?Who?s Who? In the Story.

?SATAN? SANDERSON, thehero, dare-devil, quixotic friend andminister of the Gospel.

HUGH STIRES, prodigal andcriminal.

JESSICA HOLME, the beautifulheroine, helpless in tbe rush of

events and the principal sufferer ina case of mixed Identity.

MRS. HALLORAN, the camporacle

DAVII) STTRES, stern, vet f^rgiving, and at the last made happyby another's unhappiness.

THE BISHOP, the victim of am isu udersta uding.

HALLELUJAH JONES, the re-ligious fanatic on wbVSe shouldersrests the whole weight of the story.

EMMET PRENDERGAST, thefalse friend, perjurer and thief.

THE SHERIFF, who ia verymuch divided between duty and in-clination.

?BIG? DEVLIN, who turnschampion Instead of prosecutor aft-er the hero?s race with death.

Chapter 11my son IIugh. In re-

\u25a0 turn for the ere andsorrow he has caused me

j all the day, of his life.1 y for his dissolute career?s and his desertion, 1 do

give and bequeith the sum of SI,OOOand the memory of his misspentyouth.?

It was very quiet In the wide, richlyfurrlshed library. The May night wasstlil, but a faint susplratlon heavywith the fragrance of Jasmine flowersstirred the Venetian blind before theopen window and rustled the moonsilvered leaves of the aspens outsideAs the Incisive professional pronounce-ment of the Judge cut through the si-

lence the grim face on the pillow ofthe wheel chair set more grimly, agirl seated In the shadow of the firescreen caught her breath, and fromserosa the table the Rev. Henry Sanderson turned bis handsome, cleanshaven face and looked at the old man

A peevish misogynist the neighbor-hood labeled the latter, with the parishchapel for hobby and for thorn-ln-the-flesh this only son Hugh, a black sheepwhose open breaches of decorum thetown had borne as best it might tillthe tradition of his forbears took himoff to an eastern university. A reck-less life there and three wastrel years

abroad had sent him back to resumehis peccadilloes on a larger scale, toquarrel bitterly with his father and toleave his home in anger.

?Walt." came the querulous voicefrom the chair. ?Write In ?graceless'before the word ?desertion.? ??

?For his dissolute career and hisgraceless desertion," repeated the law

The parchment crackling under his pen

yer, the parchment crackling under hispen.

Judge Conwell glanced curiously atHarry Sanderson as he blotted theemendation. He knew the liking ofthe cross grained and taciturn old Invalid, St. James' richest parishioner,for this young man of twenty-live whohad come to the parish only twomonths before, fresh from his theo-logical studies, to dll a place temporarlly vacant and had stayed by sheerforce of personality. He wondered if,aside from natural magnetic qualities,this liking had not been due first ofall to the curious resemblance betweenthe young minister and the absent sonwhom David Stlres was disinheriting,for as far ns mold of feature went theyoung minister and the ne'er-do-wellmight have been twin brothers.

No one perhaps had ever Interestedthe community more than had HarrySanderson. He had entered upon bisduties with the marks of youth, good

looks, self possession and an ample In-come thick upon him and had broughtwith him a peculiar charm of mannerand an apparent Incapacity for doingthings In a hackneyed way. Conven-tion sat lightly upon Harry SandersonHe recognized few precedents eitherIn the new methods and millinery withwhich he had Invested the service orIn hi* personal habits. Instead of at-tending the meeting of St. Andrew?sguild. after the constant custom ofhis predecessor, he was apt to be foundplaying his violin (a passion withhim) In the smart study that adjoinedthe gothic chapel where he shepherdedIds fashionable flock or tramping aero -

the country with a brier pipe In hismouth and his brown spaptel, Rummy,Dosing at his heels. His athletic trams

and clean Cuisetec rca??re« ina.15 liFma rare figure for the reading desk, nsbis violin practice, tbe cut of bis golfflannels, the Immaculate elegauce ofhis motor car, even the white carnatlou he affected In bis buttonhole,

made him for the younger men a good-ly pattern of tbe cloth, and It hadspeedily grown to be tbe fashion tobear the brilliant young minister.

