The Portland daily press., 1883-01-27


ury and beauty of the old Court above, nat
urally this little cottage room looks small
and poverty-stricken, yet there is pathetic
tenderness about it, too, born of a woman's
hand-l touch of gentle refinement that
shows itself in the masses of Old World
flowers, carelessly and artistically put te-
gether, that adorn the one table and the two
brackets, filling all the tiny apartment with
their subtle perfume.
The windows, opening to the ground, are
thrown wide open. Outside, the garden lies
painting in the sunshine. There is the sad
lowing as of many cows in the far distance.
All the land lies quivering in its heat. A
faint, useless little breeze comes lazily into
the room, rufling the ancient curtains, that
are drawn closely together in vain effort to
exclude the sun.
Poor Mr.. Norwood, with praiseworthy
determination to seem quite the contrary,
is looking the very picture of misery. He
has been dragged from his sanctum and his
beloved s.Aldines, Bodonis Elzeyirs," to in
terview, or rather be Interviewed by, fash
innable young man fresh from town, who,
though his nephew, is to him an utter
stranger.
Conversation for the last Eve minutes has
been growing more and more languid. Now
il threatens to cease altogether. Tie host
is at his wits end, the fashionable young
u1du 10 lOUNltl3 NlotibCbik bOiCh. Ii 10 liOiCr
fore with glance full OF rapture, and a no
bly, suppressed sigh of extreme relief, that
Mr. Norwood hears step upon the gravel
outside, that COMES quickly Learer.
II is-it must be-Monica to the rescued
Now one of the windows is darkened: u
figure stepping airily from the bright sun
shine beyond to the room within, parts the
curtains with both hands, and gazes in
quiringy around.
IL. H., IL,
man, IL alters from expectation to extreme
surprise-not confusion, or embarrassment
of any kind, but simple, honest surprise,
visitors at the cottage being few and far be-
tween, and as a rule exceedingly ill to look
at.
The strange young man returns her gaze
with generous interest, and surprise that
outdoes her own. For full half minute
she so stands with the curtain held back in
either hand, and then she advances slowly.
She is dressed in q gown of Oxford shirt-
ing-very plain, very inexpensive 1t has a
little full baby body that somehow suits
wonderfully the grave childish face above it
with it's frame of of light brown hair so like
the color of an unripe chestnut. Her eyes
are blue as the heavens above her; her
mouth, a trifle large perhaps, but very seri-
GUS and very sweet. One cannot but be
liev9 laughter possible 10 her, one canno.
ais but believe she has found self-commun-
ion on many occasions a solace and asolemn
joy.
''Come here, Monica, and lel me make you
known to your cousin, George Norwood"
says her father very proudly. The pride is
all concentrated in his daughter. In his soul
he deems king would be honored by such
an Introduction.
At this she comes closer and places
small slim hand in her Cousins.
Il should have known, of course" she
says, as though following out certain train
of thought. Il heard you had come to the
Court
"you must be good friends with him, Mon
ica," says Mr.. Norwood nervously. 'sHe is
your only cousin, you know-except Julia"
Yes, she is smiling now-''we shall be
friends, of coursep' Then more directly to
the man who is still holding her hand, as
though he has actually forgotten it is in his
possession, "as my father likes you, it fol-
lows that shall like you too"
"AhF' says George Norwood, with an
answering smile that renders his face quite
beautiful "thon owe your father debt of
gratitude shall not easily repay"
Mr.. Norwood has been getting nearer and
nearer to the door by fine degrees. Monica,
without seeming TO notice this, says gently I:
Go back TO your books. papa. will
take care of-of-my COUSIN"
AT this Mr.. Norwood beats thankful re-
retreat, leaving the two young people alone.
why did you hesitate just now?" asks
George suddenly. She has seated herself
on very ancient sofa, and is regarding him
thoughtfully."
"When?'
s'Over my name."
Because didn't quite know what to call
you. Your being my cousin does not pre-
vent your being a perfect stranger, and
stranger, suppose, ought 10 be called Mr..
Norwood
IF you call me that shall be unhappy
fnrever," says George Norwood. Besides,
you CAM, -you know, because | shall GER
tainly never call you anything but Monica"
"Oh, at that rate!' says She, smiling
again.
Presently, as he stands upon the hearth
rug, he lifts his eyes and fastens them upon
portrait that hangs above the chimney
piece.
''What charming facer' he says. "What
complexion-and eyes'
Yes, it is loVely! 1t is my grandmother.
Don't you think the mouth and nose like
papas9"
'"rhe very image" says George Norwood.
He does not think it bit, but seeing she
plainly expects him to say it, he does his
duty like man. 1T is a perfect facet But
the eyes they are your own, SURELY
Are they? Do you know never look at
that picture without feeling bitterr' She
laughs as she says this in way that preeu-
ludes the idea that acrimony of any sort
could belong to her. 1T was the only thing
my grandfather left papa. He made par
ticular point Of it in his will, that it should
be given to him. When be had carefully
cut him off to a shilling, he bestowed upon
him an oil painting; wasn't it munifcent?
The eldest sons nnpfiOu RI ha
raft! while the second and third sons chill
dren should inherit allr' Then, as rem
embrance comes to her, she reddens and
grows for the first time confused. II beg
your pardon" she says softly; 81 had for
gotten you were the child of the second
son."
"Dont mind about that" says Norwood.
"ln my eyes 100 it was most Ubiquitous
will.''
"Papa was very glad to get this portrait
of his MOTHER" says Monica hastily. ''He
adored her. She did all she knew to make
grandfather destroy his first will, and leave
everything, as was only right, to my
father. She gained her point, too, but
when she died, he forget his promise and
everything, and betrayed the dead, as you
can see." She makes a mournful gesture
toward the room that so painfully betrays
their poverty.
My father as the second son was badly
treated too" says Norwood, anxious, he
hardly knew why, to create feeling of
sympathy between them.
''Not so badly. By leaving the property
to you and Julia, the daughter of the third
SOD, on condition you marry each other, he
provided for both the children Of the young
er sons. For me he did nothing. He never
forgave papa's marriage. You will marry
Julia, of course?
She regarded him seriously, and he laughs
little and colors beneath her gaze.
81 dare say" he says lightly. 1T would
seem pity to throw away ten thousand a
year; and If | refuse, she gets all, and l am
in the cold. AS am heart-whOle, l may as
well think about it; that is, if she will have
the goodness to accept me;''
She will says Monica, with a certain
meaning in her tone. 'If she refuses she
Will be left penniless too, it would all go to
you, and she is fond Of" she paused 81
dare say you will gel on very well together"
she continues hastily. And as Won are
heart-whole, as you say, it really cannot
much matter"
What can't matter?''
Your marrying for money!"
"And If was not quite free-if nv heart
owned another tie-how then?' asks he.
with an anxiety to know her opinion that
astonishes even himself.