Some honeymoon!

CHAPTER XXII

"WHO IS MY WIFE?"

Miss Mont sank slowly into her chair, still staring at the writhing features of the man who claimed to be her husband. Insanity had been her first thought; but the agony and passion displayed by John Ryder taught her that he was suffering as no maniac could suffer.

His words had the ring of truth that could not be ignored. He claimed her as his bride, and so confident was his belief in her identity as the woman he had married that her own counter knowledge was almost shaken.

"Mr. Ryder," she said at last and in almost a whisper, "sit down on that trunk yonder. Let me talk to you. Yes, sit down! You are between me and the door; I cannot escape."

Her quiet speech helped to bring him to his senses. He had been threatening her with the vehemence he might have used to a man. Red shame dyed his cheek. His manner suddenly subsided. He obeyed her.

"Mr. Ryder, I am not your wife," she said slowly, looking at him with her truthful eyes. She was the woman now she had seemed aboard the Minnequago. "No! I do not mean that," as she saw a wicked expression come into his face. "I have neither intentionally, nor unintentionally wronged you.

"Had I been convinced that I could—could learn to love you as a wife should and had married you, I would have done nothing which you in any way could construe as an attempt to bring disgrace upon your name.

"Wait! You are in a maze yet. You believe I am splitting hairs. I am not." She leaned forward and raised her voice for emphasis. "I am not the woman whom you married."

"What do you mean?" he gasped starting up again. "Would you make me doubt my own eyes? You sit there and coolly tell me I do not know the woman I married—the woman whom I held in my arms night before last—the woman who told me over and over again, by look and word, that she loved me?"

She had blushed vividly and for a moment covered her face with her hands. But she stopped him at that point.

"That is exactly what I do tell you. You do not know your wife, the woman whose name is on that marriage paper. Look at me closely. Come nearer. Is there not some feature different? Is she truly—this other woman—so like me?"

She said it earnestly and eagerly. She bent toward him until her breath fanned his face and until he could look with his troubled eyes deep into her clear, shadowless orbs.

And then, strange as it may seem, although John Ryder saw nothing unfamiliar in her countenance—nothing to warn him that this was not the woman whom he had wedded—one thing he suddenly knew. It was a startling discovery. It shook him to the very depths of his soul.

Whereas Ruth's very presence—his being near her and in physical contact with her—had thrilled him each time it occurred, he felt no such shock now. His anger had abated. He was shaken no more by the terrible rage under which he had labored. But this woman held no such influence over him, after all, as had Ruth. Still he was confused.

"Ruth! Can such a thing be?" he whispered brokenly. "You surely do love me a little?"

The abjectness of his speech and the misery in the man's face were awful. Miss Mont covered her face again and began to sob.

"You will not do this to me, Ruth? I know you must love me a little. No woman could be to a man what you were to me without loving him. Whatever this shadow is that has come between us——"

The passion and pleading in his voice had swept her on with him. She was trembling violently and her sobs were more broken. He would have gathered her into his arms by one sudden movement had she not sprung to her feet and eluded his hands.

"Stop! Stop!" she cried hoarsely. "This is not for me to hear! You do not mean this for me!

The vehemence of her emotion quelled Ryder as nothing else had done. She flung herself upon her knees with her head and arms resting upon the littered dressing table and abandoned herself to tears which seemed to well from her very soul.

He leaned over her, not daring to touch her, anxious, panting—altogether broken in spirit. A woman's tears flow easily they say; but this woman was not by nature a crying woman. This flood, however, cleared her heart and mind, and she saw and understood more clearly when her passion was past.

"Listen to me, Mr. Ryder," she said at last, recovering her seat and motioning him into his. "This is a wonderful thing—and a terrible thing. Don't look at me like that! Please, please don't! I tell you I am not the woman you think me."

"Do you mean," he said with deliberation, "that you are not the woman I met aboard the Minnequago?"

"No, no!"

"Or you are not the woman I asked to marry me before we landed?"

"No, no, Mr. Ryder! I am that woman."

"Then why did you say just now you were not?" he demanded with heat. "I treated you fairly. Were you not satisfied? Was the glamor of this," and he indicated the makeup box and her discarded costume in his gesture, "too much for you? Could any man give you more that is worth while in life than I? Are you of so changeable a mind that you did not know what you really wanted?

"When I wrote you aboard ship to choose once for all between this beastly Marks' offer of a stage career and a position as my wife——"

"What letter? What do you mean?" she cried, darting at him suddenly.

"You know what I mean. You answered the letter in person when you met me on the dock."

"I received no letter from you, Mr. Ryder."

He looked puzzled and hesitated. "Well, what matters it? You met me and said you were willing to marry me——"

"I tell you No!" she cried. "I did not meet you. I did not say I would marry you. And I did not marry you."

