The Van Buren press., 1879-01-14

Margaret was deadly white-her voice
trempled as she spoke.
Robert, beg you not to ask him
here"
II tell you l shall. 1t Is utter non.
sense. shall ask him to. morrow. Have
you the same objection to your cousin
and uncle prayl'
"If am to receive all the visitors
you choose to name, it Is useless asking
my opinion" she answered, taking up her
book again and leaving the room.
Robert Armain strode out into the rain,
not caring whittier he went. or all
spots on earth home was the most hate
ful to him. Ho almost loathed the cold
stately woman he had made his wife. He
had married for beauty; and now he too
in bitterness Of soul WAS beginning to
count the cost.
"Won't you come, Clare Robert
| wishes 1t very much--and / need not
say how glad l will be to have you with
me.
SO spoke Mrs. Armain Sho was stand,
ing by the fire in the Deanery draw
ing-room. her stately figure, in its sweep
ing silken robes, forming q strong con
trast to the Deans daughter. Clare WAS
leaning back in her easy chair, weary
with the JOY Of coming home again.
She was changed, greatly changed. All
the fire OF love and hope had loft her face.
A sorrow stricken woman she looked,
save when she smiled the same sweet
smile of old. That was unchanged.
Sin alone can take away the beauty OF q
smile.
"You won't come then, dear p
"No, Maggie. Don't ask me to leave
my dear old home again. feel better
here--and-and-Tm not strong Mag
gie.'
Mrs. Armain did not answar. Her
delicate hands were twisting nervously in
each other. and her dark eyes had a
troubled look in them.
Don't be vexed, dear" Clare went on,
"You know papa could not leave his work
Il know he would not"
"Why not say At once that you do not
care to come ?" said Mrs, Armsin bit
terly. "You are quite right The
Court is only a great state house. not q
home--not a home, Clare. Stay IN
your own warm nest, birdie. Good
bye"
Don't leave me, Maggie, SO coldly, l
would come il could. Don't be an
cry"
"Angry with you, my innocent, pure,
minded darling! II had not married
for money, you would come, perhaps !;
but curse is resting on me. Who
shall tell where it will end p And with.
out waiting for an answer to her wild
words, she kissed her cousin and left the
room.
II was more than three weeks later be-
1t ulG cunhe. ord .ar2tbinGef !tAe dainas
main called. He was going to London
by the noon express to stay day or two
on business,
"I am obliged to leave Margaret to en-
tertain the visitors alone, | wish yop
could have come, Clare"
"Have you much company at the
| Court9'
"A couple of my old aunts, distsn,
cousin and his family, and Captain Nor
rison. I thought the Court was dull
before, but it's worse than ever now.
Every one makes it the aim of his OF
her life to thwart or annoy everybody
else. You can imagine the result.
Glare laughed, and the Dean remarked
"Yonr duties as host must be no sinecure,
Bob"
"By Jove, no! It's the hardest worl
have ever done Captain Morrison il
as bad as any OF them. never saw q
man so changed in my life. But must
be of. When are your roses coming
back, Clare2 Goodbye" He SHOOK
hands with them both and hastened
away.
Clare had been ordered to take riding
exercise. Her father had bought her I
beautiful pony. and that afternoon Clare
donned her riding habit and cantered
away through Dodington into the qnie'
lanes. Everything was very still and 81
lent under the autumn sunshine, ant
Clare rode on with loosened bride. think
ing not of the past, put Of the future
the mysterious future that might soor
lead her into the spirltland. For Clar'
knew the danger the doctors feared WA
not over. Any sudden excitement,
chill, a. keen sorrow, might break th'
silver cord, and, like her mother, cut he
off in the flower Of her youth.
A sharp turn in tho road aroused Ler
It curved along low park paling tt
join the high road, Clare hesitated
Close to her was little gate leading in
to the sbadowy leaf strewn park. Sh'
knew the path we'll, and, pushing ope'
the gate, cantered on under the grea
trees towards the house She was 10 th
grounds Of the Court, and determined t
surprise her cousin. She fastened he
horse to the torrance pillar and run VI
the steps into the hall. The peace Of tn
autumn afternoon had fallen upon th
, house Nothing was stirring. UAr
went into the daawing room, but tn
great room was solitary in its splendol
, and she Was turning away, when lo'
, stifIled sobbing caught her ear, 1t cam
from the little inner room. The Dean
daughter crossed to the heavy curtain
and softly parted them. Kneeling upo
the floor, her proud head buried in be
hands, was Margaret Armain. She wa
trembling with intense emotion, Clar
saw, as she knelt down by her side.
| "Maggie, Maggie, what ails you Z"
"Clare Her hands dropped fror