The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1875-06-05

AS Sic SptdhS, SldlS LOi p"SO ~ Wv
table, leaving the flowers upon the chair,
those chosen flowers which were to have
frightened and beautified this meal.
mo, you must read it; for more satisac-
tory letter Victor could not have written.
He is in England now, and hopes to see US
in a few days time. He says so much of
you, pet, that the least you can do will be to
read his loving words"
Because her father holds the letter toward
her, Clare takes it.
"Any day he may tie here now," Sir Vic
tor says, as he sits opposite his daughter,
needless OF the vacant place between them.
81 wish my book were finished, though IL
must be no drawback to Victor S pleasure.
If he has your society, he will not OBJECT 10
losing mine occasionally"
Glare is bending over her cousins letter,
vet all she clearly sees there even now, is her
own name repeated again and again, and the
one at the close, "Victor Luhorne." For all
the seventeen years of her life those two
words have been good for her to see-until
now.
"The change will be pleasant for you, pet"
her father adds, land do you good. You
have been too long alone here with two such
foges as Foster and me-"
The bright pink rises slowly and shyly 10
the girls cheek. She leans little lower over
the open page; but there grows no meaning
in the words even yet.
"Victor cannot, at any rate, arrive this
morning." continues the baronet, $50 we
need not give up our ride. l am anxiods not
to delay my investigations at the quarries.
1t would disappoint Foster, too, who so sell
dom allows himself an hours holiday. May
tell him you will look in and summon him
when you are ready? That will prevent his
wasting any time"
Clare's wistful eyes follow her father as he
ha fhan wander before the
open window, out among the sunlit leaves.
But the brightness there is not what it was
before that letter came, on which her hands
are idly lying now to hide the loving confident
words.
Her morning tasks are over, and in her
habit and hat she enters the shadowy library
to summon Mr.. Foster.
"Please to come now, Mr.. Foster. We are
ready"
He is standing at the table, sorting the
pages he has already written, and he only
| glances up for an instant as he answers her.
81 am not going, thank you, Miss IIu-
! horne"
Her eyes are grave in their questioning,
though his do not meet them. "Why is this?
| DO not say again that you cannot spareithe
time. Surely the old reason is not potent to-
day?"
1.-THE old reason is doubly potent to-day,
| Miss Luhorne. will take no leisure now I'M
| til my work is fnishedp'
.'Do you mean''-the girls face is whittier
| than usual, but restless light burns in her
| eyes-''that you think we want this work
| over which-which keeps you with us, Mr..
Foster, because-my cousin is coming"
He is standing very still beside the table
| now. She can see little OF the stern, strong
| effort he is making to be calm.
''Yes. do think 90. Sir Victor is very
anxious to be at liberty, and you yourself will
feel the relief of my absence"
'Never," she cries, while cher right hand
goes out TO meet his, almost wistf1lly. 'The
| house will seem quite changed when you are
gone. There is a kind ot-of rest in the very
thought that you are here"
| ''But it is all unrest and misery for me-"
The hand she has offered him is clasped in
disclose and tight--just for one moment, as
| the words rush from his lips; but almost be-
fore she has comprehended them he has turn
| ed away that she may not read upon his face
| what it would be treachery in him to tell
| her.
''Now, Clare" calls Sir Victor's voice from
the hall, "come, dear. Foster pleads business,
so we must go alone after ALL"
Glare leaves the room with burning blush
upon her cheeks II is not quite two months
since she came home, full of dazzling hopes,
and now they have all merged in quiet
hopelessness which is like pain.
Through the long ride, her thoughts 60
back over those two months; and even Sir
| Victor, through all his conversation with his
| daughter, finds his thoughts wandering back
ward, too, over the short span of time
through which he has had his darling with
him. He recalls that doubt which had har-
assed him uncomfortably at first; and now
that he knows Victor is coming, he is sur
prised that it had ever power to hurt him.
| He recalls how, from the very first, Foster
has kept aloof from his daughter; perhaps in
| consequence of what had been told him; per-
haps in the fear of trusting himself; perhaps
| only from being engrossed in his work. He
| recalls how at first there has been no avoid
| ance visible in Clare's manner; on the con-
| trary, in her happiness she has done all she
| could to make her home home, too, to the
| young man, who has never been allowed to
| feel himself stranger among them. But he
recalls, too, that after while change came
| in her behavior to Allan Foster. Sometimes
| she took the old ready and sincere inserest in
| his work, lettering with him over it, and even
| Joining him in iJ, but at others she Stunned
the library, only entering it under the shelter
| of her fathers presence, and then sitting
| quite still, while the father at such times
could hardly recognize bis happy, radiant
child. But, while he had remarked all this,
| the bar0net fancied he had understood the
reason of his daughters hayward, change
| able moods. Victor's coming would natural
| ly now be much in her thoughts, and would
| make her grave and retcent at times. So
| the two months have passed, and the cousin
| to whom Clare is betrothed, can never recall
them.
Ito BE CONTINUED