Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1879-10-11
to Weston; and he now puts out his hand to say

| On, do, with open disappointment; "George
| will be so grieved If you do not"
George must excuse to-day; cannot go in
now" he says almost CURLY and raising his hat,
| walks determinedly away.
| HIS heart is filled to overlooking With bitter
ness ard sad forebodingS. Is iJ, indeed, all
| over? Can his sweet dreams ana happy thoughts
have met with such cruel death? Again he
| sees her lovely face as she turned 1t TO greet
! him. flushed With content and gladness. Or
course the blush had been for Haughton; al
ready her poor wounded heart has found COM
| Pshaw! why dwell upon the inevitable, like
| lovesick girl! He Will throw up the whole bust
Less, leave for London in the morning, and try
| III absence to forget.
But VIXEN the morning comes he fingers. A
| faint hope-that is almost despair, so closely
| does it border on it-holds him still In bondage,
| and compels him to stay on, and witness the
final scene In this small drama
| But at the end OF the second month even this
faint star of hope has been drowned in the giant
flood of despair. He has no longer any sus-
| tanning doubts. Day by day, meeting his rival
at Weston, he notes ClariSsa's kindly manner
toward him, the frank warmth Of her look and
| tones.
AS for himself her demeanor toward MIN has
| completely Changed. 1t seems TO him as though
| shrinks from any tete-a-tete chance may throw
| In his way. And yet-with an obstinacy that
shocks even himselr-there are moments when
| he cannot bring himself to believe he Is alto
| gether hateful to her. A certain softne5s a
times, sudden blush, surprised glance now
| and again, make him persuade him self, against
| of her ancient friendship.
One afternoon, walking along the road to
| Weston, he encounters the Major coming to-
| ward him from side walk that branches to-
| ward the west, and leads to Upland5, where
dwell the Adairs. They shake hands, but, even
| at the moment of meeting, D1gdaie becomes
| aware that there Is an unmiStakauie cloud upon
the Majors usually urbane brow.
"You have been TO Uplands? says Dugdale,
| because he had nothing else to say, and is too
much The property Of melancholy to care to
| make conversation.
eyes," absently; "the old lady is Ill again.
But tell me, Give, is it true what have heard
Here. that Clar1ssa Carew is going to marry
that fellow Haughton?"
'Eaue you heard it?" asks Dugdale, wincing.
is all settled. and that they are to be married
| Immediately My dear boy" says the Major,
raising his hot to wipe his forehead, 'i5 can't
| be true
| cit may be true" says Give, gloomtly. He
| is drawing aimless strokes with his stick upon
the eusty road. and Is feeling distinctly miser-
able.
| sit may, Sir !-what do you mean by that?"
deman6s the Major, irasc!bly; II tell you it
shant, 1t is monstrous! What woman like
| tIat to throw herself away upon worthless
| fellow; and one who has treated her 80 tnfa-
| mously Ia the past l tell you wont hear of
1t. thought Clarissa had more pride.'
| pride" says Dugdale.
Il don't know what you call 1t,-but l, for one,
wouldn't have believed IL Of her." says old
| speak TO her, and II possible, prevent it. If l
were young man like you, Dugdale, should
make love TO her myself, propose to her, and
marry her under his very nose, rather than let
such sacrifice take place. But the young inen
or the present day. says the Major, dlsgustedly,
''are abomnaby wanting in both taste and feel
II wish could agree with you," says poor
Give, sadly.
GAS no one else will interfere, SHALL Moth
ing shall prevent me. Her father and were
old cronies, and shan't stay by and see his girl
| make such a fatal mistake without utterlng
word of warning. l must now go home and
scritble a letter or Two for the post, and after
that Shall walk up straight to Weston, and ask
Ler what she means"
Il think l wouldn't if were YOU" Dugdale
ventured to say, mildly.
