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Sinners in Heaven

(ContloBsd fro* iMt wook)

•Ttionjht whotT* ertod BortMim. Mini In* •hsrply. •That there bad been some booSetween you and that man. anchaperoned aa you were." The rf'l'a eye* amoldered omlnoualy. * B d *he act her teeth Her mother, x. eiafperated by thU reticence, eondn\totd with Imre—tag an**-: “I najht nerer to hare streo my conaent. I alwaya knew,- be wae an enacrupnloua type o? man—I nerer mined him I But you at tenet abould have known better, after your eery careful upbrlnflng. It hie Ideas were

-Stop, mother r Her quick anger mounted. "Ton don’t know what you are saying. He was the soul of honor. And because of It I—yea. I grew to love him with all my heart I couldn’t belli It. I shall lore him until I die." sh.- cried reckleaaJy. throwing herself into a chair and barring her heed.

-You mean to say." aakej lira, Stockley aarcaatlcally, “that It la the soul of honor* to take advantage of a girl's lonely position! To lure her

from the man—"

“He did not!” She sprang angrily to her feet; then re allied, too late, the wisdom of Hurh’r, warning. Her mother laughed Incredulously

Then you gave him your affect Ion unasked? Y'ou behaved like a aentltnental schoolgirl—threw yourself et his head. In fact?" Anvthlng waa better than gxpoting Alim's name to the fate awaiting I! If the truth oozed out. She caught at this straw, anxious to end the ordeal. "If you like to thl'tk so. He certainly never—asked me to care for Mir- Hut I couldn’t help It.” aha re-

peated.

lima It waa whispered from one bosom friend to soother throughout Darbury that, during her nojerrn upon the island. Barbara became the vktlm of an unrequited passion. This added rplce to the mystery, while whet ring curiosity. Did her companion never guess? Could any man. in euct rtrcunutancen, be no blind—or no pla-

tonic?

Cortona glances followrd her; voice* were lowered when «he appeared; • constraint hectime obvious In her i. *- etre. . . . Well aware of It all. aba

to the misery of her newt an the dragged through the day*. Occasionally her mother forced the subject open

“If Hugh ever wish* to renew the engsgsment." she *ld once, T Insist «l<<»n your doing no.* “1 couldn’t possibly, mother r "Why not? The other man la dead. You can’t ruin your Ufe over ae i-.fstuatloo of that sort. . . The Horhdsiefl are eurt old frlende," •hi- moaned, another time. "Too don’t consider how I mfr. them—bow thla

all afreets me I"

"Hut you can ctatlnoe your friendship. Why notr naked the girt, bavbig grown unaccustomed to Darbury hahita. Thla, however, waa contrary 10 •*1 custom; and a certain estrangement liei ween the two famines began.

m a •natter of course. . . .

i •htriiura tramped the common In all i “cathera, consumed with a reatleaaniwa that would not «et her sleep, unrblo •» Bnd peace of mind In any occupa"oo Coming back from one of three •ramp* two days before Christmas.

noticed. In lbs gathering dusk

•hi- »hor» afternoon, a woman's ^gura "si,ding naar the lake, a small child “ her anna. With a casual glance, to* girt waa aotaring the cottage gate, «hen she heard her name uttered low. "•* a faint axcUMatton. Khe turned tMckly. peortaj with puaaled hrowr ‘trough the glooa; then recogBltlcn

dawned in her Mce.

"Jenny? jenny Grant!" Rbe rememi^red abe had not seen tbe girt “hce her return. “What are you do "g Jenny? Bose for Chrietmear asked kindly, presuming her to he "°* 18 »crv!ce aomewhare. There waa •»c repi, ; , nd a ware of the ahynaes of Tlll «g« mnldena, the cootlnued: "here ar, you working nowr , 1 > ain’t got nc wo»k. kflaa Bar

hara."

