Middletown transcript., 1881-07-01

loveliest girl he had ever met. Perhaps
her sweet, fair, innocent face was a
welcome contrast to his own dark,
naughty, and rather imperious coUnte-
nance. He thought, also, what fine
thing it would be, if he could have con-
troll Of her wealth ; for he thought she
was very wealthy. Why, it would
make it entirely unnecessary for him
to work another day; and Gerald
Black had strong, constitutional aver
sion to labor. He would never be a
bold, active william. His badness would
always show in cowardly, deceitful
manner. He was not at all energetic,
even in wickedness He was too lazy
to even make thorough scamp. But
he tried to ingratiate himself in Ethel's
favor in every way he could, consist
emily with his natural constitution.
He f1attered her, in certain heavy,
persistent way, that, at first, was rather
disagreeable to her; then, what proved
more successful, he appealed to her
pity. He had been unfortunate all his
life fate had been against him; an
evil star had shone upon his birth.
And, finally, in the long days, when
Paul was out of danger, and coming
slowly back to life again, Ethel got
accustomed to his maunderings, and,
at last, began to feel pity for the man
who had been SO baff1ed and ill-used.
The next thing he tried, was to
render her still more wretched, by
dwelling upon the sacrifice she had
made, in wedding Paul. She was
wretched enough, as it was, concerning
it. What should she do? What could
she do? This was the burden of her
thoughts, day and night, night and
day. She loved her freedom-she had
not though of being married to anyone
least of all, to Paul. And feeling,
as she did, such strong affection and
respect for him, made it, she said to
herself, worse for her. If she disliked
him, she could leave him without any
conjunction.
1t was four weeks before Paul spoke
to Ethel, again, about their future +; for
she avoided being alone with him, all
she possibly could.
But one soft, bright, summer day,
just at sunset, she entered the room,
bringing the fresh, sweet breath of
roses and lilacs with her ; for she came
in through the low French window
his room was on the ground floor, and
opened into an old fashioned flower
garden-she had her hands full of roses
and lilies, as she entered.
He looked up to her, his face light
ing up, as it always did at her approach,
thinking, what indeed was the truth,
that tie net half So sweet
as her face. She thought Mrs. Lindsey
was in the room-she usually was at |
this hour. But she had gone out, and
Ethel stood, hesitatingly, for mo-
ment but Paul held out his hand so
beseechingly, that she went forward,
and laid the flowers down, by his face,
on the pillow, He took her hand,
silently, in both his own.
"Look at your flowers, Paul. See
how fresh and sweet they are. You
will soon be better, so you can go out |
and gather them for yourself. Are
they not sweet ?''
eyes" still holding her hand, still
looking up in her face-"yes.
"Shall 1 read to you, Paul p
"No; sit down, here, close by my |
side, so can look at you."
She obeyed him, silently, and he
looked up in the sweet face, so near to
him, yet that, he felt in his soul, was
so far from him, till tears rose and hid
her face from him. He raised her
delicate hand to his lips, and then laid
it over his eyes. Suddenly, he looked
up in her face, her sweet, woeful eyes.
"Ethel, was selfish, 1 was mad, to
do as I did. But, before God, my dar-
ling, l thought 1 was leaving you, for
ever and l loved you SO, and-and-
there was another reason, that
thought was strong and good one.
But fear my own mad, selfish love
tempted me, instead of honor. There
were other ways"
He paused, hesitated, and then went
on:
"Your sad eyes have almost killed
me, ever since. But, hear me, Ethel
trust me, sweet, as you always have. I
claim nothing. You are free as you
ever were. I claim no right, only the
right to watch over you, protect you.
You shall be to me only as dear sister,
until 1 can win your love, if such bliss
can ever be for me-
Her sweet face changed from red to
white, and then to red again, as he
talked. But, again, she silenced him,
by saying he was too weak to talk.
When he got stronger, they would
speak again of their future.
But Gerald-he talked. He read
poetry to her by the hour, invariably
selecting those poems in which dashing,
naughty heroes, ill-used by fortune, got
the victory at last, and carried off the
lady of their love. His dark, laughing
eyes always pointed the moral of the
poem, and Ethel felt herself to be the
heroine. She grew accustomed to it
to feeling herself in a perfumed, in
toxicating atmosphere of adulation and
homage and is it to be wondered at
that it grew to be rather delightful,
than otherwise +? To see this naughty
hero, although he never assumed the
attitude physically, yet forever giving
her the impression that he was on his