"By heaven, woman!"

"No, I tell you!"

She bore him back into his seat upon the trunk with both hands upon his shoulders. Her face was thrust close to his and she held him by the power of her gaze. But again John Ryder realized that her nearness lacked that thrilling influence upon him which contact with his bride had evolved.

"Listen to me," she repeated impressively. "You have been betrayed—fooled. Either you have deceived yourself, or have been deliberately deceived by others who knew well your wealth and power—the man you are. You millionaires are a mark for designing persons, Mr. Ryder, as you should well know.

"I cannot understand it all. But this I do know: I did not see you to speak to for all of that last day before the ship docked. I thought you—you had seen the unwisdom of your course in offering marriage to a woman like me."

She hesitated and the tears welled to her eyes again, but by sheer force of will she drove them back. "I received no letter from you, Mr. Ryder; none at all, you understand!"

"I—I gave it to a steward."

"It was not delivered. When we landed I did not see you. Stop! Let me finish. I was one of the last to leave the ship. Mrs. Gurthrie—the lady who sat by my side at the table—you remember? Mrs. Gurthrie was taken ill as we came up the bay. I remained with her after we docked. An ambulance had to be sent for to remove her to her home. I went with her in the ambulance before going to the hotel Mr. Marks selected for me——"

"What are you saying?" gasped Ryder, his face like death.

"I am telling you the truth. I can prove every word I say. A dozen witnesses—officers of the ship, the doctor, the driver of the ambulance, Mrs. Gurthrie herself and her husband, Mr. Marks—all these can bear out what I say."

She thought he would faint and reaching for the glass standing at her elbow placed the water to his lips. He drank it, still staring into her countenance with fixed gaze.

"Do you understand?" she continued softly. "Don't you see that I am not the woman you married, Mr. Ryder? I am forced to earn my living. This way of the stage was opened to me and my success tonight proves that I was right in accepting the chance offered."

But, he was not listening. He did not hear her final words at all. All that he really heard was this query, repeated over and over again in his tortured brain:

"Who is my wife?"

CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE MAZE

Both the man and the woman were shocked into a sudden appreciation of the world outside that box-like dressing-room by a knock on the door. Miss Mont rose quickly, threw off the garment with which she had lightly covered her shoulders and slipped into a negligee which had been hanging in the corner.

"Who's there?" she asked quietly.

"Why, hullo!" and Sam Marks' broad face showed at the opening door. "Ain't you a long time getting dressed, Miss Mont? I got a taxi at the door—— Hullo!"

He saw Ryder but did not at first recognize him.

"Got a visitor? Scuse me——"

"You may come in," said Miss Mont sternly. "You will recognize this gentleman."

"Gee! Well, I wouldn't, hardly. What's the matter with him?" asked Marks, finally identifying Ryder.

The manager looked anxious, and he kept very close to the door. Miss Mont watched him narrowly; but Ryder scarcely raised his eyes from the floor.

"Mr. Marks," she said, "Mr. Ryder came here—— That is, he says that before we landed from the Minnequago he sent me a letter to my stateroom. I did not receive it. You were hovering around me a good deal just then. Did you happen to see the letter?"

"What—me? Why, I——"

"Your face tells the truth if your lips cannot," she interrupted him sharply. "I see that you did get my letter. Where is it?"

Marks looked foolish; yet his pig-like eyes twinkled. He found the hardihood to say:

"Well, I had to get your name on that contract and I wasn't going to risk this guy butting in. Guess you're glad now yourself. See the hand you got tonight? You're going to be a knock-out."

"You scoundrel!" she said bitterly. "You do not know what you have done. You would not understand if I told you—you clod! Can you understand this much? Your stealing that letter——"

"Oh, I say! that's rather thick, you know. I didn't steal it and I didn't destroy it. I just forgot to give it to you after taking it from the steward," and he grinned, bringing forth the still unopened letter from his pocket.

"You dog! Oh, that men like you are allowed to live! You do things for a selfish reason, and then can never undo the harm you have done. Had you killed one or both of us, your act could have been no more brutal."

"God bless us!" gasped Marks looking fairly frightened now. "It ain't as bad as that. I got you on a contract—that's all I wanted. What's the matter with him? Won't he marry you just the same? But you'll have to fulfil the terms of my contract." Then he laughed a sudden sneering laugh.

"Or did somebody butt in on your game? I saw him walking off the dock with another queen."

Miss Mont started. "You saw them together?"

"Sure."

"Saw the woman? What did she look like?"

"I didn't see her face," Sam Marks said, puzzled at her vehemence. "I was only thinkin' just then of the contract in my pocket."

"Oh, you beast!" she exclaimed in disgust. "Go away. I want to talk with Mr. Ryder."

"Oh, very well! You can call names——"

"Go!" she commanded. "Let the taxi wait."

