SINNERS
IN HEAVEN
BY CUVE ARDEN
iv m
(Continued)
“Oh. yes. y es!” Interrupted Barbara
I The closing pai »graphs of chap, Impatiently. “But that's not sufficient
ter 4, scheduled to appear on page It's not a woman's love for a m an;
6 last week, was crowded over to that's quite a different thing. I know.'
tbia column by pressure of late
“Don't talk like a novelette!” her
mother broke in querulously. Then,
news.]
suddenly, her eyes narrowed and her
thin face sharpened. “How do you
tonlshed them both. Passion and a know?” she asked meaningly.
sense of tbe dramatic had ever been
Barbara was momentarily off her
far from his nature. Involuntnrily, guard, not realising her slip. The
however, his fingers closed around her other woman pursued the advantage.
wrists. Raising her hands, he pressed
“Answer me, Barbara! I have not
his Ups upon them.
hitherto pressed for the confidence
“Heaven knows what was rlglit or that was my due—in spite of the gos
wrong,” he declnred hurriedly. "But— sip which has come to my knowledge.
oh, my dear! God help you!”
You owe it to us all, now , to give an
The door slammed, and he was gone I account of your life upon that island.
from her life—this man who had been Did anything happen there to cause
friend and brother, playmute or lover, this step?"
The girl stood looking down into the
all her youth. . , . She stood gazing
drearily through the window at the fire, uncertain of her reply, for a few
desolate tennis court, where they hail moments. Her mother gave a little
played so often together, and an extra click with her lips.
“Ah I” she said decisively, “we
wave of lonely bitterness swept Into
her heart. . . . She saw Hugh, with thought so !”
bent head, cross the grass to the gar
“Thought what?" cried Barbara,
den gate. . . . Then she sank Into turning sharply.
a chair before the fire, crushed by an
“That there had been some non
overpowering sense of physical weak sense between you and that man, un
ness.
chaperoned as yon were,”
The girl’s eyes smoldered ominously,
and she set her teeth. Her mother,
exasperated by this reticence, contin
Darbury seethed and bubbled, and ued with increasing anger:
consumed endless tea. over the broken
“I ought never to have given my
engagement of Hugh and Barbara. It consent. I always knew he was an
is always easier to criticize other peo unscrupulous type of man—I never
ple’s actions with the aid of this sooth trusted him ! But you at least should
ing beverage. It seems to enhance have known better, after your very
one's own sense of respectability in a careful upbringing. If his Ideas were
world of sin.
loose—”
Nobody was surprised, of course I
“Stop, mother!” Her quick anger
Nobody ever is on such occasions. mounted. “You don't know what you
Everybody knew that something would are saying. He was the soul of honor.
hsppen—which is always a safe con And because of it I—yes, I grew to
jecture.
love him with all my heart. I couldn’t
But what everybody did not know help It. I shall love him until I die,”
concerning the latter thrill was the she Cried recklessly, throwing herself
real reason. And herein lay the cause into a chair and burying her head.
of the emptying tea caddies. Unfor
"You mean to say," asked Mrs.
tunately, Miss Davies was In London Stockley sarcastically, "that It is 'the
attending Christmas meeting over soul of honor’ to hake advantage of a
“fallen girls,” so the mystery remained girl's lonely position?
To lure her
unsolved. But the weed of suspicion from the man—"
grew into a lusty tree. Again, and
"He did not I” She sprang angrily
in louder tones, the question arose: to her fe e t; then, realized, too late, the
What happened on the island?
wisdom of Hugh's warning.
It was known that the Uochdales
Her mother laughed incredulously.
"Then you gave him your affection
unnsked? You behaved like a senti
mental schoolgirl—threw yourself at
his head, In fa ct? '
Anything was better than exposing
Alsn's name to the fate awaiting It
If the truth oozed out. She caught at
this straw, anxious to end the ordeal.
"If you like to think so. He cer
tainly never—asked me to care for
him. But I couldn't help It," »he re
pented.
Thug It was whispered from one
bosom friend to another throughout
Darbury that, during her sojourn upon
the Island, Barbara became the vicilm
of an unrequited , passion. This added
spice to the mystery, while whetMng
curiosity. Did her companion never
guess? Could ally man, • in snch cir
cumstances, be Ko blind— or so pla
tonic?
Curious glance« followed iher; voices
were lowered, when she appeared; a
constraint become, obvious in her pres
ence.
. . W elt aware of It all. She
threw it off with et shrug, scorn adding
to the misery o f her heart as she
dragged through (he days. Occasional
ly her another foncted the subject open
again.
"If Hugh ev er'w ish es to renew the
engagement," ah* said once, “I Insist
upon your doing^ so."
"I couldn’t pdeidMy. mother 1"
“How Do You Know?”
