. 44 It iss from der Cherman. It iss Mosenthal’s. Yes. yes. I blay Katinka myself. You vateh Katinka. Dot iss mine. I blay it in Berlin. Yes, und Mosenthal vas j dere, and de Duke of Saxe-Meiningen vas

in de box. Ah, it vae fine. You vatcli ven Katinka pring in de letter for de crown prince. So,” she caught up the plate of toast and coqucttishly thrust it at John. 44 4 Herr Valdheiin, mit de eombliinentings of his serene highness.’ Dot’s de blace. You vatcli it. Und blease rememper 1 vas de werry first. Katinka. .Sooch a mischiefs !” And »he put one hand on her hip coquettiahly and waved the toast about her head. Then she suddenly Laughed, and, putting down the plate, ran from the room. Mabel lookedi across the table. 44 John,” she remarked, 44 1 guess it isn’t worth while to go to the theatre.” John laughed. 44 1 don’t bebeve we will see anything more amusing,” he said. 44 Nevertheless, we are going.” When John came home to dinner he paused in tihe vestibule. The piano -was pouring forth a delightful volume of melody. Evidently a clever performer was at the keys. And then he remmnlbcred, with a sudden iregret, tilut Mabel rarely opened tihe instrument now. He fancied that it was his fault somehow. He pushed the key into the lock, and as he opened 'the door there was the sound of hurrying footsteps. Mabel met him in the hall, and her face was beaming. 44 Kathi was playing for me, John. She plays beautifully. Listen to this little two-step she taught me.” And she seated herself and rattled off the little melody in a most delightful style. 44 Play it again,” said John, and when Maliel had repeated it he asked her to play the nocturne that he had always liked so well. She was still playing when Kalthi called them to dinner. Kathi was waiting for them when they returned from the play and she wanted to know about it. Ana Mabel had told her all she could, and Katin had shown her how r this line and that should be read, and John had looked on highly amused. It was nearly 1 o’clock when Mabel happened to remember that the hour must be late. Kathi caught Raymond’s eye as he looked up after announcing the tipie. “ Your laty like de theater pooty veil, Hen 1 Raymondt,” she said. 44 She say she tout go only vonce of a soanedimes. 1 mean not of an oftennesa.” John looked at Mabel. Had she complained ? But, no, that wasn’t like her. 44 We would be quite ready to go every week,’’ he said, 44 if we could be so well amused.’’ Kathi’s eyes twinkled. 44 It iss goot to laugh,” she said. 44 It keeps avay oldt age. Your laty haf sooch a bleasant laugh. I lofe to hear it.” And John inwardly wondered if he had heard it quite as often as he should. 4 * Nothing disturbed you while we were away ?’’ he asked the girl as he arose. 44 Nothing. I ton’t hear a soundt. It iss vot 1 like.” She looked around at Mabel. 44 1 am so bleased mit effryding,” she said, with a little nod. * 4 Then yon like your place ?” said John, who was trying the windows to see that they were fastened. 44 1 like it so much,” Kathi responded. 44 It iss a peiutiful home. Dere iss but one ting I mis*?. It iss de kinder—de children. Dot its all It neets to make it of a berfection. Goot night.” 44 Good night,” said John. Unhappily, the reign of Kathi Braun was all too brief. It Listed but a fleeting month. But during that time she continued to endear herself to both the Raymonds. Her cooking didn’t improve, she was far from being a competent maid, yet her delightful good humour and her babbling pei-sonality were like sunshine in the house. And then one afternoon Mabel met John on the porch. 44 Oh, John,” she cried, 44 Kathi is going away !” 44 Going away ?” 44 Yes, John.” 44 Where is she going ?” 44 Back to Germany.” 44 How is that ?” 44 There was a German lawyer here this afternoon. Pie came to ste her. He has been looking for her everywhere. It was just by chance that he traced her here.” 44 What did he want?” “ He came to tell her that an uncle in Berlin, her mother's brother, he was some kind of high official in the Government service, has died and left her all his fortune. It is a great fortune, John, and the lawyer gave her all the money she needed to .prepare for the journey home. She must go back with him right away. She is going to leave to-morrow.” 44 Why, that’s fine—for Kathi,” said John a little ruefully. He knew how fond his wife had become of the girl, “Where is she now?” “.She’s in the kitchen.” 44 In bhe kitchen ?” 44 Yes. She says her week isn’t up until tomorrow. I couldn’t persuade her to stop work. And, oh, John, she’s invited us both to come to Berlin to visit heiwind 1 pro mined we would. She’s so funny. I want to laugh and cry at the same time.” The departure of Kathi was a somewhat serious affair. John and Mabel accomjianiod her in the carriage bo the railway station, whjere jthe extremely dignified German solicitor awaited them. 44 1 am so mooch of a tankfulness,” sa.id Kathi as she held Mabel’s 'hand when the lost farewells were being said. 44 1 neffer forget it—neffer. You come and see me sure. I write you so soon I vas arrival. Gootdiy. I vill kis9 you—may I?” And, being women, they both cried. John and Mabel walked slowly up the hill that led from the station, and both were quiet for a while. Then 'Mabel laughed a little hysterically. 44 Wasn’t it a strange experience, John?” she asked. 44 It was.” 44 And as brief as an angel’s visit. 1 suppose it would be a little irreverent to compare it to an angel’s visit, wouldn’t it, John dear?” John suddenly smiled. 4 T guess it would,” he answered. “More especially as angel soubrettes are so extremely rare.” Then he gently drew Mabel’s arm through his, and they walked on in silence. —Cleveland 44 Plain-Dealer.”