He slunk out of the dressing-room. It is doubtful if Ryder had realized his presence at all.

"Come," Miss Mont said with her hand on the shoulder of the stunned man. "I want you to wait for me outside the door until I dress. Then you shall ride to my hotel with me. Let me help you to understand this—this thing."

He looked at her in a dazed way; but finally he obeyed and went out of the room. He was in a maze and his intellect seemed beclouded.

In ten minutes she rejoined him and led the way to the stage entrance where the car was in waiting. They entered it, she gave the chauffeur the direction, and the jouncing of the taxicab over the nearest car track aroused Ryder to the first audible speech he had made since the truth had sunk into his mind.

"I—I cannot believe it, Miss Mont. Yet it must be so. How two women could look so much alike—act so much alike! Great heavens! She shall suffer for it——"

The woman beside him turned quickly and placed a palm lightly upon his lips. So like was the gesture to Ruth's that Ryder caught his breath and sank back in the seat, wordless again.

"Say nothing like that. Malign no person. Let us learn all the truth before we judge. Tell me—tell me about this other woman—this Ruth."

"She—she has left me," he said sullenly.

"Left you! How—when? No, no! Begin at the beginning. Tell me all. I will not hear a word against her—I must not!—until I know all the story."

This aroused John Ryder. He looked at her curiously. "You are a strange woman," he said. "Do you realize that she impersonated you? That I married her thinking she was you? That—that—God help me! She stole from you my love, for I do love her! I do love her!"

Miss Mont had taken his hand in both of hers. She sat and held it thus, looking straight ahead and saying no word for a long minute. Finally she whispered:

"Tell me all about it—and about her. Keep nothing back, Mr. Ryder. Think of me as though I were your sister. And let that be no empty term, please. For, perhaps——" She did not finish the sentence but added instead: "Tell me all!"

For a few moments Ryder was silent, trying to collect his thoughts in order to tell his story with some clarity. He fully realized that his thoughts were somewhat confused, that the emotions which had been let loose within him had, for the time being, impaired his usual judgment, a little confused his clear, keen mind, which ordinarily decided matters so rapidly and so surely.

Moreover he felt, rather than reasoned out, that in some way Miss Mont held the key to the situation, that if she knew the whole story and knew it accurately, she could be of help. So he sat, pondering, for a few moments, and again came the command:

"Tell me all!"

And Ryder told her. It was a long ride to the hotel uptown where Miss Mont was housed and there was time for him to relate every detail of his experience from the moment he had landed on the dock and met the strange woman who bore Miss Mont's name and looked so much like her.

When the story was finished the woman beside him turned to Ryder with tears in her voice, but with them a note of joy, as well.

"Let me tell you something, Mr. Ryder," she said. "And, believe me, I would stake my life upon it: This woman you have married loves you!"

"Do you believe so?" he whispered. Then, starting up angrily, he began to say harshly: "Love me? How can she and treat me so? To run away with that man, White——"

"Wait. Let us know all first. With the confidence that you should have in your heart of her love for you, you must not say that."

"But they left the hotel; they took the same train."

"Perhaps."

"And what hold has he over her? What is he to her? Is she my wife, or is she the wife of another? And where is she now?"

"Your last question is the most important," Miss Mont said quietly. "That is the first problem we have to solve. 'We,' I say, for I believe I am as much interested in finding Ruth Mont as you."

He looked at her curiously and in surprise. But she made no explanation, saying only:

"As for your first queries, we can only guess at the proper answers for them. And guessing is poor business. Who the man White is I cannot be sure, of course. But I should not be surprised if he were the man she was really waiting for that morning on the dock when the Minnequago got in."

"What?" he gasped.

"Yes. I remember well that there was a passenger named White aboard. He was ill most of the time coming over. His stateroom was near mine. He was being helped ashore by one of the stewards at the time we got Mrs. Gurthrie into the ambulance. You say he signed 'John B. White, Rome,' on the hotel register. It was Rome, Italy, of course. He must have been out of America for years.

"If he was actually Ruth Mont's husband she would not have gone through a marriage ceremony with you, for she believed you to be White."

"What are you saying?" stammered the confused Ryder.

"Yes. That is the explanation, I feel sure. You say she picked out Pinewood for your honeymoon, saying something about the place reminding you both of old times. I should think that would have awakened you to some suspicion of the facts. But a man in love, I suppose, is accountable neither for his deeds nor his words.

"It is plain, Mr. Ryder, that your wife and this White knew each other years ago. Perhaps they had not met since childhood. They have probably corresponded; but she could not have known much about his mature appearance.

"She was waiting for him when you landed from the Minnequago. You thought she was I. How much we must look alike!"

"Alike?" he murmured. "You are twins."

"No; we are not twins," she corrected him with confidence. "But there is a reason why we should look and seem so much alike.