“Why not? 7'he other man is dead.
and Mrs. Stockley were deeply upset,
. . . You <y»n’t ruin your life over
the latter exceedingly w roth; but the an Infatuation, of that sort. . . ."
two most affected kept their own coun The Rochdale* are such old friends.”
sel.
she moaned, another time. "You don't
The only ray of comfort to Barbara consider how I mis» them—how ibis
in her wretchedness lay In her aunt's all affect» tn«Jl"
absence. The relations between her
“But yon ca n continue your friend
mother and herself were of the cold ship. Why n e t? ” asked the girl, hav
est. Mrs. Stockley never forgot her ing grown un accustomed to Darbury
position as a beacon, nor her Honor habits. Thia, however, was contrary
able Grandmother's gracious act In to all custom* and a certain estrange
establishing her own Identity with the ment between th e two fam ilies began,
county. This marriage between her ns a mntter o f coarse. . . .
daughter and Darbury'g future squire
Barbers tramped the common In all
had been her dearest ambition. Now, weathers, consumed with a restlessness
for no tangible reason, thia ambition— that wotjld not let her sleep, nnnhle
revived with the girl's return—was to find peach o f mind In. any occupa
hurled to the ground. Not easily eould tion. Coming back from one of these
Mrs. Stockley view the dashing of her tramp« tw o days before Christmas,
hopes. The scene between them bad she noticed. In the gathering dusk of
been stormy. She had wept, cajoled the short afternoon, a woman's figure
and upbraided, exasperated by the oth standing near the lake, a small child
i her arms. With a casual glance,
er's Irrevocable demeanor.
“You are throwing away what m iy the girl was entering the cottage gate,
would give their eyea to possess!" one w ien she heard her frame uttered low.
cried at last. “What will people say? like s faint exclam ation- She turned
There has been enough talk already. quickly, peering' with pw zled brow
Auu confess you still cure for Qugh—” through th j gio pm ; then recognition
y
-
'
‘
dawned in her face.
oFuttOB.
“Jenny? Jenny Grant!"
She re
Half an hour later, after extricating
membered she had not seen the girl her charges from Martha’s distinct!)
since her return. “What are you do grim ministrations, she rang the bell
ing. Jenny?
Home for Christmas?" nt the "House of the Moor,” and de
she asked kindly, presuming her to be posited them in tbe frieudly arms of
now In service somewhere. There was the housekeeper of that harbor where
no reply ; and, aware of tbe shyness of all were welcome. “Mrs. Field won’t
such village maidens, she continued : mind." she said. 'T shall be hack
“Where are you working now?”
soon.” She hurried away acrosa the
“I—I ain't got no work. Miss Bar
dark paths; then turned along tbe
bara.”
road leading to the vicarage.
The voice trembled on a sob. Bar
"Surely the vicar will help," she I
bara glanced at her qalckly again, and muttered to herself. “If only I had |
realized the child's presence. A dim the money handy myself—” lo w n the
’uemory of one among the many choice road skirting the wall, a bicycle lamp
morsels recently recounted for her came (lushing. A dark form (lew pust
own benefit returned to her mind. . . .
the girl; then, with a scraping of
"Oh, Jenny !" she cried involuntar brakes and ruttle of springs, Jumped
ily ; then stopped, as the girl, hiding off und hurried back.
her face on the sleeping child, burst
"Ahi Miss Stockley! I have wanted
into a passion of tears. Taking her to see you. . , .”
arm, she led her to a seat placed near
The vicar's voice sounded unusually
the lake, saying nothing until the fit subdued.
"I was Just coming to see you, Mr
of weeping had subsided. There was
no need of words. In Barbara's face Horne," Barbara replied.
"Really? Ah! I am very glad of
and heartfelt exclamation Jenny had
rend tbe knowledge she had learned that. 1 hoped you would."
“Wbx?” she Inquired, in genuine
to dread awakening, mingled with a
FBB 11, 1925
RURAL ENTERPRISE
FACE 3
through the,
SOUTHLAND
to the
EAST
z
By Train and Ship
to New York
Go this way—it coats
but little more
ffliasta ro u te to C a lifo rn ia — (fo u r fine
tr a in s d a ily . — th e n c e sc en ic S u n set
route to N e w Orleans.
E xcellent meals in th e S outhern Pacific
d in in g car.
C o n n ec tio n at N ew O rlean s w ith pala
tia l steamers for N e w Y o r k — meals and
b e rth in clud ed in th e one fare.
Stopovers en ro u te: see th e M a rd i Gras
at N e w O rleans.
A sk abou tC arrisoG o rg c route fro m San
D ie g o - A p a c h e T ra il d e to u r o f A rizona.
