Delaware tribune. [volume] (Wilmington, Del.) 1867-1877, 1867-06-20

her, and the softness of her eyes became o
cold brightness. Both GOODNESS and firmness
vanished the next moment, there being nc
present need Of them, and she spake com.
fortably again. g If you so away, you will
write me long, long letter-and first yor
will come to Eastwood to say goodbye
May come to Eastwood ?-doors don'
open Hospitality for ME, Pennie. All child
you don't know !"
If you may not come to Eastwood, Doc.
tor Grey will bring me again to Rood. Ht
and l believe in you, and we shall not fol
low any ones lead who doubts. 1t would
be worse to know you innocent, and act as
If we thought you guilty, than to condemn
you outright-it would be cowardly too, and
I hate coward." Pennie grew quite We.
hement. She did hate coward She had
a strong natural repulsion for meanness,
baseness. If the choice had been put before
her, she would rather have been stoned by
the whole Of her little world for sticking to
Mr.. Tindal, than she would have endured an
hour of her own self-contempt for denying
and forsaking her love.
1t seemed but very short hour before
Doctor Grey appeared. 81 trust you will
never say again that my advice does you no
good, Tindal, said he coming forward to
the window in which the host and guest
were. He then, without waiting for reply,
glanced from table to table, and added
Have you not given her cup of tea o,
coffee after her ride? Have yon entertain
ed her with dry conversation all this while :
See If l bring my ward to this house again
of an afternoon II Mr.. Tindal rang the bell,
asking Pennie which it should be-tea OF
coffee?
DIR. Grey speaks more for himself than
for me. He likes kettledrum--cof please;
we both prefer 1t" said Pennie.
For twenty minutes longer they were
quite pleasant, cheerful little group in the
beautiful Abbey drawing-room- A stranger
entering unawares would not have discerned
amongst them the shadow of any special
trouble. Pennie already knew Mr.. Tindal's
turn for the minor social amenities; she
thought again now that he would be very
happy to live with, for though his face was
haggard and lean, his countenance had
cleared, and the dull despondency had left
his voice. Misery had not effected per-
manent settlement on hsm; despair had
taken no firm grip of his heart and brain.
If the outer wall of his prison were preached
speedily, he would come forth of it able and
eager to enjoy the sun, and do fair days
work in the world still. At last the doctor
said 1t was time to go, and on the plea Of
seeing that Pennies poney was all tight and
ready for her, he left them to make their
farewells alone.
"You will answer me when l write,
Pennie ?" said Mr.. Tindal, holding her hands
as she stood up to depart.
'Surely I will. No one need forbid me.
] shall tell Mrs. Wynyard, of course . s,
s'rhat is right. Give her your confidence
live openly. Must you go, Pennie
She only answered him with her eyes, and
he answered her again as the happiest Of
lovers might. Doctor Grey inquired from 0
remote part of the hall if Pennie was moi
coming. The next moment she came, and
Mr.. Tindal with her.
He gave her hand up on her pony,
Strengthened her habit, and was rather long;
but even these little cares could not be spun
out beyound minute or two under the
wooden regard of Pierces successor, and
tn impatience of the doctors horse. He
wailsed beside her, his hand on tho bride, to
the great gate way, and then let her go,
waiting to see if she would look back at a
turn the aoad made twenty PAGES of or so.
Yes, she looked back and then he went
round to the garden, and lit cigar to help
him to enjoy the recollection and the whole
some immediate results of the visit.
Doctor Grey provoked Pennie to gallop
as soon as they were out of sight of the
Abbey. 'Come; Miss Penelope, l have
given you more time than was your due
you did not use it ill, but you must make up
for riding fast. hope you are contented
now that you have had pour own way, and
have seen Mr. Tindal for YOURSELF" Pennie
expressed herself as entirely satisfied, and
as very grateful to her second guardian,
whom hitherto she had hardly known ex-
cept as purveyor of draughts, powders,
and other detestable compounds.
1t was lovely ride to Allan Bridge, where
the doctor made her over to Francis
Wynyard, who had come thus far to meet
her; and while waiting at the surgery had
been entertained by Mr.. Buckhurst with
some serious jokes on natural history,
which had profoundly puzzled his young
wits. His musing over these novelties,
presented to him as interesting facts moi
generally known, kept him silent, which
Pennie could not regret; far she, too, wish
ed to think over the event ofthe afternoon,
and its possible consequences.
1t had been made with the knowledge, but
hardly with the consent of Mrs. Wynyard
Indeed that poor lady, whose decision ol
manner much trouble had weakened, was
becoming sorely perplexed and distressed
by the difficulty of managing her husbands
young ward. Mild advice and gentle rea
soning had failed to convince Pennie of hel
folly, and Mrs. Vineyard was not prepared
to appeal to severe argument or to authori
ty. During Pennies absence that afternoon
Mr.. Hargrove had been at Eastwood on busi
ness, and when told whittier she was gone
and with whom, had expressed the stronges
disapproval, and had designated Dr. Grey
''a pretty trustee, indeed, for an heiress.
At these words Mrs. Wynyard felt, for ,
moment, as if her cares were becoming ,
burden too heavy to be borne. She had re
ceived a dismal, melancholy letter from
Normandy in the morning; it was the Mid
summer holidays, and the two younger boy
were distracting for noise and tearing thei
clothes; Anna was outgrowing her strength
Lois was wilful and passionate by fits; oil
Jenny was over-worked; and here wa
Penelope Croft, worse than all, obstinatel,
running counter to every propriety; and
backed by one guardian, setting herself ii
steady opposition to the opinion of the othe
and of all the rest of the world.