Adventure Magazine Cover — page 123: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Can a Man be True? with care and scanning each in turn with an expression of sorrowful disgust. “Poor Loti!’ he murmured, ‘‘poor in- jured child of destiny, how you must suffer in the future! God help you to bear your fate!” With the look of a martyr going to the stake, the Professor, holding the papers to his heart, slowly left the shadowy room which had given up its strange treasure from the old iron box. The stealthy feet made no sound as they descended the stairs and entered the comfortable bed- chamber with its wealth of roses clamber- ing round the casement at the open win- dow. With knitted brow and set lips, he wrote with the neatness of a copy-book his let- ter to King Maldio. It was a long and intensely interesting epistle. More than once before its conclusion the Professor rose and paced the room. When eventually he signed his name with a fantastic flourish, he was shaking from head to foot as if seized by a fit of ague. Sealing the impor- tant document with his signet ring, he rang for Martha. She came quickly in answer to the summons. ‘“‘Send Miss Loti to me at once.” Martha paused, hoping he would make some further remark. But he kept his eyes on the blotting-paper. A little disappointed, she hurried away with the message. As Loti came in with the light step of girlhood, the Professor realized that as yet she could not grasp the appalling position in which she was placed. “T want to address this envelope to the King of Lambasa,” he said. ‘I suppose it must go to him through Count Bistoff. Please tell me exactly what to write. I shall send it registered by to-night’s post.” Loti looked doubtfully at the bulky pack- age. ‘“‘T am enclosing a few papers of interest,” replied the old man, and his voice sounded far away, while his mystic eyes gazed sud- denly into space. “If he likes to throw them aside he must do so, and I think he will be the loser.” “Of course he would read anything you were kind enough to send,” declared Loti. ““T suppose—I may not see the letter?” Professor Magnus pointed to the seal. “No,” he replied in a voice of resolute determination. Inwardly he added to him- self: “You shut me out of your confidence. 687 This is retaliation. Besides, it is better for you not to know. Let Maldio act as he sees fit. Let Maldio be the judge.” ‘““You—you have not said anything un- kind to Maldio?”’ she whispered, pressing her soft cheek against her father’s wrinkled face. “I can’t imagine myself angry or vin- dictive towards him, even if he treated me cruelly, and that, I know, is impos- sible. He does so want to make me happy.” The Professor avoided Loti’s eyes. “Whatever occurs in the future,” he said, “if you appeared happier than any woman living, I should still shudder to think you had condescended to become a morganatic wife. How would you feel if a royal wedding were announced, late in life perhaps, and you were forced to stand aside like a woman who has loved without the right to claim a husband’s protection?”’ He did not put the question harshly. It seemed rather that he spoke his fears aloud —that his hatred of thrones prompted the awful fancy. Loti soothed him with cheering words. Maldio would be true—Maldio was so dif- ferent from other men. He had tasted death, he was like gold tried by the fire. They need have no fear. With bent head, drooping shoulders and unconvinced heart, the Professor walked slowly to the post-office. He would en- trust the guarded missive to no hand but his own, and his air was even more pre- occupied than usual, as he passed close to intimate friends without acknowledging their salutations. When he returned, Professor Magnus, usually so careless with articles of value or money, locked away the registration-slip which chronicled the sending of that large, bulky envelope to Lambasa. Though Loti tried throughout the eve- ning to draw from him some hint of the let- ter’s contents, she found him absolutely secretive on the subject. That night, when she retired to the little white room of her girlhood, she realized the true meaning of the word “loneliness.” Though golden memories crowded her brain, the absence of her bridegroom filled her heart with restless sorrow. Her fever- ish longing for a sight of his face, for the sound of his voice, became almost unbear- able, and eventually salt tears washed her into a realm of heavy slumber. Connicloookxs (© S|