The voie* trembled oa a aoh Her

‘"ra glam-ed at bar quickly again, and Allred the child’s preeen.-e. A dim ‘‘-mory of .me among the many choice

recently recounted for her

’ '■‘••■• nt returned to her mind. . . . n . • ,>8n y!" she cried Invoiuntar- ,*■ ••oppad. as the giri. hiding

,,n the s'eeplng child, hltrvf Mission of tear* Taking her

" ted her to a seat |4aced near

"E HAVB KVBRYTIIINO TO "" anything. Atiractlva price# '“mpt delivery. Champion’* lumr yards. 10th Street and Wael '»••>«#. Ocean City, N J. 'Look ^ u * alkn." —Adv„ «T-a.

the lake, aaylng nothing until the 111 of weeping had aubsided. There was no need of words in Barbara's face und heartfelt exclamation Jenny had read the knowledge she had learned to dread awakening, mingled with a eymjiathy she had never yet encountered. Of her own accord, at last, ah* begun a atuicbllng explanation. "'E waa a sellor, miss. . . . ’E waa goln' to marry me, but waa ordered sudden-lcike back to ’la ship; an’ then ’#—'t got the 'monla au’ died. . . . Bat 'e would s' married me. an rtgbi; ’E would r She spoke with a detlance which the listening girl understood well. "We waa wrong, I know," she went on, “but we waa young an'—an'—partin', an’," with sinking voice, T Inved ’lm! Oh. miss! I did. Indeed! . . ." The hand on her arm tightened Its

grasp.

"Tea. Jenny. ... I know . . Then for a few moments she fell silent. reflecting upon the varied and extraordinary results—thi high resolves and sacrifices, the Impetuous, hot-beaded folly, the loss of all prindplta—achieved by that “terrifle force." . . . “What has happened since—r She glanced at the child. "My aunt aact you to a Tiorae,’ I

think r

you send Mm as guide to a party af touriatar "Er—no," be said, bewildered. She laid her band on bis bicycle, and the passion rose in bet harried

words.

"Suppose your whole life—your thoughts, your motives tastes. Ideals, faith—bad. been taken and changed; then whirled around and dashed to the ground, so that—ao that you were broken, crushed, blind—groping In the dark—could you teach children their creed? Or train young girls to be •guides'? Or—or kneel In church ard worship a Ood whom—If He exists at all—you hate?—yea, hater “Miss Stockley—r Poor Mr. Horne was rendered •peecbl eea. Barbara eeised the opportunity of forwarding her original purpose. T wanted to aee you. tonight about Jenny Grant" "Jenny Grant r he echoed, still

dazed.

In a few sentence* she acquainted him with the facta. He looked at hek, by the light of his bicycle lamp. In yet more astonishment; then, with an air of profound melancholy, shook hie head and sighed again. “They are chapel people. Miss Stockley. It la not my business to Inter-

Tea. raise. Afterward I got work; but the baby waa delicate an' I couldn't 'ave 1m with me. An’ It's bln the same all along. I’ve bln out of work now wi' lm fur weeks, an' all roe money well-nigh gone. So I cum 'orae to mother, an’ she—she's turned me away." . . . The sobs broke out afresh. T—dunno w’ere to go i w'at to do . . . I wish I was dead 1 I waa wonderin', there by the lake.

"No, no, no! Don't say Jenny! We—well think of something." Perhaps It was more than natural aversion which forced such horror Into her own face and voice. “Have you any friends, anywhere?" "Only In Edinburgh," Jenny replied hopelessly. T ’ave an aunt there wot would 'elp me over Christmas If I could a fiord to—" She broke off. swaying forward and nearly dropping the child. Barbara took him from her. “Jenny." the asked, “have you had any food lately?" T ain’t 'ad--none today—miss," came the whisper. With all Alan's suddenness of purpore. Barbs 4 rose, supporting the girl with one arm and the baby boy with the other. “Come with me." she said.

fere."

"But surely—! Whatever difference does that make? It’s only a loan of a few pounds—I will pay you back—" "You don't understand these matters. If we begin lending money to those who are bat suffering the rewards of their aln#—If we encourage them to expect—" Barbara turned away. "If only Mrs. Field were here P she muttered Involuntarily. “Mrs. Field? I *w her at the station—" "Saw her? Then she has come beck? . . . Good night, Mr. Horne P Before he could open his lips, he found himself alone, the sound of flying footstep# In his ears. Still feeling distinctly dazed, he took off his plnCenez and wiped the glass, before mounting his bicycle. . . . Tea. very wrong! Whatever the trouble, it was being taken In quite the wrong spirit But one moat be broadminded; oca most not give np those In sin and darkness. He would send her that Uttle book. . . .

