(Continued From Yesterday.) "I should understand it to b* the charity which your pitiful heart ex tends to one in my extremity. Tour instinct was not at fault." "It was! It was:’’ But he was not lo he driven out of his conviction. He shook his head, his countenance gloomy. "No man who wan not evil could have done by you what I have done, however deep the provocation. I perceive it clearly row—as men In their last hour per ceive hidden things.” "Oh, why are you so set on death?" shs cried upon a despairing note. "I am not," he answered with a swift resumption of hts more habitual manner. " 'T is death that is so set on me. But at least I meet it with out fear or regret. 1 face it as we must all face the inevitable—the gifts from the hands of destiny. And I am heartened—gladdened almost—by your sw»et forg I venose . " She rose suddenly, and came to him. She caught his arm, and stand lng very close to him, looked up now into his face. "We have need to forgive each other, you and I. Oliver,” she said. "And since forgiveness effaces all, let ... let ell that has stood between us these last five years be now effaced.” He caught his breath as he looked down upon her white, straining face. "Is it impossible for us to go hack five years? Is it impossible for us to go back to where we^itood in those old days at Godolphin Court?" The. light that had suddenly been kindled in his face faded slowly, leav ing it gray' and drawn. His eyes giew clouded with sorrow and despair. "Who has erred must abide by liis ,rror_and so must the generations that come after him. There is no go ing back ever. The gates of the past ■re tight-barred against us." "Then let us leave them so. Let us turn our backs upon that past, you and I, and let us set out afresh to gether. and so make amends to each other for what our folly has lost to us In those years.” He set his hands upon her shoul ders, and held her so at arm’s length from him considering her with very tender eyes. "Sweet lady:” he murmured, and sighed heavily. "God! How happy might we not have been but for that evil chance . . He checked abrupt ly. His hands fell from her shoul ders to his sides, he half turned away, brusque now in tone and manner. "I grow maudlin. Tour sweet pity his so softened me that I had almost spoke of love; and what have I to do with that? Love belongs to life: love 1* life; whilst I . . . Moriturus te salutat!” "Ah, no, no!” She was c^nging to jtm again with shaking hands, her eyes wild. "It is too late," he answered her. New York -•Day by Day \__—-J By O. O. M'INTARE. New York, June 14.—Broadway no Ir-nger knows the ‘'angel." It used to be the fashion for almost every theatrical production to have an •'angel”—a myetery figure in the background with a h*fty bankroll. Many of the stars of today owe their fame to an angel. As this is written there is not a show in town thst has one. It costs too much to back a show these days. The rich man who wished to gratify the whim of a show girl might take a flyer to the tune of $15,000 or $20,000. A girl and music fhow these days costs $100,000 to produce. Some of the best ones cost a baif million. So the producer, instead of finding an •'angel''—goes to the bank. It was never much trouble in the old days to find a sap ready to plunge $20,000 worth. But tapping a sap to the tune of *100,000 is something else again. There are any number of ■'angels" in the movies. They will take a slice of the stock in exchange for a screen role for a "girl friend.” One "anget" hacked a film a year ago and his $15,000 made him $200,000. AA’ith this he tried to buck the game alone and not only lost his earnings but several hundred thousand besides. The heaviest sugared angle in the movies is a man who is reputed to have spent more than two millions trying to make a star. Later he married her, and now the report has it she is to give up her career on the screen. All his millions could not make her a favorite with the public. Marriage, however, be tween the "angel” and the particular lady he is sponsoring is rare. For »s a rule the "angel" has a wife. That Is why he is so secretive In his role of backer. Two "angels built theaters for their stars and named them for them. Two New York novelists who jumped into the movies for extra kudos and shekels have left the lots flat In eomplets disgust. They com plained that their stories were pho rographed only for the canaille, while their job was to write subtitles for the intelligentsia. As one ex pressed it: "I found that photoplay making doea not need accurate and spirited talent It conaiais chiefly in compounding idiocies" It has always seemed to me the unforgivable sin of motion picture was the hsnallty of being afraid au diences would not "get" s point or scene that was not written right down to th# ground. Those who make up motion picture audience# are as mentally alert as movie directors ni producers. In fact, it is almost safe to say their mentality assays higher P. G. Wodehouse was turned down by a London recruiting office during the war for a minor defect of the eyes. He came to America and be gan writing plays and novels with rare success. He was so besieged he had his schedule weeks in advance. He worked by the clock. During a spring drive Mrs. Wodehouse became alarmed and interrupted her husband In hie study on# day with: "Deer, you must go to war.” Wodehouse looked over the schedule of work on his desk and said: "All right, darling. I can give them two weeks in August." Rhe appeared conscious of ravishing glances as she stepped out under a hotel canopy. Her lovely eyes de irurel.v dropped and a slight surge of color cams to her peach blow cheeks. She seemed almost of another world in her nslve loveliness Her long car flnelly drew lip and to th# chauffeur she said- "Where the h»1! have you been?" Plop Into th# grave went another Illusion. ICepyrlghf, 1*14.) "There is no bridge can span the pit I ha\ e dug myself. I must go down into it as cheerfully as God will let me.” "Then,” she cried in sudden exalta tion, "1 will go down with you. At the last, at least, we shall be to gether." “Sow here is midsummer frenzy!" lie protested, yet there was a tender ness In ilie very impatience of his accents. He stroked the golden head that lay against his shoulder. "How