Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1878-11-12

up st the carved arches and the stained
glass and The crimson cushions, aud re-
member the days of poor dear Mr.. Stone,
when we worshiped over the market
house The old gentleman was always
so busy with those dreadful miners al
Coalport that he had no time to think OF
Cushions or carvings. They used TO
crowd in and fill up some OF the best
seats in church. Dear knows, u beauti-
tul church would have been thrown away
on them" !"
Mr.. Harbour glanced az her sharply.
Did she intend covert sarcasm But
no; her fat good-uatured face was smil-
ing and placid as ever. 1t was natural
that she should wish TO see the best seats
filled by people of position rather than
grimy coal beavers. But he-he told
himself that they were oil alike; souls
TOR whom Christ died.
There was sudden movement near
the door, hush Of the clamor to de-
corous silence; even Miss Hyde lowered
her strident tones 10 a wel-bred murmur {;
the Holts and Burwells were coming in
and with them Sarah Clevsdon. She was
an erect young girl, with brown, earnest
eyes. dressed more simply than any 9TH
er woman in the room. But people rare
" remembered Ssrah's dress or anything
about her but her eyes, the meaning OF
which always strangely remained with
YOU after she Was gone. Mr.. Harbour
watched her as she passed through the
room, detained by one eager group after
another. Was it possible that she did
not know that since she was child she
had been regarded AS princess by these
;radesmen's wives and daughters, simply
because she was born an heiress Could
it be possible that she did not see how
vulgar aud coarse-grained they were
she did not seem to see IL. They were
her friends whom she had known and
loved since she was baby; II did not
occur 10 her 10 crilicise their minds or
manners any more than to quarrel with
the beeches on the village street because
they were not oaks. When she sA
down beside little Miss Maddox, the
tailoress, there was q Difference. almost
approaching humility, in her manner.
True. the poor little deformed woman
was almost . sa,ut. thought the clergy
man, bat what fine instinct taught that
reverence to the girl? He never had
tolt il himself. How delicate and rare
she was this lady OF his love! With all
..,r cordial sweetness, no one could be
familiar with her. She would have held
a prince AS TAR apart from her as she did
poor little Sam the cobbler.
Presently. he went up and joined her,
going from stall to stall. The effoc.
upon him was curious. Grab-bag and
post. Office slowly sank 10 their proper
place in the universe; even the rose
window. for which all this mighty bother
was made. no longer appeared TO be the
end of human lie and action: II was in
ns place q useful thing. But its place,
after all, was a small one. Yet Sarah
had not said word concerning grab
bag or T Sc window. Was it because she
was so simple and true that this hurly-
bury appeared 10 him paltry and foolish 7
He LETT the hall. walking beside her
down through tho low-lying meadows
towards Cievedon Place. H5 remem-
bered the fairy and fever OF the lasG few
days n, man might who had ended 3
long race aud found I mean tiusol crown
ia mis- hands. Ii be could win this wo-
man he could leave all vulgar fever for
over below him and rise to the height on
which she dwel.. To see Sarah Cleve-
don among these other women was like
hearing noble song sung in the chatter
in marke;-place. They reached the
gate and passed under tho great elms to
the house, which was old. and not with
out a certain stateliness OF a1iluence and
comfort.
1T imports a good deal in the charac-
ter OF woman" said Mr.. Harbour, con-
tinuing his thoughts aloud. "Lo have
been born to an Inheritance like this,
haunted by the legends OF An honorable
family
Sarah looked at him with surprise. 81
am very iond OF the old house." she said
simply, land l believe the Clevedons
were honest folk"
Mr.. Harbour WINGED at this as though
be had been cut to the marrow. He had
gathered some flowers to give her as he
walked-white Stars OF Bethlehem yeined
With pale blue. He let them fall suddenly.
He telt as though his hands were tainted.
But it was impossible that she could
know. Why should she ever know He
was not guilty because his father had
chosen to become thief. and his brother
a brute. Why should he bear their pun
ishment? Sarah had neither parents nor
kinsiolk to ask troublesome questions.
She was her own mistress Ii he married
her, perhaps when years had passed
when their lives and souls had grown
close together, sitting by the fire some
winter evening, be would dare to tell heI
the shameful story, which would then