VI

An anchor at last. In a mercllea

Mrs. Stoo -.ley. making out a Hat of neceealtles f-w a systematically organized pari*.! tea. presently listened agbunt to her daughter's Impetuous explanation and extraordinary request “That girt! Jenny Grant! To stay In my bouse? My dear Barbara. I won’t hear of such a thing! Whatever would people sey? A wicked little— where la ahe nov•?" “Martha la giving her food. She waa

Thus did It seem to the girl stumbling hurriedly across the dark common. The windows of the house blazed forth a pathway of welcome, long before Its refuge was reached. Then a bright-faced maid opened the door; and that subtle sense of radiant warmth—which la only possessed by a house or person when the spirit of It Is at the balm—stole out and enveloped. _ . her. . . . With a long-drann sigh

cguas beside her. Her ey*» • M*»ve«l those of the girl toward tbs ruing table and the photograph npos a. . . . And she understood. Stx rose to her feet. And all the peculiar magnetlsr. , which drew people ot •very class and creed to thla woman, shone In her face, seemed to vibrate In the hand she held out. As the other caught st it, the sealed chamber of her tortured heart burst open In one agonized cry: "I love him . . . Oh I I love him so, . . ." “And—he. Barbara?" "He—loved are." Barbara abruptly held out her left

band.

“Thla waa our wedding rinfe." she w-hlspered. The Involuntary start which the other gave was quickly controlled. She me: steadily, albeit with some apprehension, the glri'a searching lookseeming to probe to her very soul, proving Its faith. “Yea," ahe encouraged. "You—mar tied him? TeU me everything; will

your’

“You understand?" The searching look never relaxed. "You do understand?" The appeal In that passionate regard and question brought quick response. Dear,’ ahe replied, pulling her down on the conch by the Are, T understand. Yon loved eech other and acted In accordance with—honorable conviction*. In extraordinary drcometances. la that enough? What more can I say T' Barbara drew a breath of inexpressible relief. Holding fast to that sympathetic hand, ahe recounted with simple fervor the whole history. Nothing waa omitted np to the present. When her voice ceased, there fell e long silence. FYom somewhere In the house came a merry laugh; an opening door let out a brief flood of dance music. . . . Then a piece of coal dropped Into the fender, and Mrs. Field moved. “Ah, my darling I” ahe cried. Tt U bitter ... I know ... I know. . . ' That waa the first of many talks together during that Christmas season, which brought with It such acute memories. . . . On the afternoon of Boxing day. as the giri sat alone. Hugh suddenly appeared—a grave-faced Hugh, with the bewildered "doggy" look still In bla eye. She roae to meet him. with some embarrassment. “Mrs. Field's with the old people. She said you were alone," he blundered. In explanation. “Bab—I re missed you. old thing!" The simple directness touched her. She, too. bad been conscious of a gap In the surface of her life, among the old haunts of their childhood, which had added to her wretchedness. Impulsively, she gave him her other hand. .T have ml seed you. too, Hughlel" Hugh clearly bad something on his

Her mother gasped She roae u-cer-ts fuly, aa If on the point of frnetratmg thla disposal of her goods; then something In the girl's expression canned her to resume her test "Oh. well! She can have eome food. But then she la to go. Barbers—" "Where?" Mrs. Stockley fidgeted with her writing pei*sv’That’* no concern of mine. Her mother mist look after her. Your aunt will be beck tonight She will do something—" Barbara waved thla idea to a place unmentionable. “Will you lend -her mom v to reach Edinburgh? I haven’t got t.tough loose cesh—" "Certainly not! I might never nee It again." The girl abruptly left the room at this point with another Impulsive re*olntljn. Half an hour later, after extricating her chargee from Martha'* distinctly grim ministrations, she rang the bell at the "House of the Moor." and deposited them In the friendly arm*- of the h"U*ekeep*-r of that harbor where all mere welcome. "Mr*. Field won't mind." ahe said. T •hall be back soon." She hurried away across the dark paths; then turned along the road leading to the vicarage. “Surely the vicar will help," she muttered to herwlf. Tf only I had ih - money hand) myself—" Down the road skirting the wall, a bicycie lamp , ame flashing A' dark form flew past the girl; then, with a acrapln* of brakes and rattle of springs, jumped off and hurried back. -Xh! Ml** Stockley! I have wanted to ee* you. ..." Tbv vtcar's vole* sounded unusually

