Part 16

"Thurston, you'll shake hands with me--won't you?" she asked, imploringly, a look of terror dawning in her eyes. He extended his hand, with averted gaze. Indiana grasped it quickly, then held it for dear life. "You shall listen to me," she pleaded, in a voice vibrating with intense emotion, her breast heaving, her eyes dilating, until they looked almost black under the yellow hair. "I won't let you go until you've heard it. All my life I've queened it over people, delighting to feel my own power--to make the poor things who loved me bend to my will. Last night I saw the horror in your face when you turned from me--leaving me alone with my uncontrolled, undisciplined nature. Thurston, how could you expect me to be different? It wouldn't be natural if I were. I wanted to queen it over my husband--to be put up on a pedestal and worshipped. I thought it was enough if I let him love me--but I never knew it was better to love than to be loved, to serve than to be served." She looked into his face with piteous eyes, and said, in a low, frightened voice, "Thurston, take my two hands--hold them fast--while I step down from my throne--and then, when we stand together, side by side, I can whisper in your ear--I never could up there--that I love you."

"Indiana, for God's sake, don't play with me again!" he cried, passionately.

She drew his head down to her and kissed him. "Thurston, husband," she murmured, in a low, wondering voice, "I love you better than myself."

"Indiana!" He pressed her to his heart, with the feeling that they were on holy ground, even standing at the altar, and the sacred seal had just been set to their union.

Indiana raised her head, the tears trembling on her lashes. "I'll never break out again."

"Yes, you will, but next time I will have love to help me. Indiana, look at me--look at me. I cannot realize it--my wife loves me! Do you remember one day, in the Adirondacks, out on the lake, at that weird place called the Devil's Pulpit? I think--yes, it was the first day I spent with you--you wanted a story, and I gave you a part of my inmost life--do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember--how clearly I remember. The great, black rock hanging over us; the blue mountains in the distance; your voice, telling me of the weaver--"

"Indiana, his dream has come true--at last. 'And the web, transformed into a gleaming fabric of light, gladdened the soul of the weaver.'"

Indiana drew a little space away, quoting his own words, with uplifted hands, "'And as he wove he heard singing, a choir of beautiful, jubilant voices.'"

Thurston looked into her eyes, then held out his arms. "I hear them, Indiana!"

THE END.

* * * * * * * *

*The Invaders*

*By JOHN LLOYD.*

12mo; cloth; illustrated. $1.50.

The story is one of ranch life and of the troubles with the so-called cattle-thieves, which eventuated in one of the most dramatic incidents of the ever-dramatic West--the famous "Rustler War."

The cattlemen alleged that their fight was one against "Rustlers"; their opponents contended that they were but honest homesteaders, whose only crime was that of fencing in their possessions, thereby destroying the open range. Owen Wister's great story, "The Virginian," gives the cattlemen's side of the controversy; "The Invaders" is written from the opposing viewpoint.

Into this stirring history, the hero, John Thorpe, a tenderfoot, is precipitated, and it is his part in the struggle that furnishes the thread of the story. The love plot introduced early in the tale enlivens the story and sustains the reader's interest throughout.

* * * * *

*Fanny Lambert*

*By HENRY DEVERE STACPOOLE.*

Author of "The Crimson Azaleas," "The Blue Lagoon," etc., etc.

12mo; cloth. $1.50.

The two chief figures in this story are Fanny Lambert and her father, two entirely unconventional characters, delightfully simple and unworldly. The book is full of irresistably humorous touches, irresponsible fun being, in fact, its characteristic feature. The lesser figures, down to the merest thumbnail sketches, are all incisively drawn.

* * * * *

*For Charles the Rover*

*By MAY WYNNE.*

12mo, cloth $1.50

Author of "Henry of Navarre," etc., etc.

A rattling good story of love and intrigue in good old Ireland in the days and for the cause of Charles the Rover.

"Of all the days that's in the year The tenth of June I love most dear, When sweet white roses do appear For sake of Charles the Rover.

"Our noble Ormond, he is drest, A rose is glancing at his breast; His famous hounds have doffed his crest, White roses deck them over."

R. F. FENNO & CO., 18 East 17th St., N.Y.