The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1882-07-06
membranes that sne did not ask him to

But whst has become Of the "preesina
b bsS sa ,' Why has he come back in
He carefully avoids her all the even.
ing; and next moreing at breakfast is, il
possible, moro remarkably cold and dis
tant toward her.
She is saddeneda and disheartened; but
pride comes to her rescue. She decides
in herself that she will show him how
little she has taken to heart h6 GOODNESS
and indifference.
Never before. perhaps, IS during this
interminable day has Miss Bohun ap-
peared so gay, SO bright, so full of life
her own room, while dressing for this
luckless play, she sheds many q bitter
tear
At nine O'Clock the curtain rises. The
guests settle themselves in their seats,
and prepare for anything.
Miss Rodney, arrayed in avery Quix.
otto costume, fresh from Worth, appears
before the audience, simpering and gri.
macing, and doing her utmost to initiate
real live countess. while in reality she
only succeeds in resembling q very in
ferior soubret.
While Miss Falkiner, from the hall,
who is in private life her intimate friend,
now makes poor pretence at waiting
upon her as confidential maid, and rem
ders herself utterly ridiculous by giving
herself sufficient airs for halfa dozen
cOuntesses.
Both are distinct failure. Everybody
tries to applaud, but disparaging remarks
fall lightly on the air.
The faint applause brings to life two
hardy veterans, who for some time past
have given themselves gratis to the open
arms Of Morpheus, and have contentedly
reclined therein.
II think Miss Rodney has better
chance Of getting off than that girl in
green" s.eepily drawls Number One.
"Do you?" replies Number Two. well,
Pm not much Of q judge about that sort
of thing; but my opinion is neither will
get off before the other. You sec, my
dear fellow, when women are born with
life."
Then the curtain draws up for the
second time, and somebody comes slowly
on to the stage somebody who sets
Cyril's pulses swiftly ihrobbing.
1t is Dorothy. She is very pale, and
her eyes are little languid; but she is
just degree lovlier than she ever was
before.
Disney hardly hears how the play pro.
crosses. Not syllable makes itself
known to him; he can only tell himself
how lovely she is looking, and that she
is as false as fair.
Her eyes are on the ground; but sud.
denly some words strike upon his ear
words that bring back to him a scene
wr9ught withErietand anger. He starts,
and lifts up his head and for the first
time eagerly regards the players.
Poosonhy on his knees before her
He is holding her hands. His whole at.
titude is as it was that fatal afternoon in
the conservatory. He is again pouring
forth his soul in words of extrayaganl
passion.
And then Dorothy's voice rises, clear
but sad, and devoid of the warmth that
had characterized it during the re.
hearsal.
my heart has long been in your keep
ing, and if you wish it, it is yours
As she finishes her speech she raises
her eyes and fixes them steadily, and
with her keenest reproach, on Disney
who returns her gaze, his ewes full OF
contrition.
Then the scene changes, and Miss Bo.
hun makes her exit, amid applaudings
loud and deep.
does Disney. How, bitterly he now re,
penis his objectionable jealousy! Where
shall he hide himself from Dorothy's
justly reproachful gaze?
Nothing he can ever do will make hel
forgive him-of that he feels assured
a q no tn hn l.
that have been, Remembrance sits up.
on him like ban;" he feels ':They
should beware who charges Law in love-
Yet in spite of his dispair. he deter
mines to make an 9 fort to regain his los
position.
He will 60 to her. Rising suddenly
he follows her to the green-room where
he knows she must be.
She is there and alone.
"Dorothy!" he says, entreatingly.
She turns with a start.
Can you spare me few moments?"
Cant you wait until the morning. O,
is its matter Of life or death?" she speaks
very cold]y.
"rhat your answer shall decide"
my answer"
"Yes." Gong up to her, he takes both
her hands in his, and holding them in :
close clasp. says, eagerly, Darling, I have
been fool. brute, everything unpar
donable! Anything you could say to me
would not be hard enough. will 90 OF
my knees FOR your forgiveness, if YOU viii
| only grant it! Did you know half thu
misery I have suffered I am certain 20,
"l'm not so sure that SHALL"
"What! l shall die if you throw m,
over like this shall indeed?"
"Oh, no, you won't-not little bitv
says Miss Bohun.
but I assure you I willl' exclaims
without you!"
~, well; but. you see, have promised
ITO be his wife?''
mo; not exactly that"
"speak quickly!!' he says, in low
tone. suspense is maddening!"
II have promised him to become
member Of the Archaeological society,"
IVY zA DS'o Couldn't YOU have said 80 be.
fore?" says Cyril with a deep sigh Of
"H e.: could I when you were goin,
"Darling! can you forgive my folly?-
coming still nearer to her as he speaks
There's such great deal of it. ism
there? says Miss Bohun. 'It will tax.
me all my time, won't it?"
Not al, l trust. Spare me q little
and shall be more than content"
dearest Cyril" she says, mischiev.
ously, with a quick glance from under
her lorg eyelashes, and a relapse int
her rehearsal tone, "my heart has beer
long in your keeping, and if you wish it,
1t is yours"
MY love-my darling!' murmured
Cyril, passionately.
Andso
"soft eyes looked love to eyes which spakt
And all went merry as marriage bell
Some Dainty Mark.
In Elzabethan times one Mark Scaliot
constructed a lock of eleven pieces iron
steel and brass, and a chain of fourty.
three golden links was attached to the
same, and this being put round flea'f
neck, lock, and chain and flea weighed
only grain and a half of gold. Surely
such miracle of skill was worth pre-.