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"You must tell me," she was pleading. "Oh, Brent, if we are ever to be friends, here, tell me! There's a vital reason why I must know at once!" "But, Jane, I can't," he earnestly replied to her. "It was someone to see me!" "You are cruel to try to spare me this way," she gasped, and the tears in her voice turned him to a being of great tenderness.
The Brent cottage was visible in the dim starlight, and he observed that there was no light in the window; nevertheless, his high faith did not falter. He pressed on, although each step was the product of an effort, mental and physical. His legs were heavy and dragged, as if he wore upon, his logger's boots the thick, leaden soles of a deep-sea diver.
Upon it was some writing, and Philip readily recognized the hand of the man whom he had regarded as his father. He read these lines: "This is the picture of the boy who was mysteriously left in the charge of Mr. Brent, April, 1863, and never reclaimed.
The figure drew steadily nearer. In half an hour it had approached near enough to be recognised. "Why, it's Jed!" cried the Senor, and spurred his horse. "What do you mean, riding out with that foot?" he demanded sternly, when within hailing distance. "Foot, hell!" gasped Parker, whirling his horse alongside. "Your wife's run away with Brent Palmer."
Brent lived in a small town in Ohio, called Fultonville?" "Yes, I have heard him say so." "Do you remember in what business he was then engaged?" "He kept a hotel." "Yes; a small hotel, but as large as the place required. He was not troubled by many guests.
And all the time there were burning hot tears in her eyes; and as the leaves of Saint-Simon passed idly through her fingers, the tears blotted out the meadows and the flowers, and blurred the figure of a young girl who was slowly mounting the long slope of road that led from the village of Brent towards the seat on which Julie was sitting. Gradually the figure approached.
For a moment the young assailant stood there with an expression of dismayed shock, as though, in his sleep, he had committed a crime and had awakened into an appalled realization. Then, ignoring Brent, he wheeled and lunged madly into the laurel. Parson Acup was bending over him and when he rose it was with a dubious face. "I fears me thet wound's mighty liable ter be a deadener," he said.
She may add that she refers to the building of a railroad, to the conquering of a nation, to the playing of a hand of bridge but he will see nothing beyond the seductive challenge. And Brent looked another instant at that enticing picture, then stooped down and kissed her hair. There was no tilted chin, no laughing challenge, now as she sprang up and faced him.
"The Croods seem to be an interesting family," observed Brent. "Who is that girl that I saw last night the Alderman's niece? Is she, by any chance, this chap's daughter?" "Queenie," said Peppermore. "Pretty girl too, that, Mr. Brent. No, sir; she's this chap's niece, and Simon's. She's the daughter of another Crood. Ben Crood.
"Well, I may be able to help you to a place. I know a good many prominent business men." "I should be grateful to you for any help of that kind," said Phil, deciding that he was in luck to meet with such a friend. "Don't mention it. I have had to struggle myself in earlier days though at present I am well fixed. What is your name?" "Philip Brent." "Good! My name is Lionel Lake.
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