was just coming to ee* you. Mr. 4." Barbara replied, sally? Ah: I *» very gUd of I hoped you would." h^r ah# Inquired. In genuine Kanse—well, to be candid. I have jiuch troubled about you."

Ua wheeled his bicycle n^rer and spoke somewhat hesitatingly There eaa that about Barbara, nowaday*, which seemed to check hi* bland platitude# "l have been geoulnrly pained, be continued In hi* pedantic manner, “at yutw continued refuaal to take up your old work In the parish. ai>d your al»aeucr from church Both have been a reel Brief to roe. a* ttwy have to your Mother. I am overjoyed, therefore. If. at Wist—" Kor ahe MterruMed “You are miatnkcU. I—cant do- elllirr “ He gave a deep Mgh "Hut -Biy dear Mias Rtoehley-wbea uues duty

•Mr Horne V ah# inuwruptcd again, a Bote of euppreeaed |U.a*»*UI In her voto* “if you met a blind uie.\ would

One swift searching glance at the sharpened white feature* of the girl hurrying up the stairs, and ’he woman In the fur traveling coat oanght the extended hands end drew' her close Into her arms. “Oh, Bab da.ilng!” cam* the cry from her heart'* depth. A ccovnlalve dinging of thin anns; no words were a ceded. . . . Here waa, at last, the hi eased peace of Dnderetaadlng. . . . When the door of her deo was dosed behind them the rider woman raised the girl's face and looked leog into the sunken eye*, with those deep gray oaaa which bore such resemblance to another's that Berbat*

•Ohl I Lev* Him Aa...."

caught her breath. 8h* remembered one# thinking bis lacked their wonderful tv.iderneaa. But eh* bed seen It grow there—Intensified . “Ah!“ ahe cried, “how I wanted your “I want to keep you here for Christmas." Mis. Field said "Will you stay? I am leaving afterward. Mias Davies traveled back with me, so your mother doee not need you." She saw the flna|i of unutterable relief croaa the girl's face, and turned to the door. Within n few mtnub-a a letter had been <11 *p“b'hed to Mr*. Stockley. Instructions given to the Vmsekeepar, their outdoor clothes removed nod th> j were beck In the tittle elttlagroom Mm ??rid knelt and pokeo <u* Ora tote a bright bias*, than looked up at

“I wanted to aay," he blundered on, "—to tell yon—I was a rotter—that day! I've been thinking the deuce Of a lot lately. Bab! And I wanted you Juat to know—yoa can count on me any time to—hack you and Croft np, I mean." ... It waa clumsily expressed; but she understood what the effort cost him. and the genuine feeling behind It all. Hugh looked at her diffidently, then away through the window, speaking quickly end huskily. “And I (ranted ycu to know that If—later on. perhape—you frit you could marry me. after ell—" he paused, glancing at her. "1 shall always be there—juat the *rjne." The eye* that met tls were swimming In audden tears. “My dear!" ahe cried. "But It can never he nowr—■ riYou need not say anything, or bother about It,” be said simply. Impulsively ahe pressed his hands against her cheek; then be drew himself free. Hugh Intensely dislike-* scone*. Having said what he wanted, he turned the subject. "Mrs. Meld told me ’o have tea with ycu. She said there were loads of muffins! Let’* ■It on the hearth-rug and toast them, as we used tc do." So they sat together on the floor toasting muffins, the barrier breaking down between them. Thus Mrs. Meld found them on her return; and a certain look of relief crossed her face.