Something of all this was In the law-yer's mind as he paused?a perfunctorypause?before he continued:

?I do give and bequeath tbe sum ofSI,OOO and tbe memory of bis misspentyouth.?

Harry Sanderson?s eyes had wan-dered from the chair to tbe slim fig-ure of the girl who sat by the screen.This was Jessica Holme, tbe orphaneddaughter of a friend of the old man?searly years, who had recently come tothe house In tbe aspens to fill the voidleft by Hugh's departure. Harry couldsee the contour of throat and wrists,the wild rose mesh of the skin againstthe Romney blue gown, the plenteousred bronze hair uncoiled and falling Ina single braid and the shadowy pathosof her eyes. Clear hazel eyes theywere, wide and full, but there was Inthem no depth of expression, for Jes-sica Holme was blind. As tbe crisp,deliberate accent pointed the Judicialperiod as with a subterranean echo ofirrefutable condemnation Harry sawher under lip indrawn, her bands clasptightly, then unclasp In her lap. Pliant,graceful hapr?s, ue thought, which evenblind"-;.* could not make maladroit

(So on.? rasped the old man.?The residue of my estate, real and

personal, I do give and bequeath tomy ward, Jessica Holme??

He broke off suddenly, for the girlwas kneeling by the chair groping forthe restless band that wandered on theafgban and crying in a strained, agi-tated voice: ?No?no ?you must not!He is your son!"

?In the eyes of the law, yes. Butnot otherwise!? His voice rose. "Whathas he done to deserve anything fromme? What has he bad all bis life butkindness? And how has he repaid It?By being a waster and a prodigal. Bysetting me In contempt and finally byforsaking me In my old age for hisown paths of ribaldry.?

The girl shook her bead. "You don'tknow where he Is now or what he Isdoing. Oh, he was wild and reckless, Ihave no doubt, but when he quarreledand left you wasn't It perhaps becauseho was too quick tempered? And If hehasn?t come back isn?t It perhaps be-cause he Is too proud??

?Jessica. I?ve not forgiven him seventimes. I?ve forgiven him seventy timesseven. But he doesn?t want forgiveness. To him I am only ?the old man?who refused to ?put up? longer for hisfopperies and extravagances! When heleft this bouse six months ago he de-clared he would never enter It again.Very well; let him stay away! Heshan?t come back when 1 am In mygrave to play ducks and drakes withthe money he misuses! And I?ve fixedIt so that you Won?t be able to give Itaway either, Jessica.?

'r he girl, still kneeling, turned halfabout with a hopeless gesture, ?Oh.won?t you help me?? she said. Shespoke more to herself. It seemed, thanto either of the men who waited.

?Sanderson,? said the old man withbitter fierceness, lifting his hand. ?Idare say you think I am hard, but Itell you there has never been a daysince Hugh was born when I wouldn?thave laid down my life for him! Yonare so like! When 1 look at you I seemto see him as he might have been butfor his own wayward choice! If hewere only as like you In other thingsas he Is In feature! You are nearly th*»same age. You went to the same college. I believe. Yon have had the sameadvantages and the same temptations.Yet you. an orphan, come out a divtnlty student, and Hugh?my son! comesout a roisterer with gambling debts, amember of the ?fast set,? one of a disso-lute fraternity known as ?The Saints, -whose very existence, no doubt, was ashame to the Institution!?

Horry Sanderson turned slowly tothe light. A strange panorama In thatmoment had flashed through his brain-kaleidoscopic pictures of an earlyreckless era when he bad not beenknown ns the ?Kev. Henry Sanderson.?

?I think I ought to say that I wasthe founder, and at the time you speakof. the abbot of The Saints. I was In thesame year with Hugh. We sowed ourwild oafs together, a tidy crop, I fancy,for us both. That page of my life Ispasted down. I speak of It now because It would be cowardly not to. 1have not seen Hugh since collegeclosed four years ago. But then I wasall you called him?a waster and aprodigal. And 1 was more, for whileothers followed. I led. At college Iwas known as ?Satan Sanderson.??

?It Is the Hugh of the present thatI am dealing with,? said the old man.For David Stives was Just and he wasfeeling a grim respect for Harry'shonesty.

