St. Landry democrat., 1879-04-12

the rustic OF the silk gown as Stevens
came and went between my new mistress
and I, taken with the strangeness of the
situation, and the remembrance of poor
little mammy's fearful speeches, and the
plaintive song of the robin, deprived me
of my appetite, and I only minced at
the currant jam and biscuit.
Stevens cleared away the things,
leaving the cloth and candles, and, stand
ing at the back of Miss Rushton's chair,
she wheeled her nearer the fire. My
aunt was a paralytic, then.
In spite of that hard face and those
fierce eyes, a sudden, strange pity filed
me. How hard it must have been, how
hard for one in whose veins still flowed
the wild current of the Rushton blood.
She beckoned me to her side impa-
tiently.
at want to say, Agnes, that If your
mother sent you here, thinking to make
much of it, she is mistaken. I take you
into my service as l would any worthy
and disinterested young person. l shall
pay you your wages quarterly, forty
pounds sterling per year and your
living, which is all you will be worth !;
and I do not intend to add one Isurd or
promise any favors from the fact of
your being Gerald Rushton's daughter.
You understand 7"
I nodded silently, feeling too much
hurt to trust my voice.
"Stevens, my cabinet"
She unlocked the box and took out
some bank notes with her gloved hand.
al make it a rule to give one quarter
in advance. Here are ten pounds. ste-
vens will acquaint you with your duties
and show you to your chamber. ! shall
not require you before nine In the
morning. Good night"
Not tired, but glad to escape from
that room, l ventured to raise n thin
hand to my lips, but shrank back-those
fingers were icy-cold.
I was not naturally a timid girl, but
the lofty corridors, highly vaulted pas
sages, and shadowy room, hung with
moulderirg tapestry, made me feel cold
and frightened. Everything about the
room Was dark and ponderous. Some"
how, the canopied bedstead, with ita
blood.red curtains, made me think OF
the tower where the princes were stran-
gled. I declined the assistance of the
maid, and Stevens retired, leaving me
one wax>light, which threw gigantic
shadows on the wall. My duties were
not hard or various. I was to an,use my
aunt when she babe me be always at
her chair back, and speak only when
spoken to. I fell asleep at last, thinking
of poor little mammy's delight when rhe
should receive my first quarters salary
Ny life was an %uneventful one at the
Pines. I was never absent from my aunt,
but grew no more intimate with her than
at first. We had no company save Mia
Rushton's surgeon and solicitor, who
came once a month to dinner. I sang
very little, and only in secret, as the
grand piano had not been opened in
twenty years, as Miss Rushton did not
tolerate music.
One evening when she dismissed me
my aunt said, sternly:
"Agnes, I expect the son Of my dear
est friend here tomorrow. He il to be
my heir, and I caution you against de
signing or trying to secure his favor"
"Oh, aunt 1.-THE hst blood rushing
to my cheeks. 49,
"Be still. Do l not know what the
Aubreys are? But Hugh is an admirel
of beauty in woman, and I do not thin1
you will fascinate him. See that you
attend to fay affairs and leave Hugh
alone"
But Hugh would not leave me alone
I scarcely looked at him for q week
Then, a he sat %recounting adventures t
my aunt, ] saw that he was q handsome
man of thirty, with crisp, black hair and
thoughtful gray eyes-magnetic. eyes
whose chances troubled me for days, and
haunted my dreams.
Oae November day, while my aunt
was sleeping, I sat in the decayed sum
mer house, at my knitting, singing az
old Scotch song nanny had sang in
happier days. A shadow fell on my
work. Hugh Kennedy stood before me,
What a sly little thing you are
And 70 you are Gerald Bushton's daugb.
teri What are you doing at the Pines p
"Do you not not know3 let me pass,
please"
Why do you always fly from me 7
You have q wonderful voice which
ought to be cultivated. You should
sing more"
Miss Rushton does not like singing
and I am paid to keep SILENT"
"You have a Scotch wit. Please
promise not to hide yourself away, OF
run away from me again."
" I cannot"
well, 60. ] shall find you out,
wherever you are"
almost had it in my heart to hate
Hugh Kennedy for his cruel pursuit Of
me; yet, oh, I learned to love him 50.
He came into my life when it was barren