"Now, see: You came to her on the dock, and your first question convinced her you were White. From what you tell me it seems that she was not sure of her own mind until she had seen you in the flesh.

"What woman could be sure, when she had not met her lover for years? And," the woman's voice broke, but she went on bravely, "for your comfort, Mr. Ryder, let me tell you that I believe she must have fallen in love with you on that instant of meeting."

John Ryder was silent. He was suddenly confronted with a second riddle, but he had no words in which to answer it. Had this woman, now talking to him so gently and impressively, been drawn toward him, too? What had his impetuosity done to her, as well as to himself? He could no longer selfishly feel that he was the only person injured by this tragedy of errors.

"Then," Miss Mont continued, "the knowledge of what she had done—what a great mistake she had made—came to her with a suddenness that was enough to turn the woman's brain. She had thought herself in love all these years with one man, and had married another!

"Put yourself in her place. Think what an opinion she holds of you. If your heart and brain have been seared by your trouble, think how she must feel. She cannot understand why you impersonated White. She is as much in the dark as you were. She must think you deliberately befooled her. She fled—not with White, I stake my life upon it!—but because she was so mentally disturbed that flight seemed the only course left her."

"But the name—'Mrs. John B. White'—written in her own hand upon the trunk labels?" questioned the man.

It was dark in the taxicab. The vehicle had stopped at the side door of Miss Mont's hotel and the chauffeur was impatiently waiting further orders or the alighting of his passengers. Ryder could not see Miss Mont's face.

He could not see her burning blush; he could not know of the tears flooding her eyes; he could only hear the tremor of her voice as she whispered:

"My heart tells me, Mr. Ryder, that Ruth wrote those lines as soon as her trunks arrived at the hotel. It was her new name. She wished to see how it looked when she wrote it on the tags!"

"Do you suppose that—all this you have told me—is the right explanation of this awful mystery?"

"I believe so. If she has come to this city and is hiding from you, it is because she cannot imagine what manner of man would usurp another's name and place as you seem to have done."

The tone that suddenly sounded in Ryder's voice could not be mistaken. "I'll have the whole police force hunting for her in the morning. I'll turn up the whole town to find her. Think of it! The poor child running away from me. When I love her so and am so sure she loves me——"

Miss Mont stopped him. "I—I must leave you now," she said in a muffled voice. "No! don't get down. I do not need you. Let me know how you succeed." She was out of the taxicab instantly and without a backward glance ran hastily into the hotel. He did not see her face again; but Ryder knew she was struggling to keep back another tempest of weeping.

He told the chauffeur where to drive him, and rode back downtown. After the storm of emotion of the last two hours his soul was strangely peaceful and he was even light-hearted.

The contrast between the awful uncertainty of the riddle of his wife's actions and the confidence he now felt that Miss Mont's explanation was the only sane and reasonable explanation, was so great that Ruth's disappearance seemed at this moment a small matter indeed.

Money and patience would find her, of course. Of the first he had plenty, thank heaven! The last he must cultivate as need be.

A steeple clock boomed the hour of midnight. The third day of John Ryder's honeymoon was ended.

CHAPTER XXIV

NEMESIS

With this better understanding of the exciting and brain-wracking incidents of these three days, John Ryder became again his sane and businesslike self. Before he reached his hotel he had evolved a plan for his future course relating to the woman he had married by mistake. Of course, this plan began with the discovery of her whereabouts.

He must have some theory to work on. He could go to the police and ask them to send out a description of his wife and trust to luck that some sharp-eyed detective would see her. That, however, was a method which he abhorred.

If Ruth had come to New York, or if she had gone elsewhere, John Ryder could think of just one way in which she might be traced.

He was convinced now that she was not with White. Ryder had cast that unfortunate individual into the discard entirely. Miss Mont's explanation of the mystery that had involved them all was so clear that Ryder could no longer feel jealous of John B. White.

Indeed the man might have better reason to feel that Ryder had defrauded him. Unintentionally Ryder had substituted himself for White, and had borne off the girl the latter expected to marry, and had made her his wife.

The thing to do now was for Ryder to find her, to explain his own course in the matter, and to convince Ruth that she had, after all, married the right man.

To start on this quest aright, he felt that he must begin at the Pinewood Inn. There was something at Pinewood that he felt sure would aid him in his search for his bride. She must send for the trunks and then he would obtain her address.

Therefore he went back to his hotel with the intention of leaving a call for the early morning train that would take him back to the resort. When he entered the hostelry and approached the desk he was surprised to be told that a lady was waiting for him in one of the hotel parlors.

"Been here for some time, sir. Said she would wait till you came in, no matter how late you were. It must be something important, Mr. Ryder," the clerk told him.