It was one of those days when everything goes wrong The village "help" did not come; and Martha therefore considered herself *00 much overworked to complete any one job. Lunch waa lata the soup tepid, the potatoes were hard, coffee was lukewarm. The clogging of the well-oiled wheels of this small groove naturally reoulted In "narraa" on the pan of Mrs. Stockley. Tinaa, working up gradually, fount, relief la an explosion, when Barbara announced an afternoon's golf with Hugh. Surety there must be work of some eort for her to do In rids tragedy of an im--hrip"-e.l household? ThU led to a heated argument, wttrh took a sunder, leflectlon down an unexpected charBel. “Of course. If ycu have renewed your engagement with Hugh—" "I have not mother. ? never con." "And why can you never marry Hugh?" her mother asked testily. ‘Ta .t still because of that ridiculous infatuation? Barbara. I Insist upon your {Meriting such nonsense." "You don't understand, mother. 1 ran never forget." “No," agreed Mrs. Stockley with mine heat; “1 do not understand; cue. I think It I* tint 1 did!" 8he turned to her sister, as usual. !Ur aupoo.' which waa nwedi.y forfbcoming. "Barbara," began that worldly wmiv ui. her curiosity at last given legiti-

mate rate, "how far fflfl this lufata atlon go? What can you never fort getr The girt looked at her. startled, at a momen’ery loss. Her sensitive face, an enem> to subterfuge, flushed frlly"Ah!” exclaimed her aunt meaningly, *T thought from the first there was something wrong." “Wh-what do you mean. Auht Mary? There waa nothing—wrong!" “Then why maintain such mystery? Why are yoa afraid to talk of the matter—to tell the truth?" A rush of loathing, contempt for all the suspicious minds about her, recklessness, which. In Impulsive natuna, has far-reaching effects, swept the girl away. After all, what did their feelings matter? What their opinions to the man whose memory ahe had tried in vain to shield from vulgar calumny? Barbara turned and faced the two women, tossing back the hair from her brow. "You snail have the truth!" she cried, with suddenly blazHtg eyes. "This 'Infatuation' you talk about went —'.o the end. He returned my love. W* became husband and wife." VII The silence was awfuL A dormant volcano could tot have seemed more vibrant with foreboding. The two women sat, bereft of speech, gazing blankly at the girl, who faced them fearlessly from the hearthrug. From V'a. Stockley'a face every vestige of color had fled She looked suddenly old; her features were haggard. Then Barbara, as ahe had done twice before, held out her left hand “This." she said, breathing fast, “1* my wedding ring. He was my hueband" The tension broke. Mrs. Stockley gasped, and her sister gave a snort of contemptuous laughter. “’Husband'!" she mocked. “Pray— who was the priest? Where was tha church? Or—had you a native registry office?" The sarcasm was to the girl merely aa the heat of an extra candle to one already enveloped In flame*. Sh* Ignored the speaker, fixing her eyes upon her mother. “Do you understand, mother?" At that moment the sight of her mother's deathly fare struck, like a blow, upon l.er heart. Her anger subaided as quickly as It had artaen; In Ita place a huge pity cruse, making It suddenly imperative that the woman who had home her should be saved the suffering of misconstruction. Impulsively she moved forward, stretching out both hands. “Moth err Mrs. Stockley roae slowly to her feet. Ignoring the bands, still staring at her daughter as If she were some n I deo us snake seen in a comer of ber com.’ortabie room. “You!" ahe muttered. "You—my daughter—you dare to face me with those—Hear The hands dropped and clenched at ner sides. “Tbey are not Ilea! It was Impossible to gat Married according to English law. We therefor# pert formed the ceremony for ourselves. Me took the asm* vows—It waa perfectly honorable." Mias Davies broke In with another fiareh laugh. “Did he actually succeed In stuffing you with all that, ’Jo cloak your Immorality r “Aunt Mary I How dare you—V "Ob! It’s alwaya the same! Haven’t ( dealt' with hundreds of cases In my work wh'ch have been ‘perfectly honorable'? Foolel Dope*! You we*', women believe anything!" “You—y-yon—" Barbara choked. In her furious Indignation. “luiniorallty 1" Mrs. Stockley caught at the word. “Immorality? In one of our family? My own daughtert-r* “You got off lightly," broke In her ►later, watching the girt narrowly, through her lorgnette. “Without paying the price! Most girls are not so fortunate. But I suppose you took good care to prevent—’’ “Tea!" cried her mother almost hysterically. “suppose there had been chilli ran?*' •There would have been." ahe replied with unnatural calm, her eyes hnmlng In an aahen face. 'That la why I waa so 111 at Singapore." For n moment both women were again bereft of speech. Barbara turned to the Are and stood gazing Into Itz depths. "II*!" gasped her annt, at last "I always thought there was something suspicious in that fine**." Then the girt Cashed round contempt ringing In her voice. "Yse. Annt Mary, you would! People like you would find something suspicious In—ea archangel. Oh!“ ah* cried passionately, T know all the disgusting, vulgar gossip concerning Alan and myself! I knew It before I reached England. Now, I suppose, you wfll all purr M your erif-rtghteoue-dms. thinking how wise you were—" "B Barbara!" spluttered her damfounded sunt. "Oh. yea. you will! But”—turning blazing eyes upon Miss Davies' furious face—"you are all wrong! How ran you tell what waa right and what was not—out there? What do you all knon of real, fundamental life? What exiiericmv have you had of—love, temptiitlon—any problems that you should dare—dare to judge? You nil carry out your religious olieervancea to the letter—but what altout tlx spirit of it alir The two women a ere ste^r-red by her furious flow ot words. "1 understand," cried Mr*. Stockley. In weak Impotent rage, "that you have d Inc raced our name! Sla cunnnt In- excused. Whatever the man waa—and thank heaven be is deaa:

—yon should have shown strength. You—you—are nothing bnt e—wanton!" “Mother r The girl recoiled, as If s?>e had been struck, catching at a chair for support. Her mother broke Into a storm of hysterical weeping. “Go!" she cried, between her sob* "Leave the house! I—I refuse to own yon! Go to your friends who—condone Immorality—who encourage sin. . . . Join Jenny Grant—" "Mother!” she cried again, with white lips, “you don't realize what you are aaylng—” "I do! I do!—Go!" Weakly abc stamped her foot then sank Into ber chair, burying her face In her handkerchief. A wild caricature of a laugh broke from Barbara's Up*. She looked at her mother’s shaking form, 'hen at her aunt's rigid figure and hoaiue countenance. “Very well." ahe said slowly. "I will go. . . . Aa If dazed, she pat np her hand to her head, and gave

•Very Well; I Will Go.* one look ronnd the familiar room. . . , Presently the drawing room door closed, with deliberate quietness, behind her.

Barbara's sudden appearance at the flat brought Mrs. Field little surprise. She had heard the rumblings of the storm approaching In Darbury. had

1 to

t let

and foi later wl Not a could p Mrs. St. Field w

subsldet Infinite

It waa 1 needed which v ally lot ot mort get lost a way the bun them, n. Murgi all this she kn< the girl to fore* of her black p darknes Barbu address, everythl me—for

ut. with nterfere. ble, are ■ewaraed s comes

•ngtneera n circling hat Mrs. rhen the alk. had ht. with r. allowwid* upat would

ul which tandllng; k grmduoae who discover do, find icklng to •a off. through o words, watched attempt he dock Ted the ding her gave ao off from 10 knows rhen bar

Tho Romance of Word*

' “PANIC" A ccording to andsnt mythology, Pan, the god ot tha countryside, waa once a general In the army which Bacchus led into India. While encamped in a rocky reljey, Pan’s men were aarroundid bj an ovarwhelming force of the enemy, but orders ware leaned that all the soldier* ware to rid* at midnight, and, at a glvaa signal, to about aa loadly aa poaitble The stratagem waa carried through, and. the hills echoing the sound. Ita volume waa ao Increased, that the e&amy waa frightened and fled, taking It for granted that the Invader* had been reinforced during the early hours of the night. It was because of this that unreasoning and groundless fesra took the name of jianlc. the shepherds of nncletii Home matntnlnlng that any sounds of which they could not locate the reuse Were caused by Pan himself in order to frighten them. The word, thin-fore. I- » tr.hutc to an almost forg-.tien m 1 thology which persist ■ ta suefi .eto-r forms ns "Jovial" ••mercurial." ••martial" and the like, all of them derived from fbe names of tl-e gods ‘n whom the pagan Ihv mens belle's.'