The Albany register. [volume] (Albany, Or.) 1868-18??, 1870-06-18

rifced- Lady Nugent was nothing to me
in such case -as this. A little while
ago, it is true, | suffered myself to drift
sluggishly on in the way she wished me
to drift; but | was ignorant then. | knew
better now. Things are altogether differ
ent with me. would brave my aunt;
would tell Cecile--
At this point stopped. The face of
my cousin came and looked at me from
beside the other one of my unpanted
pictures. 1t was not exactly like it used
to be; it had a worn look, an absent, wor-
ried expression in the eyes; and her
manner to me was changed. It was i'm
patient and pettish. In spite of my pre-
occupation | had noticed this, and won-
1aered. What if Cecile did care for me
after all in real earnest
1t was useless to say to myself, 81 can't
help it; it is not my fault" because to
certain extent it was my fault. Lady
Nugent had paraded US before the world
as lovers, and [ had idly accepted the
position. | was to blame.
As [ rang the bell at Providence Villa,
| felt in myself that was wretched and
I felt also that, from a woman like my
aunt, no quarter was to be expected. l
felt this still more strongly when I went
into the drawing room and saw her sitting
in chair at the window, with her work
fallen idly upon her lap.
Lady Nugent was too busy woman to
like idleness something her fingers must
do to keep up sort Of accompaniment to
the thoughts which she was forever turn
ing over in her brain. It was omi-
nous, therefore, to see her this evening
with those saIue rapid fingers tightly in
terlaced while the lips that opened to
speak to me seemed thinner and sterner
than ever.
"You are coming to walk with us,
Robert, l suppose z" she said. "It is
early yet; but, perhaps, Ceeile will not
go; and if so, [ shall not leave her."
"Not go 2" | stammcred. 'sWhy 2"
fShe has headache, replied my aunt
briefly.
81 am sorry" said I. "Cis is not given
to headaches"
"No, she is not but Cecile has not
been well lately; something is wrong. [
don know whether you know what it is,
said my aunt, severely; ''but l do not
You might have noticed her paleness !;
but dare say you haven't | suppose a
mothers eye is the keencst, although one
would have thought"
She broke off abruptly, still looking at
me with a sort of contemptuous question
ing, and | was obliged to confess that I
had thought Cecile was looking i'll.
EXACTLY, Robert; she does look i'll, =
said my aunt "She frightened me last
night, and / do not easily take fright. IF
you two had any foolish quarrel, but
there, | must leave YOU to settle it for
yourselves only, if you can pursuade
Cecile to go out o-night, instead of mop
ing at home, think it would be better
f6r her It is useless for me to speak,
know but she will listen to you. -
This was pleasant. | heard the re-
treating footsteps. and could have stamped
my own foot at them in despair. [ had
a horrible conviction that crisis must
come,-nay, had come already and how
was to meet it2 If l could have gone
up to Cecile, and spoken to her calmly /;
if could have SAID, ssLet all this farce
be ended [ do not love you | never
did love you, except as a BROTHER might
love his sister 2" But then [ could not
do this If she cared for me, it would be
[ heard Cecile come in and close the
uncomfortably
'.Rebert,' said she.
/ turned round with as good an affecta-
tion of carclessness as [ could command,
but it broke down into an impulsi c ex-
elamatiou when [ saw her.
"Why, cis,' said |, ''you have been
cryingl'
She tried to retort, but it was rather a
failure.
"You have been crying" l repeated,
and [ don't believe you are we'll We
are cousins, you know, Cis. Is there
anything I can help you in p
"Yes, there is" she replied II want
to speak to you, Robert. We have been
good friends always, haven't we p
"To be sure we have" said /.
''I want to be good friends still,' said
] Cecile. 81 want you to promise that you
! will think nc nc the worse of me for what
am going to say
| II think" | said gravely, "tkat you
can have nothing to tell which would
lessen my respect for you.
oThanks," said Cecile. 1tIt is about
myself. We are neither of us blind,
Robert, though we have been acting as if
] We thought each other so. You know as
we'll as | do what has been, and is, in my
mothers mind respecting US. Must |
speak palmer 2"
no." said L.
"WeH then, Robert she continued,
"I don't think you have dealt quite fairly
with me-"
I felt as if big hand was rising up
behind the airy castle I had been
building only an hour ago, but did not
answer.
"You know you never cared for me, =
she said Z: cat least in that sort of way.
If you will not speak, Robert must,
The hand got nearer and bigger.
"But you have behaved as if you
cared" she continued. 'sYou have led
mamma on to believe that things were
turning as she wished to have them turn.
BY fits and starts, in languid sort Of
way, you have tried to make me care for
you, Robert; YOU cannot deuy it.