Harry acknowledged the brusquekindliness of the tone with a little mo-tion of the hand. As he spoke he badbeen feeling his way through a maze ofcontradictory Impulses. For a mwnent

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he had been back In that old irresponslide time; the Hugh he had knownthen had sprung to his mind's eye, animitative Idler, with a certain grace

and brilliancy of manner that madehim hail-fellow-well-met but withalshallow, foppish? and incorrigible, acheap and shabby imitator of the out-ward manner, not the Inner graces, ofgood fellowship. Yet Hugh had beenone of his own ?fast set.? They hadcalled him "Satan?s shadow,? a tributeto the actual resemblance ns well nsto the palpable Imitation he affectedHarry shivered a little. The situationseemed, in antic Irony, to be revers-ing Itself. It was as If not aloneHugh, but he. Harry Sanderson, In theperson of that past of his, was nowbrought to bar for Judgment in thatroom. For the Instant he forgot howutterly characterless Hugh had shownhimself of old, how devoid of all de-sire for rehabilitation his present rep-utation in the town argued him Atthat moment it seemed us if in savingHugh from this condemnation, he waspleading for himself as he had been,for the further chance which he, butfor circumstances, perhaps, had neededtoo.

?Y?ou." h r said, "have lived a life of

Just and balanced action It is bredIn the bone. You bate all loose con-duct, and rightly. You hate it most inHugh for the simple reason that he Isyour son The very relation makes It

more impossible to countenance. Heshould be like you?of temperate andprudent habit But did you and hestart on equal terms? Your grand-father was a Staudish; your ancestry

was undiluted Puritan. Did Hughhave all your fund of resistance? Withme it was the turning of a long lane.Hugh perhaps has not turned?yet."A breath of that past life had swept

anew over Harry, the old shudderingrecoil again had rushed upon him. Itgave bis voice a curious energy ns heended: ?And I have seen how far aman may go and yet?come back!"

There was a pause. The Judge hadan inspiration. He folded the parchment

?Perhaps it would be as well,? hesaid in a matter of fact way, "if thesigning be left open for the present.?

He rose as be spoke and laid the doc-ument on the table.

For a moment David Stlres sat Insilence. Then he said, with a glint ofthe old ironic fire: ?You should havebeen a special pleader. Sanderson.There?s no client too bad for them tomake out a case for! Well?well, wewon?t sign tonight. I will read itover again when I am more equal toIt.?

For long the old man sat alone, mus-ing in his chair. At length he sighedand took up a magazine. He wasthinking of Harry Sanderson.

?How like!" he said aloud. ?So San-derson sowed his wild oats too! ? ? ?

When he stood there, with the light onhis face?when he talked ?l?l couldalmost have thought it was Hugh!"

Chapter 2

SANDERSON and

ttwJ' the Judge parted at theK.|A J. gate, and Harry walked!!\u25a0 )!il slowly home In the

moonlight."

- T-." The youthful folliesthat he had resurrected when he hadcalled himself his old nickname of?Satan Sanderson" he had left so farbehind him, had buried so deep, thatthe Ironic turn of circumstance thathad dragged them Into view seemedIntrusive and malicious.

He bad saved an old college matefrom possible disinheritance and the

grind of poverty,for David Stires'health was pre-carious. Hethought of thiswith a tinge ofsatisfaction. Theleast of that pe-culiar clan, onewho had held hisplace not by lik-able qualities,but by a versa-tile talent forentertain ment.Hugh Stires yet

deserved thusmuch. HarrySanderson hadnever shirked anobligation ?As aman sows"'words used by

W«« he. the ??Saturn the old mun?reSanderson" that curred to himuas. getting hi* Did any mandeserts. reap w j,,, t hl,

sowed, after all? Was he the "SatanSanderson" that was, getting his deserfs?

*??*»»*

The later nlglit was very still. andthe moon, lifting like a paper lanternover the aspen tops, silvered all thelandscape. In Its placid radiance thewhite house loomed In a ghostly pallorThe windows of one side were blank,

but behind the library shade thebulbous lamp still drowsed like a mon

stcr glowworm. From the shadowyside of the building stretched a narrowL, Its front covered by a rose trelliswhose pale blossoms In the soft nightair mingled their delicate fragrancewith that of the jasmine.

