The Iola register. [volume] (Iola, Allen County, Kansas) 1875-1902, 1882-06-30

ace Margrave himself opened the outer
door for his late visitor. On the
threshold he paused. and laying his
hand, with strong grasp, on Dalton's
arm, he said. in whisper:
81 am safe. then! Your oath is So
Henry Dalton turned and looked him
full in the face-looked full at the pale
face and downcast ewes, completely
shrouded by the white lids and shadowy
black eyelashes.
'The Daltons, of Lincolnshire, are
not an old family, Mr.. Margrave, or q
rich family; but they keep their word.
Goodnight"
He did not hold out his hand at part
ing; but merely lifted his hat, and bowed
gravely.
Horace Margrave sighed as he locked
the doors, and returned to his warm
study.
AT least" he said. 81 am safe! But
then l might have been happy. Have l
been wise tonight? have l been wise, l
wOnGer?" he muttered. as his eyes
wandered to space over the mantel-
piece, on which were arranged couple
of pairs of magnifcently mounted pis-
tolls, and small dagger, in chased
silver scabbard. perhaps, after all,
it was scarcely worth the trouble of this
explanation; perhaps, after all, the OBJ
| ipct is not worth tho tro,,h1ars
CHAPTER I'LL
AFTER THE HONEYMOON.
Three months had elapsed since the
midnight interview in Horace Mar
graves chambers-three months, and
the Opera House was opened for the
season, and three new tenors, and two
sopranos, and basso- baritone had ap-
peared under the classic proscenium Of
Her Majesty's Theater; the novel of the
season had been circulated by Nude;
Rotten Row was gay with amazonian
equestrians and blase life-guardsmen,
with long amber whiskers, as yet un-
trameled by red tape; moss roses were
selling on the dusty pavements of the
West End streets: and Covent Garden
was all a-bloom with artistically ar
ranged bouquets of rich tropical flowers,
gorgeous in color and delicious in per-
fume; London, in short, was in the full
| fiOQd-tide of the season, when Mr.. and
Mrs. Henry Dalton returned from their
honeymoon visit to the Cumberland lake
district. and took up their abode in the
small house in Hartford street. FIR
nished by Ellinor before her marriage.
1,n, II, IL
the sweet uncertainties, the doubts, the
dreams, the fears, the hope, which
make up the poetical prologue to q love-
match, have been wanting in this mar
riage, ordained by the will of her late
uncle-this marriage, which is founded
on esteem and not on affection; this
marriage, into which she had entered
on the generous impulse of an impetu-
Gus nature that has never learned to re-
press emotion.
Is she happy? Can this cold esteem,
this calm respect which she feels for the
man chosen for her by another, satisfy
the ardent heart of the romantic girle
She has been. already married six
weeks, and she has not seen Horace
Margrave, the only friend she has in
England, except, of course, her hus-
band, since her weddirg-day. Not
since that sunny May morning on which
he took her icy hand in his and gave
her, as her guardian and the represent
ative of her dead father. into her hus-
bands arms. She remembered that on
that day when his hand touched hers, it
was cold and powerless as her own, and
that his listless face was even paler than
usual under the spring sunshine stream
ing in at the church windows; but, in
spite of this. he had done the honors
of the breakfast table, toasted the bride
and bridegroom, complimented, the
bridesmaids, and fascinated everybody.
with all the finished grace and marvel
Gus ease of the all-accomplished Horace
Margrave. And if Ellinor had ever
thought that she had a right, for auld
lang syne, for her dear fathers sake,
for her own lovely face, to be anything
more or dearer to Mr. Margrave than
the most Indifferent of his clients; that
thought was dispelled by the gentle
manly sang .froid of his adieu, as the
four paving bays started Of on the first
stage to Windermere.
IL 10 IuC Sllu VI uiCs sthSl SuC ID SCttI-
el in the small drawing-room, awaiting
the advent of morning visitors. They
have been a week in town, and Horace
Margrave has not yet called upon them.
She has a weary air this morning, and
she seems to seek in vain for something
to occupy her. Now she strolls to the
open piano, and plays few chords, ca
brilliant run, or softly touches the
notes of some pensive air. and sings
some Italian words; now she takes up
an uncut novel from the table, and reads
a page or two here and there, wherever
the book opens; she walks to an en-
hroidery frame, and takes great deal
Of trouble in selecting and comparing
woods, and threading needles, bpt when
this is accomplished, she does not do
three stitches; then she loiters listlessly
about the room, looking at the pict-
ures, chiefly valuable engravings, which
adorn the pale silver-sgs:ay walls; but at
last she is so utterly weary, that she
filings herself into deep easy-chair
close to the open window. and