Ryder's heart leaped for joy. His first thought was that it was Ruth. How she could have found his hotel—what had brought her here—he did not stop to question. He followed the bellboy with eager steps to the parlor where, under a dim light, the woman sat waiting for his return.

When John Ryder strode into the room he felt a distinct drop in the temperature of his feelings. This might be a woman that had waited for him, but she was dressed more like a man. A long raincoat wrapped her about, and a felt hat pulled down over her ears disguised her femininity most effectually.

"Miss Solomons!" exclaimed Ryder, as the person rose and turned toward him.

"That's who 'tis," jerked out the house detective of the Pinewood Inn. "I've been waiting for you, Mr. Ryder."

Could it be possible that she had come with some message from Ruth, or information about her? Ryder could not find voice enough in which to ask her. His silence seemed to give Miss Solomons immense satisfaction. Her eyes snapped, and she waved in a commanding way the folded copy of the novel she always carried.

"I've got you! I told 'em I'd find you, all right. Can't fool me. You'd better come with me, Mr. Ryder. Don't try any capers."

"What the—— What do you want of me?" demanded the rapidly disillusioned Ryder. He realized that Miss Solomons could have come on no sentimental mission.

"They want you back to Pinewood. You know. You aren't silly enough to refuse to go without extradition papers, are you?"

"What—under—the—sun——"

"Back up!" exclaimed Miss Solomons. "That don't go. You know well enough what they want you for. That deputy sheriff is a dunce. You got away from him; but not from me."

"But what have you got to do with the deputy's trouble?"

"Say! Don't fool yourself. I'm a properly appointed officer of the State. That deputy fell down on the job, but I told 'em I'd get you. Come!"

"But what for?" demanded John Ryder, suddenly becoming quiet.

"Stealin' that coal. Thought you could get away with two carloads of coal and nobody do nothin' about it?"

"But," pointed out Ryder, "the coal was for the use of the hotel, and you are an employee of the hotel. Where do you come into this?"

"I'm officer of the State first," said Miss Solomons promptly. "It was a dead open and shut robbery. Then you attacked that poor deputy. That's serious. I'm a brother officer——"

"Don't you mean a sister officer?" suggested John Ryder gently.

"Huh! Don't get gay," advised Miss Solomons. "I'm asking if you are going to come peaceably, or must I make trouble for you in this ranch?"

"Where will you take me?"

"If you agree to go back quiet-like to Pinewood, I'll take you right to the station."

"And sit there in a draughty station for five hours or more, waiting for the first train?" he asked indignantly.

"Well——"

"You wouldn't treat a fellow that way, would you, Miss Solomons?" he went on wheedlingly.

"Don't try no soft stuff on me," advised the house detective gloomily. "I don't fall for it."

"But can't I go to bed and be called at a proper time to make the train?"

"What's going to happen to me?" she demanded. "Expect me to sleep on the mat outside your door?"

"But can't you go to bed, too? Let us behave humanlike," John Ryder urged. "Just because you are an officer and I am a—er—criminal, shall we say?—we need not both be miserable. I want to sleep."

"I should worry whether you sleep or not," snapped the house detective. "I haven't had much myself lately."

"Well, then?"

"Where do I bunk?" asked Miss Solomons.

"I will telephone down and secure a room for you. Near my own. You may lock me in if you like and keep the key."

"Inside room?" she asked.

"Yes. I can't get out by the window very easily."

"So be it!" she exclaimed. "You're a particular blame fool, Mr. Ryder; but not fool enough to try to escape me, I guess. Besides," she added, "here's a note was sent to you. Maybe it'll put you wise to somethin'."

She handed him a sealed envelope. Ryder's heart leaped once and then stopped. It was not addressed in Ruth's handwriting, although his name was written in a feminine hand.

He tore it open, unfolded the paper it contained, and read:

"If you are a man and love R. return immediately.

"ALICE J. BRACK."

Ryder stood holding the note for a full minute while he regained his poise. Who was "Alice J. Brack?" Not Ruth herself. Surely there could not be another mixup in names!

Then, of a sudden, he remembered the white-haired, motherly-looking wife of the fire-eating colonel. It flashed into Ryder's mind that while he was hurrying out of the hotel at Pinewood, Saturday noon, Mrs. Brack had sought to speak to him.

What did she know about his wife and the mystery that had entangled him in its snare? Why, if he loved Ruth, must he return to the Pine wood Inn? He looked up and caught Miss Solomons eying him with so soft a gaze that he was actually startled.

"Oh!" gasped John Ryder, "is she there?"

The detective "came to attention" swiftly. Her face hardened to its usual bored expression. She said:

"I don't know anything about the note. It was given to me by the old lady. I'm here to take you back for stealing coal."

"Oh! All right," said John Ryder. "I'll go."