Save for the one bright pane thereseemed now no life or movement inthe house. But outside In the moon

light a lurching, shabbily clothed figure moved, making his uncertain waywith the deliberation of composed inebriety The sash of the window was

raised a few Inches, and he noddedsagely at the yellow shade

"Gay old silver top." he hiccoughed?see yon In the morning!"

He capsized against an althea bushand shook his head with owlish gravlty as he disentangled himself Then hestaggered serenely to the rose trellisand. choosing Its angle with an assurance that betrayed ancient practice,climbed to the upper window, shot its

bolt with a knife and let himself In.lie painstakingly closed both windowsand Inner blinds before he turned on

an electric light.In the room in which he now stood

he had stored his boyish treasures andshirked his maturer tasks. It shouldhave had deeper human associations,

too, for once, before the house hadbeen enlarged to Its present proportlons, that chamber had been his mother?s. The Marechal Nlel rose that clam-bered to the window sill had beenplanted by tier hand. In that room hehad been born. And in it had occurredthat sharp, corrosive quarrel with his

father on the night he had Hung himself from the house vowing never toreturn.

As Hugh Stires stood looking abouthim It seemed for an Instant to his

clouded sousesthat the past sixmonths of wandering and nnsavory adveutore were adream. Therewas bis bed.with Its cleanlinen sheets andsoft pillows.Ilow he would

like to lie downJust ns he wasand sleep a fullround of theclock! Last nighthe had sleptwhere hadslept? lie hadfnptrnHoti fAt* tlm

i> , .. ?forgotten for tho

He made difficult semomeDt Ht.lection Irum these. , ,

,,

,looked longinglyat the spotless coverlid. No; some onemight appear, and It would not do tobe seen in his present condition. Itwas scarcely 10. Time enough for thatafterward.

He drew out the drawer of a chifTonler. opened a closet and gloated overthe order and plenty of their contents.He made difficult selection from theseand, steadying his progress by walland chair, opened the door of nn ad-joining bathroom. It contained a cir-cular bath with a needle shower. With-out removing his clothing he climbedInto this, balancing himself with aneffort, found and turned the cold fau-cet and let the icy water, chilled fromartesian depths, trickle over him in ahundred stinging needle points.

It was a very different figure thatre-entered the larger room a half hourlater from the slinking mudlark thathad climbed ttie rose trellis. The oldHugh lay. a heap of soiled and sodden

that ward of whoso coming he hadlearned. Moreau was a good friend to

have warned him. Was she part of a

plan of reprisal?her presence there «

tentative threat to him? Could his fa-ther mean to adopt her? Might that

great house, those grounds, the bulk of

his wealth, go to her. and he. the son.be left In the cold? He shivered Per-

haps he had stayed away too long!

As he turned again, he heard a sound

In the hall He listened A light step

was approaching?the swish of a gown.

With a sudden Impulse he stepped Intothe embrasure of the window, as the

figure of a girl paused at the door tiefelt his face Hush She had thrown a

crimson kimono over her white night-

gown. and the apparition seemed to

part the dusk of the doorway like thered breast of a robin. She held In herhands a bunch of the pale MarechnlMel roses, and his eye caught the long

rebellious sweep of her bronze hairand the rosy tint of bare feet through

the worsted meshes of her night slip-pers.

garments; the new stood forth shaven, fragrant with fresh linen and cleanand tit apparel. The maudlin had van-ished, the gaze was unvexed andbright, the whole man seemed to havesettled Into himself, to have growntrim, nonchalant, debonair. lie heldup his hand, palm outward, betweenthe electric globe and his eye. Therewas uot a tremor of nerve or muscleHe smiled. No headache, no fever, nouncertain feet or trembling hands orswollen tongue after more than aweek of deep potations. He could still?sober up? us he used to do (withBlake, the butler, to help hirai whenIt had been a mere matter of an even-ing's tipsiness. And how tine it felt tobe decently clad again!

He crossed to a cheval glass. Thedark, handsome face that looked out athim was clean cut and aristocratic,perfect save for one blemish?a paleline that slanted across the right brow,a birthmark, resembling a scar. Allhis life this mark had 1ceil an eyesoreto Its owner. It had a trick of turn-ing an evil red under the stress of an-ger or emotion.

