Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

PICTURE-PLAY WEEKLY 13 To his friend the Madame de Lesxanges he related the story. "I am interested," she said. "Let me ee them." Then sprang up a friendship with the wo. To all her questions Jennie re3:ied with the greatest confidence. "And your mother's name was " asked madame. "Agnes Hunt Grey," said Jennie, looking up at her. With a start, madame looked at her. "It is true, I cannot be mistaken," she cried. "That is the lady I am seeking. Come, we shall go and find her." In his office, Vinton strolled up and down. "Now my plans are complete," he smiled. "I shall get the child, appoint myself guardian, and administer the estate." But he counted not on Barney. That faithful friend had resigned his position as postman and accepted the post of keeper in the notorious asylum. Agnes, lying in a cell with a sick woman, was nearly driven insane herself. Vainly she begged for liberty, and asked to be allowed to return to her little girl. Every one laughed at her. One day she heard a soft scratching on the door. "Listen," came the voice. "This is Barney, the postman. I am working here now. You must escape. That woman with you is going to be moved this afternoon. They are going to take her to the hospital. You must take her place. Get on the stretcher, and, when they carry you out down the hall, run away. I will hold the door open for you." A wild hope sprang into Agnes' breast. Eagerly she awaited the afternoon. Carefully she changed clothes with the unprotesting sick woman, and when the attendants came to cany her off she could hardly contain herself. Once in the hall, she dashed up and out the door. Barney was near. He closed the door, and held it to cover her escape. She was doubly surprised, for on the road was an automobile waiting, in which were Jimmie, Jennie, and Madame de Lestranges. A happy party they were as they spun home. No more poverty. No more trouble. But one pang entered the heart of Agnes. If only Harry would return. If only he could be found. If she only knew whether he still loved her. Ah, those happy hours would never more be hers ! The week before the postman assisted in the escape, Vinton came to Harry's room. "So," Vinton said, "you have one of your lucid periods, eh? Well, listen to me, Harry Grey. I am revenged. You see where you are? Your wife is here also, never to get out. There was a fortune awaiting her. Oh, I know, for I handled the case." "What?" cried the broken man, a flame of wrath in his eyes. "Tut, tut, fool !" went on Vinton. "Hear me out ! As I said, there is a fortune awaiting your wife. If she cannot be found, it reverts to Jennie. You see, I have you in my power. I swore that I would be avenged. Now, in another week, I shall have made all necessary arrangements, appoint myself as executor of the estate, and live on the fat of the land. While you," he bent low over the stricken man, "while you, the father of the girl I shall be guardian of, is lying, rotting his bones away in an asylum." With a parting shot, Vinton strutted out. "God !" muttered the stricken father. "My w-ife here? He put her here? He is going to be the guardian of my own child ! It cannot be ! It must not be ! He has me in his power now, but wait !" A crafty look appeared in Harry's eyes. "How foolish I was to doubt my loving wife!" he cried. "But, Vinton, you have not yet succeeded in your plans."