But the detective seemed suddenly more moderate in her demands. "Tell you what," she said. "I'll bunk here."

"Here in the parlor?"

"Yep. 'Twon't hurt me."

"In one of these chairs?"

"Good's I us'ally get at night," she declared.

"But, my dear young woman," protested Ryder, "the management of the hotel won't permit anyone to lie around in their parlors all night."

"They'll let me, I guess! I'm a State officer. I've got rights that don't pertain to any old person that just happens to drop into a hotel. Now, you can beat it to your room. I won't let you oversleep. We'll make that six-fifteen train."

But John Ryder needed nobody to awaken him at the proper hour. He was up in good season, and had heard nothing of Miss Solomons when he came out of his bedchamber at half after five in the morning.

He went to the parlor to look for her. There was but a single light burning, and that dimly. The house detective of the Pine wood Inn was sound asleep in her chair. She had evidently succumbed to nature while keeping what she considered proper vigil.

The long-barreled pistol she carried had slipped to the rug at her feet. When Ryder stooped to pick it up before awakening Miss Solomons, he saw that she had dropped her "five-cent thriller" as well.

He picked this up and unfolded the pamphlet curiously. He expected to find a detective story with quite as sensational a title as Jim Howe had suggested. Instead, the title of the story the house detective had been last perusing was:

"Little Laurel's Lovers; Or, Sweethearts' Paths Made Smooth."

CHAPTER XXV

JOHN RYDER FORGIVES FATE

They might have arrived at the Pinewood Inn earlier had not the officer and her captive been met before they crossed the inlet to the hotel by a man with a bandage swathing his jaw. Ryder had considerable trouble in identifying the deputy sheriff, whom he had last seen struggling in the tide.

"Got him," said Miss Solomons briefly to the deputy. "He came back without making any trouble."

She seemed, Ryder thought, a little sorry that she was forced to hand him over to the mercy of the other officer. For that deputy did seem vindictive.

"Got a warrant, have you?" asked Miss Solomons, as an afterthought.

"Oh, I know my business. I'll get the warrant, all right," growled the man with the bruised jaw.

"You can't arrest without a warrant on such a charge," declared the house detective, suddenly taking up cudgels for John Ryder.

"Oh, I'll hold him all right. He's been stealing——"

"Who makes the complaint?" asked the culprit mildly. "Of course, old fellow, I'm sorry you obliged me to hit you. If anything I can do will salve your lacerated feelings——?" He drew out his wallet.

"You stole that coal," growled the man, his eyes glittering, however, when he saw the money Ryder carried.

"Oh, all right! If you insist," said John Ryder. "But who is the complainant in the case?"

"Why, the railroad, I s'pose."

"That is what you suppose," said the culprit. "Now, let me tell you what I know. The railroad was merely the carrier. It did not own the coal. The railroad was neither consignor nor consignee."

"Then the coal company will prosecute."

"No, they won't. They ship at consignee's risk. If anybody moves in the matter it will be the actual, legal owner of the coal. In other words, the Lossing Soap Company."

"What does it matter?" demanded the deputy with some heat. "Somebody will prosecute. You can't get out of that."

"Maybe. Just wait a moment, Mr. Sheriff. I happen to have a letter here from the Lossing Soap Company. It's on a private matter; but I'll show you the letter-head. Here, just read that aloud," and he tore off the printed heading of the letter and handed it to the officer.

"'Lossing Soap Company, Capitalization——'"

"Never mind that," interposed Ryder.

"'Rated——'"

"Skip that. Who's the president?"

"Why—er—— My goodness gracious!" gasped the deputy. "The—the president of the company is—is Mr. John Ryder."

"That's right," said Ryder quietly. "John Ryder. There is only one of us, and that's me. I may be a fool—as Miss Solomons here says I am—but I'm not fool enough to prosecute myself for stealing my own coal. You can go back and report, Mr. Deputy, to your superior; and when you find out how much you think that sore jaw is worth, let me know. We'll be able to settle it out of court."

He walked on to enter a boat that had come to transfer him across the inlet. Miss Solomons looked after him, and then at the deputy. Scorn made her voice fairly tremble as she viewed the abashed officer up and down his length.

"Huh!" he emitted, and stopped unable to go on, and even, seemingly, to close his mouth.

"Good-night!" muttered the house detective, and followed John Ryder into the boat.

She kept a discreet silence all the way across the inlet and as they walked up the path to the Pinewood Inn. There Ryder went immediately to the desk, to be hailed joyfully by George.

"Well, if we aren't all glad to see you again, Mr. Ryder!" exclaimed the clerk. "The guests are going to give you a testimonial banquet soon's it can be arranged."

"Good heavens, George! can't you get me out of that? Why—why! it's preposterous! Man alive! you've got to nip that!"