On the features, young and vigorousas they were, subtle lines of self in-dulgence had already set themselves,and beneath their expression, cavalierand caressing, lay the unmistakablestigmata of Inherited weakness. Butthese the gazer did not see. He re-garded himself with egotistic compla-cency. Here he was Just as sound asever He had had his fling and taught?the governor? that he could get alongwell euough without any paternal helpIf he chose.

He attentively surveyed the room.It was clean and dusted?evidently Ithad been carefully tended. He mighthave stepped out of It yesterday Nota thing had been disturbed?yes. onething His portrait that had hung overhis bed was uot in its place A mo-mentary sense of trepidation rushedthrough him Could his father reallyhave meant all he had said in his rage! 1Did he really mean to disown him?

For an instant he faced the hall door

To his wonder the sight of the lighted room seemed to cause her no sur-

prise. For an instant she stood still ns

though listening, then entered andplaced the roses in a vase on a readingstand by the bedside.

Hugh gasped. To reach the standthe girl had passed the spot where hestood, but she had taken no note ofhim. Her gaze had gone hy him ns If

he had been empty air. Then he real-

ized the truth; Jessica Holme wasblind! Moreau's letter had given himno Inkling of that. So this was thegirl with whom his father now threat-ened him! Was she counting on his

not coming back, waiting for the wind-fall? She was blind?hut she wasbeautiful! Suppose be were to turnthe tables on the old man. not onlyclimb hack into his good graces throughher. lint even?

Tht* thin line on his brow sprangsuddenly scarlet. What a supple,graceful arm she had! How adroit herfingers as they arranged the rosestems! Was he already wholly blackened In her opinion? What did shethink of him? Why did she bringthose flowers to that empty room?Could It have been she who had keptItclean and fresh and unaltered againsthis return? A confident, daring lookgrew In his eyes, lie wished she couldsee him In that purple tie and velvetsmoking jacket. What an opportunityfor a romantic self justification!Should he speak? Suppose It shouldfrighten her!

Chance answered him. His resplration had conveyed to her the know!edge of a presence In the room. Heheard her draw a quick breath. ?Someone Is here!" she whispered.

He started forward. "Walt, wait!"he said In a loud whisper as shesprang back. But the voice seemed tostartle her the more, and before hecould reach her side she was gone. Heheard her flying steps descend the stalland the opening and closing of a door.

with clinched hands Somewhere Inthe house, unconscious of his presence,

The sudden flight Jarred Uugli'spleasurable sense of novelty. lie thrusthis hands deep Into his pockets. Nowhe was In for It! She would alarm thehouse, rouse the servants. Me shouldhave a staring domestic audience forthe Imminent reconciliation his soberedsense told him was so necessary.Shrugging his shoulders, he wentquickly down the stair to the library.

He had known exactly what heshould see there?the vivid girl withthe hue of fright In her cheeks, the

?My son/" he cried.shaded lamp, the wheel chair and thefeeble old man with his furrowed faceand gray mustaches. What he himselfshould say he had not had time to re-flect

The figure In the chair looked up asthe door opened. "Hugh!? he criedand half lifted himself from his seat.Then he settled buck, and the sunken.Indomitable eyes fastened themselveson his sou's face.

Hugh was melodramatic?cheaply so.He saw the girl start at the name, sawher hands catch at the kimono to drawIts folds over the bare white throat,saw the rich color that flooded herbrow. He saw himself suddenly themoving hero of the stngery. thetractive force of the situation. Ilealtears came to his eyes; tears of Insin-cere feeling, due partly to the cheapwhisky he had drunk that day, whoseoutward consequences he had so dras-tically banished, and partly to sheernervous excitation.

father, he said, and came andcaught the gaunt hand that shookagainst the chair.

Then the deeps of the old man'sheart were suddenly broken up. "Mvson!" he cried and threw his armsabout him. "Hugh, ray boy. my boy!"

Jessica walled to hear no more.Thrilling with gladness and (lushingwith the sudden recollection of herlure throat and feet, she slipped awayto her room to creep into bed and liewide eyed and thinking

What did he look like? Of his faceshe had never seen even a counterfeit

(To tc Continued.(

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