Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1882-08-19

like to tell you all about it, Jack, he said
In his usual tone. I'm afraid I mad
rather fool of myself this morning, ant
was rude to you'-I interrupted him will
a gesture of dissent beg your pardon
if l were so, he went on. But l was in
cursed temper. It's all over now. onl,
feel like fellow awakened out Of pleasan
dream little too roughly
i" He paused a moment or two l though
l ought to speak, but didn't in the leas
know what to say. So held my tongue
and Considine began his story quietly, witt
his usual dry and composed manner.
" | had no misgivings whatever wher
l started on my journey to Raeford las
evening, though had neither written MOI
teiegraphed to-to-them to expect me
meaning, you know, to take them by sur
prise. did not reach Rssford until rather
late-it was getting dusk, in fsct yor
know the arrangement ON that Southeast
line-if you are in hurry you had better
get out and walk. The Hall is only half 8
mile from the station, and l left my port
manteau in the cloak room and walked up
Of course 70 one at the house knew me,
and l would not send in my name.
asked for Miss Laborde, and the fellow
showed me into the library don't think
he knew who was there. There were two
solitary candles burning on the table, and
looking dim and yellow in the ruddy glow
of the fire that went blazing up the wide
chimney. / went toward it, not seeing
that there was any one in the room. She
stood in that little west window, Jack,
half hidden by the crimson curtain, and
with her back to me but there was the
sleeve of brown shooting. coat round her
waist, and both her white hands rested on
his shoulders. l saw at q glance who it
was-Tom Thornhill, the richest and most
finished fool in all Blankshire. l suppose
l must have made some exclamation, for
they both turned round with start-they
had not heard me enter or cross the room
She, Mary, knew me, and gave little, half
lnsudible cry, covering her face with both
hands. l believe she must have thought
she saw my ghost for a moment Thorn
hill stared stupidity, twisting the end of
his mustache. g am sorry to have in
tIuded upon you, Miss Laborde see |
was presuming too far on my welcome. |
should have asked permission to come"
said, rather brutality, I'm afraid. She
raised her head. You have not had nv
letter, George Oh, forgive me but how
could / know you had not had it ?" 81
received no letter since that one you wrote
in June, interrupted. 81 wrote to you
to-explain wrote last-oh, long ago, +"
she cried out. Jack, knew it was lie,
but how could l say so? 1 bowed, and
said | was sorry not to have had the let.
ter; it would have prevented this contre.
temps; but needed no further explana
ton, and l wished-she broke in haughtily :
" 1t is not my fault, Captain Considine,
that you did not receive my letter, /, too,
am sorry most grieved; but did what
| thought right in writing to ask you to
release me from my engagement it is a
mistake, better for both our sakes forgot
ten" believe | said something ought
not to have said about q woman's faith !;
she drew back, flushing angrily. 81 have
been very wrong, | know" she said, "but
| could not help i'll could not help it l
have been forced to do things against my
better Judgment; you must forgive me,
George" She looked SO beautiful, Ken.
yon, as she stood there by his side, her
eyes trimming over with tears, her face a
little flushed, and her white hand held out
to me | did forgive her, l think but I
couldn't take that hand; it was mine no
longer, though God knows / could have
died to call it mine one moment, even
then.
''Considine paused a second or two,
turning his head away from the light.
"'She vowed she loved me-vowed to
be true to me till death, he went on at last.
But perhaps it's not in the nature of
woman to be true to man with only
fifteen hundred acres and half-psy, when
an estate of three thousand and title are
laid at her feet. What more was there to
say or do? l came away, leaving them to.
gether, my lost love and that fellow. l
have seen her face for the last time. Jack
don't interrupt me. The seven train had
been gone hall an hour when got back to
the station, and / had to stay at the
railway inn all night, and come up to town
this morning. | would sooner have met
you, old fellow, than any one, just then.
You know all there is to tell now. 1t is
like you to have listened so patiently
" l held out my hand. Considine wrung
1t heartily, and then turned to light a
cigar, and sat silent for the rest of the even.
ing.
Perhaps no one less Intimately &C.
qualnted with him than l was would have
guessed how crushing the blow had been.
HIS very determination to tell me the story
a story which, by the way, most men
would have shrunk from laying before
triend-and his quiet and composed man
ner OF telling it, only gave me deeper in.
sight into the strength of the love and faith
that had been SO cruelty betrayed. Some
how l felt that, with fortune good or bad,
George Considine would never be the same
man again.
=" The next few days dragged out slow
length In long stretches of dismal fog,
or still more dismal rain. But, in spite of
the weather, Considine and l plodded
silently over acres and acres of stubble
every morning for hours, and with little
regard for future seasons, killing anything
up shamelessly. But the long days in the
open air, and the simple living, did me q
world OF good. together with the nursing
and petting Considine's old housekeeper
laVished upon me. She ordered us both
about as If we had been lads of IL or ID,
and used to appear at all hours of the day
and night that we spent indoors, with dry
socks, comforters, Strengthening jelly, or
some concoction of the kind.
With renewed health and plenty of
good sport, the daysl were still long and
dull, and l should not have been sorry to
get back to town at the end of week, but
for Considine. He was terribly down at
times, and L had determined to stand by
him as long as he wanted me. 1t was
worst in the evening when, after dinner,
we had drawn our chairs to the fire over
wine and walnuts, he would not talk or
smoke or play ecarte.
g The Grange was fully half mile from
the village, and the clergyman, an old
bachelor with equity foot, the only inhab.
liant with whom Considine was on visiting
terms. More than one evening, at that
time, he sat until he had emptied the de-
canter and-but you will understand l
need only touch upon the subject. / said
nothing at first, but the third time it hap.
pened | thought ought to interfere, and 1
got up and put the wine away. He half
rose, with an angry word. l went round
to him and laid my hand on his shoulder.
Excuse me, old fellow, but can't see YOU
do that. | won't help you, you know.
The MAJ who thinks to drown trouble so
ir 80