Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1880-03-13

His grief is quiet and unde mon
strative. He thanks Mrs. Ch antry
and Ada with warm gratitu de for
their kindness to his wife, and di-
rectly after the funeral leaves
| Fa;rshore.
Ada finds now terrible blank
| in her small world. Other dodgers
come and go, but she cares moth
ing for them. Life seems 10 have
become intolerably tame and mo-
notonous. Her mother gets anx-
ions about her, and at length in
sists upon her having change.
So she goes and stops with some
friends, and certainly the visit
does her little good; but still
Mrs Chantry's mind Is not quite
at ease. She is more interested In
the daily business of her life-or
feigns to be; but then she has
grown so much thinner and paler.
She is not so self-wiled, but there
is often such wistful, far-away
expression in her eyes, that Mrs.
Chantry tells herself she would
rather have the old impotence
than this new gentleness- She
does not understand the change;
it worries and perplexes her.
"Are you not we'll darling ~ she
will ask. smoothing the girls dark
hair with her loving fingers.
me well, mother, dear!' Ada
will answer; Eyes, quite" and
with a kiss she will sit down and
play or sing, or else propose a
walk.
1t is year and somewhat more
since Lille Beauchamp died. 1t
was sultry July weather when she
was carried to her grave. 1t Is
glowing August this to-day when
Ada puts on her hat, and taking a
volume of Shakespeare under her
arm, sets out for saunter on the
beach.
A short distance along the shore
rises aloft a huge rock, bleak, grim
and inaccessible to the most daring
climbers. Under its shadow Ada
loves to sit, and thither she bends
her steps now.
Somehow, though she is in
literary mood, the book remains
unopened, and she sits and muses.
instead.
The sea is calm and tranquil.
Far off feet of fishing boats lie at
anchor. Above the sea-birds float
slowly across the cloudless blue
sky. There is no wind. No sound
disturbs the dreamy silence be-
yond the soothing murmur of the
ripping waves,
GAS they touch the sands
With soft, mon otonous cadence
By-and-by she opens the book
and begins to read. Twelfth
Night" is the play, and so absorb
ing are the ventures of Viola, that
she reads on all unconscious of any
ones proximity, till voice says
"How do you do, Miss Chantry?"
She looks up, and the start she
gives causes the book to slip from
her lap.
She replaces it before she ex-
tends her hand, Or says, in steady
voice:
"How do you do, Mr.. Beau
champ?"
"You are not looking we'll. /
hope you have not been ill 2"
"Oh, no! / am quite well, thank
YOU" returns Ada, hurriedly.
"Mrs. Chantry is well, Hannah
says"
"Yes, she is very well, thank
YOU"
, 81 have been to your house, and
Hannah told me where you were;
so came to find YOU"
"Yes."
He glances away from her out at
the glittering, gently heaving sea.
II sought you to-day with pur-
pose. But before I tell you the
plrpose, / want to tell you some
thing of my marriage with Lille"
-Ada's face expresses her won
derment, but she offers no objec-
ton to his confidence.
MY father ruined himself in
speculations, and /, to earn my
own living, became tutor to Lii
lies brother. There were but |
those two, Lille aud Harold. |
They were both delicate-con-
sumptive, 1t was feared. After a
while Lille desired to take les
sons ia German from me. She |
was an apt and ready pupil, and |
/ took pleasure in teaching her,
till accidentally l became aware
that-that she-that her feelings |
toward me were of warmer ma
ture than / had any wish they
should be.
"Of course, when / made this
discovery there was but one thing
for me to do; l left my situation.
l made enough to satisfy my |
a.. l. L.