Litchfield enquirer., 1880-08-19

,
=" Carew halted, and looked back through
the trees at the cottage he had left. mo, moi
wife," the painter muttered, walking on
again. 81 don't care to take wife away
with me from Furness. A pictures all
want
Enter the chapel when he might, Carew
failed TO find its shadowy desolation bright.
ened by the presence of Margaret Wolfe: and
he had received from London the canvas and
other materials that he wrote for, and had
spent day Or two in meditating over his pro
jected picture before he again saw her in the
Abbey ruins.
Carew had walked across the fields to the
ancient town of Dalton. King Harry VIII.
was by this time hopelessly banished from
the painters thoughts; it was the fair form of
Margaret that he contemplated placing IN the
Abbot's Seat
He had already sketched, rapidly yet care
fully, The sight on which his eyes had rested
when, on that nevef-to-be forgotten evening of
early June, he climbed to the window-gap of
the ancient chapel and looked toward the
sedlia. Contrasted alike wildly with the
shadows that crept along broken tombstones
and waving grass, and the sunset that touched
with flame all the sky above the ruins, the
still figure of Margaret Wolfe leaned slightly
forward from the niche 1t occupied her ser.
ious face and deep, dark eyes giving her the
aspect OF some ensainted phantom. With
that face and those strangely beautiful eyes,
as they appeared in the sketch that he had
executed, Carew, however, remained dissatis-
fed. Labor as he might, his brush had failed
to catch the expression that he had noted up
Oh the girls face-a something neither of
earth nor heaven.
AS in the sweet June twilight the painter
walked back from Dalton toward the Abbey
ruins his own face wore an expression curl
ously serious for one who was ordinarily
among the lightest- hearted of living knights
of the brush. There was presence in the
little Furness town that loaded the midsum-
mer air with pestience, and turned mems
thoughts from business and pleasure to the
terror aad mystery Of death. AS quietly as
the darkness that was entering with him, did
Carew pass forward into the ruined chapel
and toward the familiar niche. The face and
form of Margaret Wolfe. absent from the place
for dozen evenings past, looked out once
more on him from the sedila, thoughtful nd
maidenly Us ever.
While Carew still stood hesitating whether
to go forward or withdraw, she ended his
difficulty by rising and approaching him.
Good evt ming, Mr.. Carew," was her saluta-
ton offered coldly, but without any trace of
the cOnstrant that, since their former dialogue
10 the ruins, had made few and awkward the
words exchanged by the embarrassed pair
You have been to Dalton-have you not?'
Il have been there all the afternoon, The re-
piled. And you had better not come near
me-"
''For fear Of the fever you mean? We have
it in our house already. My father has been
two or three times at Dalton lately, ana to-day
he finds himself too Ill to rise. If you think
there is risk of infection in coming up to our
house to fetch your things. will put them to-
gether and send them to whatever address You
may give me-" -....s
IF think there is risk of infection. ~ re-
turned Carew. "You had reason the other
evening, Miss Margaret, for thinking me i'm
pertinent; but don't know what cause l
have given you to fancy me cowardy
Neither moon nor star had as yet glnmered
out on this June twilight. Through the half
darkness of the ruined chapel, Carew per-
ceived the girls eyes bent on him with look
he knew not whether of anger, wonder, or
.pleasure-that made them shine, starlike.
''Shali be much in your way if still stay
here ?" he asked. II shall need very little
acknowledgements matters | can manage for
myself and for dinner can walk over, when
necessary, to Dalton. Not much danger of
my carrying the fever with me-it's all over
the town already"
''Are you not afraid of taking it yourself,
Mr.. Carew? If you come back to our house
tonight, how do you know but it may be
never to leave it again alive
You evidently look upon me as very
nervous and fancifu kind of person. said
Carew.
'1f You were not fanciful, W Ould you be an
artist? don't think you are nervous, though ;
no one who was nervous would seek the COM
pany OF that terrible fever. But really, Mr.
Carew, what good could you do by staying !?
1t is very friendly and generous ofyou to wish
it, but what use will it be?''
''Who will nurse your father through his
illnessI"
my mother and myself, certainly"
And do you imagine that you two women
will be sufficient? Have you any idea what,
in case like your fathers, the delrium will
be?''
owe can get help from Dalton"
''The fever will prevent you. In such
weather as this, and in a town like Dalton,
there is certain to be an outburst of the dis
ease that will drive everything into fright and
confusion. Don't throw away volunteer
helper, Miss Wolfe you may find it diff
cult matter to replace me-"
The girl hestated. "Are you sketching?"
she said, at last.
''My sketching is finished, and the picture l
am setting about can wait. l assure you, Pm
as little afraid of being Inconvenience as of
dying of fever"
What marvellous amount may at times be
clearly expressed, yet left unspoken Asif the
eye had been a mirror into which each looked
and perceived the secret of the others mind,
Margaret knew that Carew, in saying II will
stay added mentally, IN order to be near
you ;" Carew discerned that Margaret, had
not her heart somehow been at conflict with
her judgment. would, gratefully but deci
sivey, have declined his offer aud entreated
hin. to leave.
''Let us see what my mother will think of
your wish to remain" she said, presently,
when she had given her hand to him in token
of thanks, and he had pressed the proffered
fingers warmly. They went forth from the
ruins and up the path that led to the cottage,
both as silent as the,wilight If either though
of the disdainfully ended interview of fort
night back, it was to wonder that such a
scene had been. If either reflected that Mar
garet Wolfe and Francis Carew had known
each other, in all, five weeks, it was with an
underlined sense that the talk just ended had
| magically changed those weeks to years.
Mrs. Wolfe behaved as her daughter had
known and Carew had more than suspected
she would behave. In times of distress her
sole refuge was to cling to whatever stronger
nature happened to be near her. She was SO
| ready to avail herself of Carew's proposal that
she altogether forgot to thank him.
As the July days grew hotter and hotter,
| and the reports from Dalton became more and
more gloomy, Carew, although his step re-
| manned light and his voice cheerful. began to
| draw in the Furness air as though it choked
| him. Out at Furness Abbey there was, happi-
| ly, nc death-bell to depress with its frequent
| toll both the sick and those who watched by
them; but the rawlings of the sufferer were
even more oppressive to listener than such a
| bell would have been Wolfe had lived for
years past the life of the habitual drunkard ;
and he was now dying the death OF one Three
days of acute delirium, during which the pa
tient tasked to the utmost the young artists
| strength and endurance, gave place to stupor,
with intervals of low mutterings, in which,
like Falstaff, the sick man ''babbled of green
| fields'-those green Ftrness fields across