shall that help me?” he asked her. ‘■Would you embitter my Iasi hour— rob death of all its glory? Nay. Rosamund, you ran serve me better far my living. Return to England, and publish there tlie truth of what you have learned. Be yours the task of clearing my honor of this stain upon it, proclaiming the truth of what drove me to the infamy of he coming a renegade and a corsair.” He started from her. "Hark! What s that?" From without had come a sudden cry. "Afoot! To arms! To arms! Hola! Balak! Balak!" "It is the hour,” he said, and turn ing from her suddenly sprang to the entrance and plucked aside the cur tain. CHAPTER XXII. The Surrender. Up the gangway between the lines of slumbering slaves came a quick patter of feet. Ali. who since sun set had been replacing Larocque on the heights, sprang suddenly upon the poop still shouting. * "Captain! Captain! My lord! Afoot! Uf>! or we are taken!" Throughout the vessel's length came the rustle and stir of waking men. A voice clamored somewhere on the forecastle. Then the flap of the awning was suddenly whisked aside and Asad himself appeared with Marzak at his elbow. Front tlie starboard side as sudden ly came Blskaine and Othmanl, and from the waist Yigitello, Jasper—that latest renegade—and a group of alarmed corsairs. "What now?” quoth the Basha. Ali delivered his message breath iessly. “The galleon has weighed an chor. She is moving out of the hay.” Asad clutched his beard, and scowled. "Now what may that por tend? Can knowledge of our pres ence have reached them?” "Why else should she move from her anchorage thus in the dead of night?” said Btskatne. “Why else, indeed?” returned Asad, and then he swung upon Oliver stand ing there in the entrance of the poop house. "What sayest thou, Sakr-el Bahr?” he appealed to him. Sakr-el Bahr stepped forward^ shrugging. "What is there to say. What is there to do?” he asked. "We can but wait. If our presence is known to them we are finely trapped, and there's an end to all of us this night.” His voice was rool as ice, contemp tuous almost’, and whilst it struck anxiety .into more than one it awoke terror in Marzak. "May thy bones rot, thou 111 omened prophet!" he screamed, and would have added more but that Sakr el-Bahr silenced him. "What is written is written!" said he in a voice of thunder and reproof. “Indeed. indeed," Asad agreed, grasping at the fatalist's consolation "If we are ripe for the gardener's hand, the gardener will pluck us." Less fatalistic and more practical was the counsel of Blskaine. "It were well to act upon the assumption that we are indeed discovered, and make for the open sea while yet there may be time." "But that were to make certain what is Still doubtful." broke In Mar zak, fearful ever. “It were to run to meet the danger.” "Not ao!" cried Asad in a loud con fident voire. "The praise to Allah who sent us this calm night. There ts scarce a breath of wind. We can row ten leagues while they are sail ing one.” A murmur of quick approval sped through the ranks of officers and men. "Let us but win safety from thia cove and they will never overtake us," announced Bisbalne. "But their guns may,” Sakr-el Bahr quietly reminded them to damp their confidence. His own alert mind had already foreseen this one rhanee of escaping from the trap, hut he had hoped that it would not be quite ao obvious to the others. "That risk we must take." replied Asad. "We must trust to the night To linger here is to await certain de struction." He swung briskly about to issue his orders. “Ali. summon the steersmen. Hasten! Yigitello. set your whips about the slaves, and rouse them.” Then as the shrill whistle of the boatswain rang out and the whips of his mates went hissing snd cracking about the shoulders of the already half awakened slaves, to mingle with all the rest of the stir and hustle aboard the galeasse. the Basha turned once more to Biskain» "Up thou to the prow," lie command ed. "and marshal the men. Bid them stand to their arms lest tt should come to hoarding Go!" Riskaina ss I laamed and spraing down the com panion. Above the rumbling din anil scurry Ing toil of preparation rang Asad's voice. "Crossbowmen, aloft! Gunners to the carronades! Kindle your linstocks. Put out all lights'." An Instant later the cressets on the pooprail were extinguished, as was the lantern swinging from the rail, and even the lamp in the poon house which was Invaded by one of the Kasha's officers for that purpose. The lantern hanging from the mast alone was spared against emergen cies; but it was taken down, placed upon the deck and muffled. Thus was the galeasse plunged Into a darkness that for some moments was black and impenetrable as vet vet. Then slowly, as the eyes became accustomed to it. this gloom was gradually relieved. Once more men hnil objects began to take shape In the faint, steely radiance of the sum mer night. After the excitement of that first stir the, corsairs went about then tasks with amazing calm and silence. None thought now of reproaching the Basha or Sakr-e! Rahr with having de layed until the moment of peril to take the course which all of therrf had demanded should be taken when first they had heard of the neighborhood of that hostile ship. In lines three deep they stood ranged along the t tuple fighting platform of the prow: in the foremost line were the archers, behind them stood the swordsmen their weapons gleaming lividly in the darkness. Asad stood at the head of the com panion, issuing his sharp brief com mands. and Sakr el Rahr, behind him. leaning against the timbers nf the poop-house with Rosamund at hie side, observed that the Basha had studl ously avoided entrusting any of this work of preparation to himself. The steersmen climbed to their niches, and the huge steering oars creaked as they were swung out Came a short word of command from Asad and a atlr ran through the ranks of slaves, as they threw for ward their weight to bring the oar* to the level. Thu* a moment, then a second word, the premonitory era* k of r whip in the darkness of the gangway, and the tomtom began to beat the time. The slaves heaved, and with a creak and splash of oars the great galeasse skimmed forward towards the mouth of the coxe. 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