The Call of the Cumberlands

"Would it?" asked Samson, simply. He glanced at his watch. "Two

minutes up," he announced. "The model will please resume the pose. By

the way, may I drive with you to-morrow afternoon?"

* * * * * The next afternoon, Samson ran up the street steps of the Lescott

house, and rang the bell, and a few moments later Adrienne appeared.

The car was waiting outside, and, as the girl came down the stairs in

motor coat and veil, she paused and her fingers on the bannisters

tightened in surprise as she looked at the man who stood below holding

his hat in his hand, with his face upturned. The well-shaped head was

no longer marred by the mane which it had formerly worn, but was close

cropped, and under the transforming influence of the change the

forehead seemed bolder and higher, and to her thinking the strength of

the purposeful features was enhanced, and yet, had she known it, the

man felt that he had for the first time surrendered a point which meant

an abandonment of something akin to principle.

She said nothing, but as she took his hand in greeting, her fingers

pressed his own in handclasp more lingering than usual.

Late that evening, when Samson returned to the studio, he found a

missive in his letter-box, and, as he took it out, his eyes fell on the

postmark. It was dated from Hixon, Kentucky, and, as the man slowly

climbed the stairs, he turned the envelope over in his hand with a

strange sense of misgiving and premonition.