Viola Gwyn

emonious call he had dreaded to make. On all sides he encountered the friendliest interest and civility from the townspeople. The news of his arrival had sprea

the complete circuit of the three-acre pond situated a short distance above the public square-a shallow body of water dignified during the wet season of the year by the high-sounding title of "Lake Stansbury," but spoken of scornfully as the "slough" after the summer's sun had reduced its surfac

him Mrs. Gwyn's house half-hidden among

n is comin' to live in it one of these days. They say this boy when he was a baby was stolen by the Injins and never heard of ag'in until a few months a

ou are going to be some day, my friend. Thank you

the centre of the town when approached by a more direct route than he had followed. This smaller house, an insignificant, weather-beaten story and a half frame, snuggling among the underbr

lastered sitting-room. The window blinds were open, permitting light and air to enter, and while the room was comparatively bare, there was ample evidence that it had been made ready for occupancy by a hand which, though niggardly, was well trained in the art of making a little go a long way. The bedroom and the kitchen were in

dull, cold fear, assuaged to some extent by the thrill of excitement which attended the adventure. What was he to do or say if the door was opened by Rachel Carter? His jaw was set, the palms of his hand

red woman who wore a blue sunbonnet

la at home?"

istah Gwy

es

in, suh, a

f a hallway, opening upo

aid the girl, throwing

ht, new rag carpet, and there was a horse-hair sofa in the corner, and two or three stiff, round-backed little chairs, the seats also covered with black horse-hair. A thick, gilt-decorated Holy Bible lay in the centre of the marble-top table, shamed now by contact with the crown of his unsaintly hat. On the mantel stood a large, flat mahogany clock with floral decorations and a broad, white face with vivid black n

ock: another of a sloping-shouldered woman with a bonnet, from which a face, vague and indistinct, sought vainly to emerge. The third contained a mass of dry, brown leaves, some wisps of straw, and a f

pstairs, and then some one descending the steps; a few words spoken in the subdued voice of a woman and the less gentle response of the darky servant, who mum

he servant so that she could be alone with h

he room. He felt the blood rush to his head, almost blinding him. His hand went out for the support of the table

ring into the dark, brilliant eyes, sunken deep under the straight black eyebrows. Even in the uncertain light from the curtained windows he could see that her face was absolutely colourless,-the pal

ove a whisper. Once more she closed her eyes, tightly; as if to shut out the vi

eleased him from the bri

you. You are Rachel Ca

fascinated. Her lips moved, b

his hat and gloves. "I came to see your daughter, mad

e had-" She broke off abruptly, lowered her head in an attempt to hide from him the trembling lips and chin, and to regain, if poss

us to prolong-" he b

ead erect, her voice steady. Her dark, cavernous eyes were upon him; he experienced an odd, indescribable sensation,-as of shrinking,-and

sternly. "She left word for

here," sai

on't mean she has-

sked Isaac Stain to give you that message at my request,-or command, if you want the truth. I sent her away because what I have to say to yo

one of the windows and, drawing the curtain aside, swept

y handsome. She was very tall, deep-chested, and as straight as an arrow. Her smoothly brushed hair was as black as the raven's wing. Time and the toil of long, hard hours had brought deep furrows to her cheeks, like lines chiselled in a face of marble, but they had not broken the magnificent body of the Rachel Carter who used to toss him joyously into the air with her

anding with her b

et," she said. "It is best for both of u

toward you, Rachel Carter. There is nothing either of us can sa

I do not regret what I did twenty years ago. I have not repented. I shall never repent. We need not discuss that side of the question any farther. You know my history, Kenneth Gwynne. You ar

his estate, I was without positive proof as to the identity of the woman mentioned in the correspondence as his widow. It was not until a copy of the will was forwarded to me that I was

with pain. It was but a fleeting exposition of vulnerab

han that if you had been warring ag

s cheek. "It is the wa

r," he said

see me wrap my soiled robes about me and steal away, leaving the field to you. I can sell my lands to-morrow and disappear. It will matter little whether I am forgotten or not. The world is large and I am not without fortitude. I wanted you to come here to-da

mind is already made up. You need have no fear that I shall do or say anything to hurt that innocent g

in a voice strangely low and tense. "

ood God, how could she ha

earer, her burning

recollection of the little girl you used to play with

u took her away with you and-why did you not leave her behind as my father l

se it has ever occurred to you that I might have loved my child to

he cried out, "and y

Don't ever forget that, Kenneth Gwynne. I would not go without Minda. No more would your mo

But she is dead. Why

t dead," sai

he was drow

saw her last night,-at

saw last night was-Minda?" he crie

o be true. He told you she was Robert Gwyn's daughter and your half-sister. But I t

d, utterly dazed, but aware of the exquisite s

lood relatio

nd,-she is my step-sister," he s

l her," said Rachel Gwyn, indifferent

at she is not my

n daughter," said she with the deliberateness of one weighing h

does not know the truth, why should I? Good God, woman, you-you do not expect ME to te

r to you, is it not? She was less than two years old when we came away,-too young to remember anything. We were in the wilderness for two or three years, and she saw but one or two small children, so that it was a very simple matter

. "Her supposed father, I mean. She made it quite plain tha

ld take the place you had in his heart." She spoke with calm bitterness. "You say she told you about him last night. I am not surprised that she should have spoken of him as she did. It was not possible for her to love him as a father. Nature took good care of that. There was a barrier between them. She was not his child. The tie of blood was lacking. Nature cannot be deceived. She has never told me what her true feelings toward him

no circumstances will I hurt her by raking up that old, infamous story. I find myself in a most difficult position. She believes herself to be my sis

you see fit in the matter. There is one thing that you must realize, however. Viola has not robbed you of anything-not even a father's love. She does not profit by his death. He did not leave her a farthing, not even a spadeful of land. I am entitled to my share by law. The law would have given it to me if he had left no will. I am safe. That is clear to you, of course. I earned my share,-I worked as hard as he did to build up a fortune. When I die my lands and my money will go to my daughter. You need not hope to have any part of them. I do not ask you to keep silent on my account. I only ask you to spare her. If I have sinned,-and in the sight of man, I suppose I have,-I alone should be

she stated her case and Viola's,-indeed, she had stated his own case for him. Apparently she had not even

ereafter. We have had, I trust, our last conversation. I hate you. I could wish you all the unhappiness that life can give,

d was on the door-latch

as his daughter. He was bitterly opposed to it at first. He never quite reconciled himself to the deception. He did not consider it being honest with her. He was as firm as a rock on one point, however. He would bring her up as his daughter, but he would not give her his

e fair to me, I suppose

d her the whole story in writing.' I was shocked, and cried out to know if he had written to her in St. Louis. He smiled and shook his head. 'No, I have not done that. I have written it all out and I have hidden the paper in a place where she is not likely to ever find it,-where I am sure she will never look. I will not even tell you where it is hidden,-for I do not trust you,-no, not even you. You would seek it out and destroy it.' How well he knew me! Then he went on to say, and I shall never forget the solemn way in which he spoke: 'I leave it all with Providence. It is out of my hands. If

it will come to light. There is no telling how many times a day she may be wi

m, as if in the hope that his eyes might unex

this house without my knowing it

flectively. "Are you sure that no one e

t," she replied

thing more you h

. You ma

tion of discussing with him the personal affairs of her daughter. Nevertheless he was decidedly irritated. What right had she to ask him to accept Viola as a sister unless she was also willing to grant him

ed a sudden sense of exaltation. Viola was not his sister! As suddenly came the reacti