Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1871-10-14

ing encomiums and gratitude from him. She
% an sympathy for ne tb neaJ,
she could not comprehend his letters 70 Gather
Inc. So the game went on; the cards shuffied
themselves. Every night, when alone in his
office, he vowed that he was distracted, that he
would not bear II any longer; wrote long letters
to a eollege-cbum, and, by ten o'clock the next
morning, was walking the road to Claras in tip
a trifie more sociable With Catherine, and sub
ject to attacks of hard hearing whenever he adj
dressed her, and Mrs. Gray had given evidence
of being somewhat ont of temper, he returned
TO his Office, and dashed OFF page to his chum:
"DEAR JOHN: God knows that have tried TO
win her respect, indeed, / cannot live without
it, and what have done that should not have
II? But fear that have lost it. i must be
an Internally weak creature to suffer so in the
presence of little widow-woman who had given
me no reason for loving her; and yet an angel
blazing with the light Of heaven could not make
me believe that she Is not worthy Of all the love
an honest man might feel for her. She is very
cruel to meme, who would consider il an ines
Unable privilege to kiss the sole other foot! She
waves me toward the Sinclair with her imperi-
Gus viii, and of go like a dog, to count the
rings on her pretty fingers, and pick up the nu-
merous articles she constantly lets fall, for the
pleasure of seeing me duck down for them, and
come up red in the face. / wonder il Clara
ever laughs at me? If she does, should feel like
giving her a blow. What right has she not to
understand me? John, am L not worthy wo-
mans love? Answer in your next, and don't be
so irreverent. Poor Mrs Gray, believe she
values me. She followed me to the door to- night
with such mournful eyes, and two cats inside
were smothering laugh / wish you would
come up to Thornbury and rescue me. There's
good fishing now, and the hotel is fair. Miss
Sinclair Is charming-younger than Clara, gay
As child, pert and bright, and handsome. She
would take on the down of your raven darkness
and croaking blues. Clara is not handsome;
that Is the reason why did not discover my
own mind L had to fall in with beauty, and
discover its non-effect; but suppose L am not
the first ass since Adam. By-the-way, speak
ing OF Adam, L have q fancy that Clara has
never been in love. Her husband was a fisher
or so with his wife in all their married years
She, however, puts on a great many airs with
me; You are young, Mr.: Chandos," she says:
and When you have had the experience have
had, Mr.. Chandos!" She has never been out of
Thornbury; Of life and society she knows moth
Ing. But she Is refined, high-bred-hallo! the
shutters look gray, morning breaks in the east,
beams OF the sun, that amt going to rise, for it
ait is spring of the year, John writes back
TO love: Hold on, and you will get over it. How
about the widows property? ? suppose your
governor won't cut up much. Thank ye-I
think Will come on and fish. The Sinclair
seems to have trolled pretty well with her hook
and lines; 1 am curious to see how she has i'm
posed upon you. Can your folks up there bear
tobacco? 1t will be good for Madame Clara's
for me. ",IoHN
So the preparations went on for the party:
Clara absorbed with thoughts that brought her
little comfort while her hands were busy; her
pride took sOlace in the remembrance that, after
It was all over, there would be no inconvenient
ashes to take NJ. and carry away, no letters had
peen exchanged, no presents given. Nothing
had been done which could leave In either con-
science a single sting. What was this myste-
rious thing, then, that made herifeel as ii life
and hope were slipping through her fingers?
Before dusk. when Mrs. Rankin was taking
whatshe called ga BREATH and was tanning
herself with her apron, the doOr-bell rang, and
she opened the door. boy stood there with
and would wait on the steps for it. Mrs Ran
kin took it between her thumb and finger. Ey-
Ing the messenger severely, she asked:
Whose boy be you? L can't call your name"
My name is Sam Cowell, and live on the
edge of Thornbury."
1 thought you could not belong to the neigh
borhood. III take the billet right in, and be
back in jiffy."
Clara reddened as she took the note. but read
its contents aloud. Mr.. Chandos had been COM
pelled TO send an excuse for not spending the
present evening, as he proposed; his friend Mr.
kedfall had arrived, an old college-chum who
claimed his attention. Might he have the
pleasure OF bringing him to Mrs. Goreham's
party on the following evening?
suppose l may say yes?" Clara remarked
You cannot refuse, )" said Catherine, Though
he may be a perfect kill-joy."
4" More fish for your net, Kate" added Mrs.
Gray.
You will have to stay and dcmolish him,
Miss Kate, to be sure, }" said Mrs. Rankin. ..
DON'T think our girls have the faculty with beaus
that you display; Clara's ways are dreadful-old
mite"
DO I?'' Catherine asked.
Them that the coat fits, can wear it. ac-
cuse nobody"
Clara disappeared while the talk went on, and
dashed OIL line, very conscious that il was the
first she had written Mr.. ChandOs. She in
formed him that he was at liberty to bring his
friend, though il was a very plain entertainment
she had to offer him. Mr.. Chandos must be the
best judge whether his friend would enjoy it.
Miss Sinclair's last evening, she hoped, would
be an enjoyable one, and, ii any element could
be added to improve the occasion, she herself
would be most happy.
!" 1t is complete 'letter-writer' note.p was
MI Chandos's comment when he read it, and
he felt as angry as if he had expected an affec-
Tomato epistle from her.
livery thing is spick and spar" Mrs. Rankin
said. 90 That last cake has riz beautiful 1t is
not quite done. just pOked broom straw in
IL; but think may 60 home. You needn't be
scared SC II you see me peeking at the back-door
And 50 Mrs. Rankin departed, without stated
reward; she would have felt insulted by the offer
OF money; but she knew in her heart that she
would nave loaf OF the best cake sent in, and
a big bundle of her loved carpet-rags.
The house at dark was in the most beautiful
order, and as still as If it were empty. Gather
declared she had some little sewing to do. Mrs.
Gray sat in the dressing-room, very quiet and
somewhat weary. No lights were burning
downstairs; the flowers in the parlor where
Clara was gave out sweet odors; and when the
moon rose, and laid broad silver beams across
the carpet, the room appeared like fairy
bower. Pacing the floor, she sighed.
how beautiful this might be, but that am
lonely! 1 like to do nothing alone
now-not pick flower even. What a fool to
nave allowed this long serenity and security to
De broken INTO! L perceive constantly that my
comfortable home and freedom do not suffice
but common-sense will and must soon return.
Lie here, its round of duties, its harmless
pleasures, shall content me. L am not beautiful
nor talented; have no right to expect notice.
like crab, should walk backward Mother
had never one fanciful dream, III be bound.
he rast is at once her fulfme n and her re-
greet; the future, but her past. III ask her. f"
She opened the door Of the dressing-room, and
called to her mother.
want any thing?"
:" was only thinking how many years since
you and father were parted"
Twenty-four years this very June. He
sailed on the 9th, little past midday. We
had dined early, for he wanted to clear the bay
before dark. He took a crust of bread from
your little hand and put II in his pocket, and L
never see bread In your hand without thinking
OF that moment"
They were silent for a while.
In Clara's ears the clock seemed to tick,
"Twenty-four years, observation-disclosures
twenty,four years, apart, loneless-and-alone
-alOne!"
One must believe that our atmosphere oscil-
lates with the wishes of our sensations, for Mrs.
TDI$ 10 a