The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1882-06-24

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not looking at all happy. The rich
masses of her dark brown hair are
swept away from her broad. low brow,
and secured in coil of superb plaits at
the back of her head; her simple white
morning dress is only ornamented by
large knots of broad violet ribbon, and
she wears no iewelry whatever, except
a tiny, slender gold chain, which she
twists perpetuallY in and out of her white
fingers.
She sits for about half an hour, always
looking down across the plants in the
balcony at the pavement opposite, when
she suddenly starts. and wrenches the
thin off her fingers in her agitation.
She has seen the person for whom she
has been waiting. A gentleman, who
lounges lazily along the other side Of
the street, crosses the road beneath the
window, and knocks at the door
"At lastr' she says; "now, perhaps.
this mystery will be explained
A servant Announces: Z" Mr.. Mar
grave"
"At lastr' she says again rising, as
he enters the room. 80, Mr.. Mar
grave, have been so anxious to see
your
He looks about on the crowded table
to find amongst its fashionable litter,
place for his hat, fails in doing so, and
puts it down on chair, and only then
looks listlessly up at her and says:
"Anxious to see me, my dear Ellinor;
why anxious?"
Because there are two or three
questions which must ask-which you
must answer"
That peculiar expression in Horace
Margrave's eyes, which was as it were
a SILVER of the eyelidS, passed over them
now but it was too brief to be perceived
by Ellinor Dalton. He sank lazily into a
chair; near her own, but not opposite to
it. He paused to place this chair with
its back to the light, and then said
"My dear Ellinor, my dear Mrs.
Dalton, what questions can you have to
ask me, but questions of a purely bust
agine, your husband, who is quite as
practical man as myself, could answer
as well as I?'
Mr.. Dalton is the very last person
to whom can apply for an answer to
the questions which have to asky'
And why the last persona"
Because those questions relate to
himselfr'
80, see! My dear Mrs. Dalton, is
not this rather bad beginning? You
appeal from your husband to your
solicitor"
No, Mr.. Margrave. appeal to my
guardianr
Pardon me, my dear Ellinor, there
is no such person. He is defunct; he is
extinct. From the moment | placed
your hand in that of your husband on
the altar steps of st. Georges, Hanover
Square, my duties, my right to advise
you, and your right to consult me. eX-
pred. Henceforth you have but one
guardian, one adviser, one friend, and
his name is Henry Dalton.n
A sad shade fell over Ellinor Dalton's
handsome face, and her eyes half filled
with tears as she said:
"Mr. Margrave, Heaven forbid that /
should say word which could be con-
strued into a reproach to you. Your
duties of guardianship, undertaken at
the prayer of my dying father, have
been as truly and conscientiously dis
charged as such duties should be dis
charged by man of your high position
|
own that sometimes, with woman S
folly, | have wished that, for the men,
Dry of my dead father, who loved and
| trusted you, for the memory of the de-
! parted childhood, in which we were
companions and friends, some feeling a
! little warmer, a little kinder, little
more atfectionate, something of the ten
derness of an elder brother, might have
mingled with your punctilious fulfill
ment of the duties of guardian. | would
not for the world reproach yOu-still
less reproach you for an act for which
only am responsible-yet | cannot but
remember that, if it had been so, this
marriage might never have taken
place"
1T is not happy marriage then"
L" 1t is most unhappy one"
Horace Margrave is silent for a few
moments, and then says, gravely, al
most sadly:
"My dear Mrs. Henry Dalton" he is
especially scrupulous in calling her Mrs.
| Dalton, as if he were anxious TO remind
her every moment how much their rela-
tions have changed-"when you accuse
me of want OF tenderness in my con-
duct toward yourself, of an absence of
warm regard for the memory of your
dead father, my kind and excellent
friend, you accuse me of that for which
| am no more responsible than for the
color of my hair, or the outline of my
face. You accuse me of that which is,
perhaps, the curse of my existence; a
heart incapable of cherishng a strong
affection, or sincere friendship for any
living being Behold me, at five-and
thirty years of age, unloved and unlov-
| inc without ono tie which I cannot %