W e w ant you to in v estig ate o u r
FURNITURE
DEPARTMENT
w hen y o u r w ants a re in th is line. O u r stock is •
• a ttra c tiv e in both d esign and price.
W e call y o u r special a tte n tio n to tb e
DE
LUXE
BEDSPRING
Í - k m
For further information, ask
SoutherirPacíóc
C . P. M O O D Y , Agent
Phone 226
• b u ilt for com fort &nd d u rab ility
H IL L &<°
symputhy she had never yet encoun
tered. Of tier own accord, at last, »he
begun a stumbling explanation.
“ 'E n ils a sailor, miss. . . . 'E
was goin’ to marry me, but was or
dered suilden-lolke back to 'Is ship;
nn' then 'e—'e got the 'monia an’
died. . . . But 'e would 'a' married
me. all right I 'E would I" She spoke
with a defiance which the llajehlng
girl understood well. "We wa» wrong,
I know,” she went on, “but we was
young an'—an’—partin’, an',” with
sinking voice, "I luved 'lm! Oh, mias!
I did, indeed! . .
The hand on her arm tightened its
grasp.
“Yes, Jenny, . . . I know . .
Then for a few moments she fell si
lent. reflecting upon the varied and
extriordinary results—the high re
solves and sacrifices, the Impetuous,
hot-heHded folly, the loss of all prin
ciples—achieved by that “terrific
force." . . . “What has happened
since— ?" She glanced nt the child.
My aunt sent you to a ‘home,’ I
think?”
'Yes, miss. Afterward I got work;
but the baby was delicate ttn’,1 couldn't
'ave 'im with me. An' it'« bln the
same all along. I've bln out o f work
now’ wl' 'lm fur weeks, an' all me
money well-nigh gone. So I cum 'ohie
to mother, an' she—she's turned me
away.” . . . The sobs Ififpjie out
afresh.
"I—dunno w'ere to go por
w’at to do . . .
I wish I was dead!
I was wonderin’, thera by the lalfe,
If—"
“No, no, no I Don’t say It, Jenny I
We—we'll think of something.” Per
haps It was more than natural aver
sion which forced such horror Ihto her
own face and voice. “Have you ahy
friends, anywhere?”
“Only In Edinburgh," Jenny replied
hopelessly. "I 'ave an mint there Wot
would 'elp me over Christmas If I
could afford to—”
$he broke Off.
swaying forward and nearly dropping
the child. Barbara took him from ber.
“Jenny," she asked, "have you. had
any food lately?"
"I ain’t 'ad—none todaye-miss,"
came the whisper.
With all Alan's suddenness of pur
pose, Barbara rose, supporting the girl
with one arm and the baby boy with
the other.
“Come with me." »he said.
Mrs. Stockley, making out a list of
necessities for s systematically organ
Ized parish tea, presently listened
aghast to her daughter’s Impetuous ex
planation and extraordinary reqneat.
“That girl! Jenny Grant! To stay
In my house? My dear Barbara, I
won't hear of such a thing I Whatever
would people say? A wicked little—
where Is she now?”
“Martha is giving her food. She was
starving."
Her mother gasped. She rose nncer
talnly, as if on the point of frustrating
this disposal <4 her goods; then some
thing In the girl's expression caused
her to resume her seat.
“Oh, well I She cun have some food.
But then »lie Is to go, Barbara—•”
“Where?”
—.
Mrs. Stockley fidgeted with'Tier writ
ing paper.
"That’s no concern of mine. Her
mother must * look after her. Your
aunt will be back tonight. She will
do something—"
Barbara waved this Idea to a place
unmentionable. “Will you lend her
money to reach Edinburgh? I haven't
got enough loose cash—”
“Certainly not I I might never see
It again.”
The girl abruptly left the room at
this point, witli another impulsive rea-
Hal sey
Oregon
surp wTe.
“Because—well, to be candid, I have
felt much troubled about you.”
"Inoeed?" she said, aa he paused
He wheeled his bicycle nearer and
spoke somewhat hesitatingly. There
was that about Barbara, nowadays,
which seemed to check like bland plati
tudes.
“I have been genuinely pained," he
continued In his pedantic manner, “at
your continued refusal to take up -your
old work in the parish, and your ab
sence from church. Both have been a
real grief to me, ns they huve to your
mother. I am overjoyed, therefore,
If, nt last—”
"No!” she Interrupted. “You are
mistaken. I—can't do—either."
He gave a deep sigh. “But—my
dear Miss Stockley—when one’s duty
lies plain—"
"Mr. Horne!" ahe Interrupted again
a note of suppressed passion In het
voice, “If you met u blind man, would
yon send him as guide to a party ot
tourists?”
“Er-—no," he said, bewildered.
