Genre - Romance. You are on the page - 32
ing packages by the door. Dayne didn't know what the fuss had been about. The man's hair had regrown in a mere matter of months."Just a moment, please." Whoever was calling after midnight could only be bringing trouble with them. For a while, after what was later called: the tribal massacre, the lone hero had darkened his door, convinced Dayne was up to something nefarious and had to be taken down. Or another Cary Town villain decided to rise to infamy and needed Dayne out of the way
Riches, leisure, opportunity to study for a career upon his stage, are mine if I desire.""Dost thou desire this, little Ilse?" "Yes." "And the man Venem who has followed thee so long?" "I cannot be what he would have me--a Hausfrau--to mend his linen for my board and lodging." "And the Fatherland which placed me here on outpost?" "I take thy place when God relieves thee." "So ist's recht!... GrΓΌs Gott--Ilse----" * * * *
er twentieth year, when from a young girl she became a woman, ambition suddenly awoke in her with maturity. And one morning as she came out of a deep sleep, two hours past mid-day, quite tired from having slept too much, she turned over on her breast across the bed, her feet apart, rested her cheek in her hand and with a long golden pin pierced with little symmetrical holes her pillow of green linen. She reflected profoundly. There were at first four little points which made a square and a
steel bars. "Depend upon it, though, he feels this more than he shows. Why, it's the only friend he ever had in the world--or ever will have, in all probability. However, it's no business of mine," with which comforting reflection he began to whistle as he turned over the pages of the private day-book of the firm.It is possible that his son's surmise was right, and that the gaunt, unemotional African merchant felt an unwonted heartache as he hailed a hansom and drove out to his
nothing to do with anger, felt his blood grow hot at the cowardly trap laid for an innocent girl."Old Al won't listen to me," pondered Dale. "An' even if he did, he wouldn't believe me. Maybe nobody will. . . . All the same, Snake Anson won't get that girl." With these last words Dale satisfied himself of his own position, and his pondering ceased. Taking his rifle, he descended from the loft and peered out of the door. The night had grown darker, windier, cooler; broken