"But shall, sir! Don't talk to me! Pouf
do you think the anger Of tue prettiesJ woman
| In Europe could turn from my duty? Neuer!'
say the Major, proudly.
Dugdale half smiles as they part company,
and he continues his way to Weston The hall
door, as usual, stands wide open during the
10 the study where young Carew generally sits,
he enters, unannounced.
AT the doorway he stands motlonless mo-
ment, seeing CareW In earnest conversation
with Sir Wilfred Haughton. Hearing him,
they both look up, aud Carew's expression
changes from cold disapprobation to QUICK dis
treSs.
at is only Dugdale," says Haughton, with
curious glealn In his dark eyes, and a certain
| nladdening sense Of triumph In his SLOW, dellb-
crate tones. mo, do not go away, Dugdale;
you are welcome friend mere, and have no
desire to conceal from you the reas On of my
presence here to-day. nave come to ask Miss
CaIew'S hand in marriage!'
Dugdale pales visioly, and his brows contract
otherwise he suppresses all outward symp
toms of emotion. Then suddenly Wild de-
termination to enter the lists himself, to de-
clare aloud his affection for her, IL only to let
her see how well, though silently, she has been
beloved, takes possession OF him. Almost with
out allowing time for reflection, he JurnS to
Carew, ana says, with forced compOSure:
So too have come to Weston to- day, bound on
the same errand. love your sister, CareW, and
would ask her TO marry me. Let her choose be-
tween u.s."
George rises slowly. He is still weak, and
finds difficulty in sudden movements; a look
of perpleuity and discomfort perVadeS mis- hand
some face; he tribes nervously with paper
| knife that lies beneath his hand.
'You distress me, he says at length, address
ing both the suitors 81 hardly know what to
say. or course / shall inform my sister OF the
honor you have both done her, and-and you
must abide by her decision. But 1T grieves me
to know that one of you-must'-
BE pauses, and unconsciously, in his embar-
| rassment, fixes his eyes upon Dugdale. Give
groans inwardly; 10 him 1t is simple matter,
the translation Of that regretfu look the finish
ing Of that broken sentence, lone OF you must
go to the wall-and you, Dugdale, are the man.
SO he reads 1t. The brother, knowing well the
sisters feelings, had thought kindly to give
him gentle warning OF what Is surely In store
for him. That glance was an ill-omen! Well
Well He throws up bis head In angry deh-
| ance Of cuel fate, and draws his breath little
hard.
at this moment light and well-known step
crossing the hall outside, makes itsel; heard
1t comes nearer; the door Is thrown open, and
Clarssa, fresh and sweet as the perfumed floW-
ers In her hands, stands upon the threshold.
"Why, what a solemn cOncave," she says,
jestingly. "What long, long faces But that
the silence OF the grave seems TO reign, should
say you were all indulging In a battle royal.
What Is 1t, George?" laying her hand upon his
| shoulder with soft careSSing touch.
Taking down the hand, Carew holds 1t closely
in his own, and regards her with silent scrutiny
| for full minute. Then glaDclng at the two
men, he says, as though decided:
"My sister Is here-she shall speak for her
| self. Clar1sSa, Sir W1lfred Haughton and Give
| Dugdale wish to tell yOu-that they-love you;
| they have come this afternoon to ask your
| hand In marriage. 1t is for you to either re-
| fuse them both-or-make your choice between
| them"
He had spoken dlsjointedly. but to the pur-
| pose. Clarissa, growing white as the lilies liz
her trembling fingers, shrinkS away from him,
and letting her flowers fall, covers her face with
| her hands
| "Oh! why have you done this?" cries she:
at Is terr1ble-it Is cruel
| 'No-it Is the wisest course" whispers he
| hurliedly. at will end at once all doubt and
| suspense. Believe me it Is better so-and
kinder"
| Looking up, she glanced first at Sir Wilfred,
who Is evidently anxious, but perhaps little
too assured then tlmidly at Dugdale, who is