She laid her hund on his bicycle,
and the passion rose in her hurried
words.
"Suppose your whole life—your
thoughts. your motives, tastes, Ideals,
faith—had been taken and changed;
ttien whirled around and (lushed to the
ground, so that—so that you were
broken, crushed. Wind—groping In the
dark—could you tench children their
creed?
Or train young girls to be
'guides'? Or—or kneel In church and
worship a God whom—If li e exists at
ail—you hate?—yes, hate!"
“Mias Stockley— I"
Poor Mr. Horne was rendered
speechless.
Barbara seized the opportunity ot
forwarding her original purpose.
“I wanted to see you, tonight, about
Jenny Grant."
“Jenny Grant?* he echoed, atilt
dazed.
In a few sentences she acquainted
him with the facts. He looked at her.
by the light of his bicycle lamp. In yet
more ustonlshm ent; then, with nn n!r
of profound melancholy, shook Ids
head and sighed again.
“They are chapel people. Mis» Stock-
ley. It Is not my business to Inter
fere."
"But surely— I Whatever difference
does that make? It's only a loan of a
few pounds— I will pay you back—"
“You don't understand these mat
ters. If we begin lending money to
those who are but suffering the re
wards of their sins—if we encourage
them to expect—”
Barbara turned away.
“If only Mr». Field were here!” she
muttered involuntarily.
"Mrs. Field? I saw her at the »in
tion—"
“Saw her? Then she has come back?
. . . Good night, Mr. Home I”
Before he could open his lipa, he
found himself alone, the sound of fly
ing footsteps In Ills ears. Still feeling
distinctly dazed, he took off his pince-
nez and wiped the glass, before mount
Ing his bicycle.
. Yes. very
wrong! Whatever the trouble. It 'was
being taken in quite the wrong spirit
But one must he broadminded; one
must not give up these In sin and
darkness. lie would send her that
little book, . . .
mon. The windows of the house blazed
forth a pathway of welcome, long be
fore Its refuge was reached. Then a
bright-faced maid opened the door;
Hnd that subtle sense of radiant
warmth—which la only possessed by a
house or person when the spirit of il la
at the helm—stole out anil enveloped
her. . . . With a long-drawn sigh
she entered the cheerful hall.
One awlft searching glance at the
sharpened white feature« of the girl
hurrying up the stair», anil the wofnan
In the fur traveling coat caught the
extended hands und drew her aloee
into her arms.
"Oli, Bab darling!” came the cry
from her heart's depth.
A convulsive clinging of thin arm s;
no words were needed. . . . Here
was, at last, tbe blessed peace of
Understanding. . , .
When the door of her den was
(■lowed behind them the eider woman
raised the girl's face and looked long
Into the sunken eyes, with those dee|
gray ones which bore such reaem
bianco to another's that Barbara
"And— he. Barbara?"
“He— loved me.”
Barbara abruptly held out her left
band.
“This was our wedding rln^” she
whispered.
The Involuntary start which the
other gave was quickly controlled.
She met steadily, albeit with some ap
prehension, the girl
urching lo o k -
seeming to probe to her very soul,
proving its faith.
(Continued on page
4)
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ALBANY
“OhI I Leva Him So. . .
.*
caught her Breath. She remembered
Amor A. Tussing
once thinking hit lacked their won
derful tenderness. But she had seen
LAWYER AND NOTARY
It grow there— Intensified . . .
'Ah I" ahe cried, “how I wanted
H alsey , O beoon
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'I want to keep you here for Christ
mas," Mrs. Field said.
“Will you
D ELBERT STA R R
stay? I am leaving afterward. Miss
Davies travelvd.haeb with me, so your
Funeral Director and Li
mother does not rilled you." She saw
the flash of unutterable relief cross the
censed Embalmer
girl'» face, and turned to the door. Efficient Service.
Motor Hear»«.
Within a few minutes a lettei had
Lady Attendant.
been dispatched to Mrs. Stockley, in B row n sville..._________ . . . . __ Oregon
struction» given 'to the housekeeper,
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room.
Mrs. Field knelt and poked roe fire
W - L W R IG H T
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the silent figure beside her Her eyes i
followed those of the girl toward the
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W. L. HZIOHT. Harrisburg
writing table end the photograph upon '
IL , , . And she understood. She -
rose to her feet. And all the peculiar '
magnetism, which drew people of !
every claee end creed to this woman, !
aii«nt in her face, teemed to vibrate
VI
in the hand ahe held out. As the
An anchor at last, in a roerclles-1 other caught at IL the sealed chamber
sea I
of ber tortured heart buret open la
W o rk
Thns did It seem to the girl stum one agonized cr y :
bling hurriedly across {he dark coip
I lure him . . . Oh I I love him
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1
»