The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1879-02-27

to the hotel. A waiter told me that she
was in, and, % she aud her friends had q
private sitting.room, I ran up-to it hop
ing I might find her, and aloEe. She
Was not there, however; the room was
empty, tut her little desk stood open on
the table, and near it letter addressed
in q large bold hand, which once told
her lauRhingly I could read mile of, to
Capt. Lucas. Royal Artillery Barracks,
somewhere. did not wait for second
glance, but turned and went out from the
room and the hotel. 1had learned all l
wanted to know. I never saw or spoke
to her again. She left Oxford a day or
two afterward; and when the other fel-
lows used to chaff me about her, next
term; most of them assuming that had
proposed to the beautiful Miss Langton
aud been refused, and some of them max
ing rather merry at my expense, l never
denied it; and. besides. l could not have
spoken of her. My own hope was to for
get her existence, and that one was vain
one. Heaven only knows how she has
haunted my memory, and now-now"
"You find out you were utterly unjust
to her, and that Capt. Lucas was her
step. brother, and that she sent for him to
the Rashlcigh in the hope Of effecting a
reconciliation between him and her father,
who had not met him since her mothers
death. Well, Hugh, you've certainly
made blunder of it; and it isn't your
fault if you haven't broken outright as
true heart as ever beat. What are you
going to do at PRESENT." - =,
= "Go away" he said 'hoarsely; "that !
mayn't insult her by second sight of
me. No wonder she looked at me with
such aversion to-day. And to think that
she might once have cared for me! Well,
we'll, l am punished enough"
And upon my word, when | saw him
sitting with his head bowed upon his
hands, and his face as drawn and bag
gard as it years of pain had swept over it
since the morning, I almost felt the
same, and began TO soften in the anger
| had felt at his first condemnation of
Cecil. He, however, wonla listen to no
excuse for his conduct, and laughed to
scorn my suggestion that she might yet
forgive him.
"Would you have ME insult her worse2''
he asked me bitterly. mo, no; tell her
some day, if you like, that l left her be-
cause / was utterly unworthy of her, but
that loved her with my whole heart,
and was never taithless to her even for a
day. Tell her that if you will, and then
never mention me again. She will not
care that you should And it was alto
gether against his will that insisted on
giving bis message in my own way and
before he left Oxford. In my heart l
believed that Cecil still cared for him,
and would never suffer him to go; but he
checked me sternly when even tried to
hint at such an idea, and left him pack
ing bis portmanteau when started.
Mrs. Prior, Cecil's cousin, received me
less cordially than usual when I
visited her. She looked worried
and fretful, and told me she
could not have seen any stranger
had I brought one with me.
$50 l am glad you did not bring your
friend with you," she said. us he a
great friend? for, to tell the truth, l did
not take fancy to him. He has the
same name as person who-whom
would not receive on any account; and
and l did not care for his manner. Is he
going to stay long with you?"
Cecil got up and laid her hand on her
cousins shoulder. Her beautiful face
was looking very white this morning, but
calm az wax.
"Cousin Emily is not WE'LL" she said
gently. "You are not to MUD her, Mr..
Quincy. 1t is way of hers to take un.
reasonable likes ana disllkes, and we
have not been seeing many strangers Of
late. She would like your friend v.ry
vel! on one Of her good days. Come
out into the garden and look at my Jap.
anese anemonies." And l rose and went
out with her gladly; but when we got to
the flowers turned my back on them
and said:
"Thank you for taking Mal.am's part,
Miss Langton. He is man I love dear.
", and all the more that he has had a
great trouble in his life perhaps the
greatest any man Can have. 1t is very
heavy on him now" Her face turned
paler yet, her hands clasped each other
in tight hold, but she did not speak.
went on quietly. ale was unfortunate
enough to love woman dearly, ana
wrong her cruelty. It's quite a proper
story, so you needn't mind my mention
Ing it. Lately, only last night, he found
out his error. He saw the lady again
and-'
"Thought her rather pretty, PERHAPS. J"
Cecil Interrupted scornfully, and even
that he might have done worse than have
been faithful to her. Is that your friend 8
trouble, Mr.. Gurnev2 l compassionate
him; though I don't see a remedy for it,
NO." said, coolly, "for, as it hap
pens, he never was falthless to her; onsy
to his belief in her. And great as taat
fault was, Miss Lengton, have told him
that IT she had ever cared for him she
would forgive him, even though it were
greater yet. He will not hear me, and
declares that the very sight Of him mu st
be an oflense to her. / wish you would
let me tell you the story. A woman's
opinion is some times worth having on
these matters, and l should like to hear
yours" And then told it to her, with
out any CLOSING over or extenuating; she
standing before ME with the white
anemontes waving IN the breeze above her
feet, and the morning sunshine on her
fair head, and the. changing color in her
face. 1t was very changing color dur
n g my tale, shifting from hot crimson to
pale more than once; but before the GRIM
son had faded into settled pallor, and
when l was silent, she lifted two very
bright proud eyes to mine and said, quite
calmly and coldly:
Il think your friend is right, Mr.. Cur.
ney. He has insulted the ladv-grossly.
and his presence must be an offense to
her. AS to his love-" and there was a
small hard culver of a smile about her
mouth, mo man who loved a woman
would bc coward enough to desert her on
so unworthy suspicion. She is better
without such love as mis-; and you may
be sure she haQ innu orr ,,,<