"Don't know how I can, Mr. Ryder. When Colonel Brack gets set on something he's hard to change. And then there's Pop Cudger—he's in this, too, and he never stops to hear what any other fellow has to say once he begins on a thing."

Ryder groaned dismally.

"Mr. Giddings has arrived and is anxious to see you," went on the clerk. "Say! I'm going to be manager here in place of Bangs. And if I make good I'll owe it all to you," declared the grateful young man.

"And say, your wife will be tickled to see you——"

"What!" Ryder for a moment lost control of himself, but George was too full of news to notice his emotion.

"Naturally she'd be lonely. She's been sticking as close to Mrs. Brack as though the old lady was her mother. And the colonel is evidently dead stuck on Mrs. Ryder. I think he'll even forgive you, sir," and George chuckled.

Ryder swallowed hard, and finally was able to speak without a noticeable tremor in his voice:

"Guess it is too early to go upstairs. Nobody will be up yet."

"No. Mrs. Ryder has not telephoned down for her breakfast. And I believe Mrs. Brack is with her, anyway."

"Tell 'em I'm here if they 'phone down," said Ryder, and went into the breakfast room.

Before he completed his leisurely meal Mrs. Judson swept into the room in a wonderful morning gown. She caught sight of Ryder, looked her astonishment for an instant, and then advanced down the room with the evident intention of speaking to him.

It was rude, but Ryder would have knocked her down had she been a man. As he could not do this, he deliberately turned his eyes away and ignored her. The cut direct could not be mistaken, and several noticed the widow's discomfiture.

A moment later one of the bellboys brought Ryder a note. He tried to seem undisturbed as he opened and read it:

"DEAR SIR:—

"Come to me in the parlor before seeing your wife. She does not know yet that you have returned.

"Sincerely,
        "ALICE J. BRACK."

He arose finally and made his way to the parlor, with an apparent ease of manner he did not at all feel. It was the same room that had been the scene of so many events on that night when Pop Cudger and his colored retainer had guarded Van Scamp's famous painting of "The Cheesemonger."

The tranquil countenance of the colonel's lady seemed to John Ryder one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. Her smile encouraged him. Her first words filled him with delight:

"Yes; she is well."

He could have hugged her! But Mrs. Brack added gravely:

"Before I let you go up to the poor child, you must tell me your side of the story. All of it. She has trusted everything to me. I understand her mistakes and her misery fully. And I tell you now that no shadow of wrong rests upon her conduct. Can you say as much, Mr. Ryder?

"I have promised that you shall not see her unless you can explain satisfactorily what you have done. Tell me, why did you, a perfect stranger as she declares, represent yourself to her as the man she expected to marry and for whom she was waiting on that dock?"

"Then Miss Mont was right!" exclaimed John Ryder.

"Miss Mont? Do you mean your wife?"

Ryder eagerly told Mrs. Brack in detail of the mystery of the two girls named Mont and of all Rose Mont had surmised. He knew now who Ruth must be. His listener sat enthralled until he had completed his story. Then she suddenly took him by both shoulders and gave him a little shake.

"John Ryder," she said, repeating (though in a more refined phrase) Miss Solomons' stated opinion of his character, "John Ryder, you are a particularly foolish man. There is one principle of married life which you have overlooked—it is the foundation, indeed, of wedded happiness.

"Mutual confidence. If two people possess that, happiness may come or go; that is a craft that sails with variable winds. But trust must remain if wedded comradeship is to last.

"The very first thing that started suspicion in your mind should have made you go to your wife for an explanation. Because you did not do this you both have got into much sorrow and anxiety.

"Tell me," the woman added suddenly: "Which of these two women do you love? You fell in love with that other Miss Mont on the steamship, and asked her to be your wife. You must have thought you loved her. But you met this poor child you have married and seem to have felt no difference in the two. And yet there must be a difference—a vast difference.

"Which of them do you really love?"

"There is no doubt in my mind, Mrs. Brack," he told her with earnestness. "I was attracted by Rose Mont's face and by her qualities of mind. I thought I loved her. Possibly, had I married her, I never should have known that I had mistaken admiration for love.

"But Ruth I have married. And from the moment I knew she was mine—yes, from the moment we clasped hands upon the wharf—my feeling for her was far different from that I had held for Rose.

"Rose has no power over me, Mrs. Brack. I cannot explain it very clearly; but it is true. There is no response in me when I touch her hand or when she is near me. But Ruth—I tell you I love my wife, Mrs. Brack, and I'll fight for the possession of her if any man tries to take her from me!"

"That is enough! I believe you!" the woman said, her eyes shining. "You need comfort as well as Ruth, for you, too, have suffered. And I am going to tell you something, that which will bring to your heart the assurance it needs.

"Your wife has been a poor girl all her life. Of late she has been a nurse, supporting herself entirely. She was tacitly adopted into the family of this John B. White when she was very small.

