The Portland daily press., 1875-07-17


shrubbery, through which path went up to
a door of the house; and just then 1 was
aware that the young lady had watched so
much to-day was standing in that path, and
talking to the very gentleman to whom she
had not seemed to speak all day.
was in a most uncomfortable position. If
l went back, the rustling would make them
think they were watched. OF course could
not 90 on into the path; so waited where
was, determining not to overhear word if 1
could help it. But l couldn't help it, and
very serious and very angry words over
heard, very proud and bitter ones, too: while
though each voice was full of blame. il was
also full of pain untold.
''Yes, it has been so, Piers," the girls
voice said; sbut you have Inundated me be-
fore every one to-day"
NOther attentions awaited you,' reioined
the lower and angrier voice, land l believe
now all his boasts are of your-regard."
"You left me to his attentions. What
could l do?'
''Only accept them graciously-as you did;
graciously and. gratefully, giving smile for
smile.''
''You never came near me-" she said, an
swering his scornful words almost as scorn-
fully.
"When you could have called me to you YOU
would not, and now it is too late. Perhaps
it is better so for us both; at any rate, it is
better for YOU as you seem to know, This
day has shown it all distinctly to me, Mary.
He told the truth in all he said of you, and
1 can never think of you as I thought of you
before. I will not let myself be tempted,
and you shall be free to accept whatever love
is offered you."
"Piers, how" she faltered, perfect ago
ny in her voice, "He told you falsehoods, and
r PYrf with cr,1I IL
tones, edo as you will.''
eyes," he said, after tonight I shall
trouble you no more; and it will be life
time, 1 hope, before l see this spot again.
You know how you have wrecked me, and
the thought will hardly be solace to you
even in this wealthy home when it is yours"
o, the angry firmness of his voice!
zone word more, Mary, before 1 go. Leave
your little sister in the old home; leave her
still with her grandfather, to the old pure
life you have shared. Don't bring her here
to be with these children of his. Though
you may be mother to them, they are his
children, so what can they be but towards
and traitors %
With strange, still pride she only an
swered in these few words:
''I see it is best we should part, Piers. see
now that it is the only thing we can do.'
In another minute she was standing alone,
her head clasped in her hand as if to shut out
the sound of his footsteps.
crept away without betraying myself. I
could not before have believed myself able to
do it so noiselessly; and when I reached the
door and paused to give one glance around, L
saw my poor lad. ThereIhe came racing along
with the great 'cello bow, his face raised, his
breath quick and painting, just as I had pic
tured him running in the wood. Without a
went fha hor fr,
Behr, and took his own violin and his place
above Karlschen. Karl spoke to him eagerly
and gladly, but he only smiled at his little
brother, tuned his fiddle, and looked up at me
for the cue. With my cornet in my hand, I
stood gazing intently into the child's face. I
could not bear to see ii. I could not bear
him to play while his lips were so tight and
white, and he had that wild, scared look in
his eyes.
Every now and then Karlschen tried to
win word, but Fritz only answered with a
smile. Still Karlschen would not be content,
and presently touched him pleadingly upon
the arm.
swat little," Fritz whispered; "we'll
talk presently. Fm-I'm tired, 1 think, Karl.
| want to play well, and Ifeel as if I.couldn't,
less try hard. Leader am I wrong? Am
playing badly, that you look at me SOP"
''Sit down, my lad," whispered.
mo, please; you said you wished US to play
well to-day Then I'll rest-after."
On we played: waltz, quadrille, gallop, one
after another, while the dancers glided past
us,and the merry voices filled in all our
pauses. But there was great difference in
everything to me, for not only was I SO anx-
ious about Fritz, who persistently played
on with us, but besides that l worried over
the absence of those two whom had watch
ed all day.
'Put down your violin," whispered again
and again to my boy.
ed wistfulIy.
"No; but I wish you not to play. You
are tired, dear little lad."
''Rather-orly rather. o, let me play on,
DO. You always say you miss my fiddle.
Let Karl rest"
Only when the dawn was breaking did the
ball end, and we were free to go, feeling
unaccountably depressed, though at the same
time thoroughly ashamed of myself for doing
so. The children walked togethe., talking
earnestly, but the feet of little Fritz were not
in advance as usual. When, after we had
walked about mile, called them up to me,
I saw that Karlschen was crying.
"Why does Fritz breathe like that?" he
asked me, for all explanation of his tears.
My boy was painting dreadfully, the quick,
bard breath literally seeming to stagger
through his white lips, and in a moment
took him up to carry him. was the strong
est in the band, though not the biggest, and
could carry him easily, yet the benefit to him
was almost counteracted by the effort he
made to tighten his weight for me. We travel
ed on now slowly, Behr good deal behind,
muttering something about a great fuss Peter
walking beside me, and talking with merry
encouragement to the child upon my back;
and Heiner leading Karlschen in tears, and
embracing his umbrella and clarionet as
usual, while he looked as thoroughly a mar
tyr as if the child had just been billeted upon
him for life, and he'd nothing to keep him
on.
So we were journeying, in the gray of the
early morning, when we met gentleman on
horseback, who looked pityingly-ay down
right tenderly-at the dlrooping head upon my
shoulder, and pleasantly answered our salute
before he passed Oh. l had recognized him
for the gentleman who had in anger left the
ballroom that morning, and went on more
heavyhearted than before, remembering that
he had said he was going away "for a lie
time"
Suddenly the quick step of the horse turned
behind us, and the rider drew him up at my
side,
'.Let me take the boy from you," he said;
II have a few minutes to spare. He is a
heavy load for you, and my horse will not
feel it. Put him here: will hold him safe
and comfortable"
We told him we were trying to reach
tavern where we could rest and breakfast,
and then he paused and thought, looking the
while intently into my boys sleepy eyes.
do you know" he said then, "that this
child is not fit, without rest or stimulant, to
go so far as the nearest inn ?"
tits a great pity" sighed Heiner, "and
even the blackberries aren't ripe."
"But the gentleman said after pause, as
if be had been unwilling to say it until he
glanced again at the little face he held upon
his shoulder, 'I::can direct you to house
where can promise that rest and refresh
ment will be given to sick child. The mas
ter OF the house has been, a physician, and he
will help you that you may soon have this
little fellow walking and playing again in his
place among you. heard him PLAYING well
upon the hill to-day, but neither saw nor
heard him at night in the ballroom, How was
il? ?"
For the life of me 1 couldn't look at him
for thinking how kindly he spoke, when that
bali had beenlsuch misery for him and for
thinking of the two sad reasons1 there had
been tor his not having seen Fritz in his place
''It was my fault" said behr, quite quiet
ly, s'but 1 hope he'll be all right again di-
rectly."
II hope so. You have a load 10 carry,