Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1873-10-02

% gu are really going, then ?" she asked,
aiter minutes silence.
i wrote to General - on the nipht
saw you last, accepting his OFFER" Glare
answered.
And you will sell Claremont?"
II have no alternative"
one sald nothing more, but he saw her
naIa-the same white, ieweled hand that
naa cleaned on his arm in the starlight
20 10 her throat with quick, convulsive
movement.
You might stay if you would" said
she, with that tremulous accent which the
french call tears in the voice."
NO, could not stay" said Clare, reso-
lutely. 81 have no money. nor anv means
OF making any in America
his ended the discussion. Even Mrs.
Lancaster, fast and daring and willful as
sue was, could not say, II have MONEY
more than | know what to do with-take
IL: Her eyes said as much, but Glare
ulo not look at her eyes. A minute long
er passed in embarrassed silence. Then
somebody came up, and Victor was able
TO walk away. As he crossed the room
he saw Eleanor Milbourne, for the first
time since his arrival
After dinner Mrs. Brantley claimed his
attention. 1t seemed that there was plan
under discussion for showing the sole lion
OF the nelghborhood-a hill of considera-
bic eminence known as Farley's Mount
to the guests of The Willows. But it was
distant twelve miles. What did Major
Glare think of their starting early, break
ing the ride by rest and luncheon at Clare
mont, then going on to the mountain,
making the ascent, and returning by
moonlight?
| Al OF oil
| "Iwenty-four miles is too much to be un
dertaken on July day by mere party
OF pleasure. You would break your
| selves down and see nothing |
propose an amendment: Take two days
instead of one, and spend night on the
mountain: If you have never camped on
mountain, the novelty is well worth ex-
| perlencing, and these midsummer nights
have scarcely any length, you know
| Then the sunrise is magnificent"
THAT is exactly what we will do, cried
Ms. Brantley, clapping her hands with
childish glee.
Meanwhile, Eleanor Milbourne was
walking with Mr., Brent in the soft sum-
mer twilight on the lawn.
"1 on should not press me SO hard" she
said as they paced slowly to and fro II
fear | can never give you what you desire,
| buC SeiiLiot tSlI YET. Oldul me Il lllllC
| time"
"A little time. But think how much
time you have hadin the gentleman said,
not without reason. Eleanor, is this kind :?
is it even just?'
at is neither,' said Eleanor, turning to
| him with a strange depreciation on her
fair, proud face, Il know that you have
been everything that is patient and gener-
Gus, and | am sorry-oh, | am more than
| sOrry-to have seemed to tritle with you; ;
but what can [ do? Remember that when
| decide, it is for my whole life. You can
not doubt that | will hold fast to my
| promise when it is once given"
II do not doubt it, and therefore I de-
sire that promise above all things"
You haze waited,' said she grateful
| ly-"waited too long already"
| Later in the evening, Victor Glare Was
! leaving the drawingToom as Miss Mel
bourne entered it. They came face to
| But you would not desire the letter
without The spirt?" said she eagerly II
! dare not bind myself dare not-until |
am certain of myself"
But, good Heavensr' said Marston
| Brent, who, although usually the most
now fairly driven to vehemence, when
|
| Surely you have had time enough Can
you not love me, Eleanor" he asked
| little wistfully. 'If that is tiff that is
the doubt that holds you back-say so,
and let me go. Anything is better than
suspense like this"
| But Eleanor was plainly not ready to
! say that. She stood still for a moment
| then turned to him with a sudden light of
resolve in her eyes. you are right" she
said. "This must end. | may be weak
and foolish, but have no right to make
YOU suffer for my weakness and my folly.
| pledge myself to tell you tomorrow
night whether or not | can be your wife
You will give me till then, will you not?
It is the last delay | shall ask"
II wish you would understand that you
could not ask anything which | should
not be glad to grant," said he, little
sadly. For heavens sake, do not think
Of me as your prosecutor. | can wait"
face rather unexpectedly, and while the
gentleman fell back, the lady extended her
hand.
Have you stayed away so long that you
have forgotten your friends, Major
Clare?" she said with smile which was
bright but rather tremulOus, like a CLEAN
of sunshine on ripping water. "1ou have
| not even Sdli gOOu-cNcHllg 10 NE, anu YET
you have an air as if you had said good
night to the rest Of the company"
$50 | have" answered Victor, smiling
in turn; "but it is no fault of mine that [
have not been able to speak to you; | have
found no opportunity"
You are really going to Egypt?" q
Eyes, l am going to Egypt. Why
should stay? What has life to offer me
here save vegetation? There, at least, |
can find action"
ooh, what good thing it is to be
mann' she said. GLOW free you are!
how able to do what you please and go
where you please-to seek action and to
find it! Oh, Major Glare, you ought to
thank God night and day that He did not
make you a wOmann
II am glad, certainly, that l am man."
said Victor honestly. But you are the
last woman in the world from whom
should have expected to hear such rebel
lious sentments.''
Il am not rebellious," said Eleanor
more quietly. "What is the good of it.?
All the rebellion in the world could not
make me man; and have no fancy to
be an rmseXed woman. But nobody was
ever more weary of conventional routine,
nobody ever longed more for freedom and
action than | do.''
1t was on the end of Victor's tongue to
say, Then come with me to Egypt" but
he caught himself in time. Was he mad