"Afterward the family suffered reverses and came to America, bringing Ruth with them. When the elder White died, this son was taken by an uncle and aunt to Europe to finish his education there. But Ruth was old enough when they separated for them to have felt some attachment.

"They corresponded. For two years now his letters have been loverlike. He had studied to be an artist and had gained some celebrity in Italy. The less the girl encouraged him the more eager he was to come to America and prove to her that she still loved him—as he claimed to love her. It was born of the man's romantic nature, I presume; yet he, poor fellow, has lost everything in this affair. Ruth agreed finally to marry him if, upon his appearance, she should be assured he was a man she could learn to love.

"Yes, you may well blush, Mr. Ryder," pursued Mrs. Brack, smiling. "She discovered instantly—in the flash of an eye—that she could love you. She did love you. She does love you. She declares vehemently if White had met her she would have run away from him.

"After their terrible scene the other day—did you know about that?" Ryder nodded. "She came to you for an explanation—for help. You are still a young man, John Ryder. You do not understand women. You left her alone—when she needed you—and without a word to comfort her.

"White might have been foolish enough to linger about and cause more trouble, but Miss Solomons, who overheard his talk with your wife, tells me she 'chased him.' That girl is dreadfully slangy and appears to be hard and unfeminine; but she has a soft heart under it all, Mr. Ryder."

"I can well believe it," agreed Ryder, thinking of "Little Laurel's Lovers."

"I met your wife in the corridor ready dressed to leave the hotel," pursued Mrs. Brack. "She had packed her trunks and would have been foolish enough to run away.

"It was by chance—no, it was providential—that I spoke to her. And because I am an old woman and have lived my life and have both suffered and been happy, she told me all. I saw that Mrs. Judson would succeed in making her scandalous story (that I had already heard and then understood) sound true if we were not careful. She has even been saying that you ran away from your bride——"

"Confound her!" ejaculated John Ryder. "And after all Ruth's kindness to her!"

"She is confounded—and by her own evil tongue. All gossips are in the end," said Mrs. Brack. "My husband and I have been in this hotel fourteen years. If I approve of a person the guests at large are not very likely to believe the scandalous stories of such flutterbudgets as Mrs. Judson.

"I have made Ruth appear with us in the dining-room. That put a stop to all the gossip. And so—she is waiting for you in her rooms now, Mr. Ryder. She is a girl that any man—I do not care how high he may be—should be proud to secure for a wife, and——"

"I am going to her!" cried John Ryder, and darted away.

About a week later, one evening, as John Ryder and his wife were going up from dinner, the clerk handed him a letter. The envelope was creamy and very thick, and the writing, angular and firm, betrayed the feminine hand.

"This is from Miss Mont," he said to his wife, and when they reached their suite she sat eagerly upon the arm of the big chair while he opened the envelope.

Together they looked over the letter that threw light on important facts which correspondence on both sides had brought to view. In one place Rose Mont wrote:

"From what your wife writes me about her remembrance of her early years and from my own memory, I am confident that she is the sister Ruth whom I so dearly loved when our parents died and we children were scattered. I remember I almost cried my eyes out for her, although for the boys and for our older sister, Gertrude, I did not greatly care.

"And that we should grow up to look so much alike!"

Again she wrote:

"Your invitation, seconded by dear Ruth, is appreciated; but I must refuse it now. I could not come to disturb your new-made happiness. Besides, Mr. Marks has contracted for a seven-week engagement in Chicago and we start for the West to-morrow. When I return to New York in the spring or early summer we will have recovered our equilibrium, I fancy, and we all, as brother and sisters, may meet with more freedom. Until we meet, God bless you!

"Your sister,
        "ROSE MONT."

"Well, I'm sorry she's taken up that stage business," Ryder said with a sigh. "And yet she has talent for it and she's a good woman. We'll give her the time of her life when she does come East. We'll be in our own home then, honey."

Ruth was looking at him very closely, but he was quite unconscious of the meaning of this scrutiny. Suddenly she seized him around the neck and hugged him tightly.

"Well," she murmured, "I won't be jealous of my own sister."

Ryder did not hear. But he held her away from him for a moment and looked into her eyes. "Where's that chain and locket you used to wear?" he suddenly demanded.

A vivid blush flooded into her throat and cheeks. "That—that's put away. Johnny White gave it to me when I was a little girl. It—it had a lock of his hair in it I thought it was your hair, dearest. How silly of me!"

Ryder smiled grimly. "And you used to kiss it, I'll be bound, thinking it was mine?"

"How did you know?" she demanded, starting up rather petulantly.

"Humph! I know a lot of things now—since I've been married. By thunder! Marriage does open a man's eyes."

And then he laughed and drew her down against his breast again, and they were silent for a long while.

THE END