The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1878-08-14

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colder and yet snors distant toward thu
rectos> He seemed to notice the grad,
nal alteration, for an hour had scarcely
elapsed before he took his leave.
$50 that is Mr. Walderon, the Famous
rector of old st. Paul'si" I heard
Philip say when, he had gone.
eyes; how do you like him ?" Miss
Laura asked with something like eager.
ness.
"He must look imposing in his dra.
peries." Philip replied. "Well, there's
no accounting for tastes"
The speech seemed to sting her, for
she replied, in az altered voice:
"That's what I thought yesterday"
aOh, come, now, Laura" he said,
"don't be hard on me. If you could
have seer Celeste in her tropical home,
in her feecy white muslins, her cheeks
tinted with the rich glowof health, you'd
alter your opinion. She is not looking
at all like herself; in fact, this base elm
ate is killing her. Besides, her face de-
ponds upon expression for its beauty.
Such horrible chills would make the best
complexion sallow."
I was all ears. Celeste? who was &C.
leste? Should I listen unwittingly to
some secret? Was I forgotten in my
corner? Had I better go?' I felt re-
luctant to face them, having heard so
much.
ooh, I didn't mean to depreciate her,
Philip"
"Only to punish me for not appreciat-
ing your rector-was that it 2" inter.
rupted Philip, with a laugh. "But
what does a man want of beauty?' and
I could see his conscious face, and read
the vanity aver in his voice.
"Surely-but Celeste is pretty, of
course, and I hope she will be we'll soon,
poor little homesick strangerl I'm 60
ing to send her some lilies that some
body sent me yesterday part of them, I
mean-she came from a land of lilies.
Just where did you find her, Philip"
"On the Islaaaaa -Barbadoes, m~>sae
Ct the contest nests you can imagine.
Poor child | I don't doubt she longs for
her native wilds-the orange-trees, the
shadeful bamboos, and her hammock. I
was a barbarian to covet her"
IT must see her often" said Laura.
sI will 90 as often as I can"
"Thank you; you ire so kind and
thoughtful I knew you would like the
poor little wife. Sometimes I reproach
myself sadly for bringing her here, but
what could T do-starveP And We came
pretty near it."
90 Philip!" said Miss Laura, with a
s%huddering voice, $50 poor as that9"
I held my breath. Philip was mar
rid, then. It was his wife Miss Laura
had been to see that morning. No need
to fear for the rector's happiness now
my suspense and suspicion had been
both foolish and groundles.
"Poor, indeed!" he repeated, most
savagely. "Do you know if it had not
been for that fifty dollars you lent me,
she would have suffered for the neces-
saries of life? And when I went to my
uncle, and told him I had lost my money
coming over, and almost my life, he made
me an allowance of ten dollars O week.
What would he say if he knew I had
married q woman not worth one penny?
It would be total ruin to me if he knew
of it; but I am sure, dear cousin, that
you will never, by look or word, to your
dearest friend whisper the intelligence.
I would have kept it a secret, even from
you-:ndeed I would-but that I feared
the poor little creature would die if she
did not see some friend. Above all,
don't whisper it to the priest" he whis-
gersd; "I'm afraid of him, and fancied
be drew nearer her.
"You need not be; he is the soul OF
honor" and there was a slight shade of
contempt in her voice.
"But you have promised" he said,
eagerly. go.
"And I know how to keep my word"
she answered, proudly.
After that he was very gay, but l
think his manner Jared upon her mood.
She proposed that he should go up
stairs and see her mother, who had
asked for him, and together they left
the room. 1t did not take long for me
to gain my own room, where I sat down
to revolve things in my mina, coolly and
dispassionately.
Mr.. Waldron had sent her the lilies,
and the accompanying note-of that I
did not doubt. There had probably been
some misunderstanding the evening be-
fore, and the gift was a ~peace-ofering.
The lovers quarrel, if it had taken 80
serious a complexion, had been caused in
some way by this handsome cousin, who
had burdened Miss Laura with his &c.
cret. The rector had evidently learned
of her former attachment to Philip, and
perhaps, being but mortal, was jealous.
His brief visit in the afternoon had con-
frmed me in my opinion, as he gener-
ally staid to tea.
"Now, Philip should certainly keep
away" said Reason and Common-sense.
"His place is beside his poor young
wife, especially if she is sick; and Miss
Laura ought to tell him 3d."
But Philip chose to come, often-at
all hours. Philip chose to attend st.
Pauls, and show his beautiful Greek
profile in Miss Laura's own pew, and I
fancied that Mr.. Walderon grew uneasy,
for certainly Laura's cousin did not act
like a Benedict. 7 am sorry that he
gave me occasion to suspect, sometimes,
that he was quite mean enough to pique
the rector by his lover-like ways toward
his cousin.
One evening I came down the wide
staircase on an errand for Miss Knox.
Only the moonlight shone in the hall.
Miss Laura stood by the door Of en-
trance, her back toward me, and the
words she said came distinctly to my
ear.
eff you cannot trust me, if you cannot
take my simple word, Mr.. Walderon:
there can be no more between us. 1t
you cannot trust me wholly" and
there her voice broke. A low murmur
came in response, and he was gone.
T was back in Miss Laura's room some
time before she came up. Oh, how pale
she was, and her eyes wore such a
strained, hard look!
"Renie," she said, care you here ?"
"Why, Miss Laura, don't you see
me ?" I asked, frightened at her pallor
and the way she moved her hands.
"No; my head is giddy; it is all
dark; it is-all over. Where are you?"