Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1883-04-08

tain meaning III neE coho' ~ ehc NC
fused she would be left penniless, too
1t would all go to you, and she Is fond
OFF, She paused. II dare say you
will get on very well together" she
continues hastily. sand as you are
heart whole, as you say, 1t really can
not much matter"
"What can't natter"
"Your marrying for money"
nAnd if was not quite free-if my
heart owned another tie-how then"
asks he, with an anxiety to know her
opinion that astonishes even himself.
Then it would be disgraceful Of you
and contemplate" returns she seri-
ousIy, but without haste. Perhaps she
thinks she has spoken too severely, be-
cause presently she smiles up at him
very softly and kindly. And then,
after little bit, he says good-by to her,
and goes out into the cleaning sun
shine, and all the way up to the grand
old Court THAT may or may not be his,
as his will dictates), and carries into it
not the face of the cousin who reigns
there, and whom it is expedient he
should marry, but soft vision with
clad ewes that shine like sapphires, and
sunburnt hair, and smile grave and
sweet and full Of heavenly tenderness.
It is month later. Thirty days-as
cruelty short as days will ever be where
happiness reigns supreme-have taken
to themselves wings and flown away.
1t is now high noon already the day
begins to wane. The god Of light grows
weary; "tired Nature halts." The
streamlets are running YEARLY, as
though fatigued with the exertions of
the day, now almost past.
ut is the earth's siesta-even the bee
flags in his deep and dull monotony."
All the morning George Norwood has
toiled assidususly after his cousin at the
Courts; has followed from greenhouses
TO conservatories, from conservatories
to orchards, the woman he has been
taught he must marry, IL he wishes to
keep I'D his good fellowship with the
world to which he has so long been
known. Now, when evening is de-
scending, he has escaped from his duty
and has flung himself with deepest, in
tensest relief, at the feet of the woman
he ought net to marry, with whom ill.,
deed marriage will mean social extinc-
ton.
He met her half an hour ago in this
little shadowy valley, where the dying
sunbeams are playing at hide and seek
among the branches of the trees, and
where a tiny rivulet is lisping and
stammering as it runs lazily over the
pebbles.
Monica, having thrown aside her
huge white hat, is sitting, on a little
mound with her back against beech
tree. She has taken her knees into her
embrace, and just now is looking at her
cousin from under heavily dashed lids,
that seem barely able to support them
selves, so dangerous is the hour, and so
contented her spirit.
Her companion can scarcely be said
to be looking as free from care as she is I;
there is slight suspicion Of WEAKNESS
in his eyes, his maner is somewhat tin.
ged with depression very foreign to
il, which as rule is of the debOnnaire
order.
Anything the matter with you?"
said Monica at last.
ayes, any amount of things"
"Well-go on-say them all overt
will do you goed," suggests she sympa-
thetically.
"Not for worlds-at least, not for
many reasons. 1t would bore you; it
wouldn't cure my case, and besides, /"
with half laugh, "my worries are of
the kind difficult to put into speech"
"That means they are nothing but
fancies."
"Does itm
Then leaning back and placing his
hands behind his head, he turns his
eyes slowly upon hers. -,
~ wish had never come down here, /"
he says deliberately.
"Whatw cries she, leaning toward
him. HAS Julia proved unkind? or is
it kind-wOn't she marry you? Or will
she"
"Nonsensem said Mr.. Norwood
grufily. al wasn't thinking of Julia"
mo? Then why are you sorry you
came to the Court
Norwood at this regards her fixedly.
81 wonder" he says, in curious tone,
"whether you really don't know, or
whether you are an accomplished CO.
quettew
Don't know what?n asks Monica.
opening her large earnest eyes to their
fullest, and looking at him with such
sweet and honest surprise as awakes
within his breast the deepest self-con-
tempt. How could he have doubted
her, for even one short moment.
"To be coquette," she says in lit
tie dgnified tone, requires, l believe,
practice. There is nobody down here
except the rector and Sir John Frere."
"Sir John Frere? apprehensively.
eyes. He is toothless and seventy
five. The rector is hairless and sixty
Onew
With this she very properly turns her
back upon him
THANK goodness says Mr.. Nor
wood devoutly.
He feels afectionate toward both
these old men-in spite of their abbre-
viations, and in spite of the fact that he
has never seen either Of them.
81 beg your pardon very humbly,"
he says, after pause full Of eloquence.
No reply.
"Monica-speak to me-"
II will mott" says Monica, giving her.
self the lie direct.
Oh!but you are speaking" declares
he. "'m awfully sorry said that, be-
cause it. was as absurd as it was unpar.
donable."
"As you acknowledge it to be I'M
pardonable, you can't well look for my
forgiveness"
Nevertheless l do" exclaims he,
boldly.
"Well, then, say at once 1 am not
coquette.
Certainly you are not. You are an
ang- You are all you ought to be.
You are"
"That will do,n says Miss Monica
with mischievous glance; 'you will
overdo it if you go on any further. And
now don't let us quarrel any more. Tell
me what you were doing all the morn
ing"
"Lounging after Julia"
Happy man! / do so love that old
Court, and / suppose she took you
through the gardens. If only my
grandfather had behaved properly, aud
left it to papa! Instead of which here
We are, playing second where we should
be first"
"Well, it's nearly as bad for me,n
says the young man moodily. II was
brought up in the belief that, as your
father was not in it, was to be the
hoir Aud CON nou- No hara onp