The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1883-08-11

ahOlucl pdSocnScI uuu dllSuttu iIOlh
the afternoon train, unobserved by
either Launt or herself, and Mr.. Quest
was back, hidden sneer curling his
lips as his eyes rested for moment
upon her face. He made shrewed
guess at what had taken place.
The jig's up with young Harrington.
1t tcaS him after Mrs. Hickett, Just as |
thought. Rather hard on the governor,
after coming down on the nail rs free as
he did, but Wen call that an Install
ment on another account"
He had a report to make TO Mr.. Oil
plant, and the two were closeted in the
library after dinner was oven Mrs.
Oliphant found it impossible to sis down
and talk commonplaces to Madame
harrington and Miss Power. Dana was
dropping disappointed face over a
book of engravings-thel last train was
in and Launt had not come Signing to
Alexia to cover her absence, Mrs. Oil
plant passed out upon the verandah.
She descended the steps and crossed the
strip of lawn. passing where fountain
sent up its silvery spray against back
ground of Gamma and other tall, tropi-
cal-looking plants. She could see tho
library window from this spot. 1t was
wide open, and while she watched, her
husband appeared at it. Even at that
distance she could see that he looked
pale and disturbed. A great pain
caught at and held her heart. At last,
at last, she felt her hour had comet
Standing by the open window, Mr..
Oliphant caught sight of that lingering
figure, and spoke over his shoulder to
his companion.
"Wait moment, Quest. / don't
feel able to talk to you just now >, see
my wife out there, and | will ask her
what it means. Remain, if you please,
until return"
Mr.. Quest sent a doubtful look after
him.
IF you are given to having that sort
of turns, Mr.. Olphant, I've not set the
time of telling my secret any too soon,"
he said to himself.
Mrs. Oliphant shrank at her husbands
approach.
'Shivering, Rose? 1t is too damp
out here with nothing around YOU
The painful grip upon her heart re-
Taxed. Not yet, oh, thank Heaven!
was the hour of her doom.
"Powerr' she cried out next instant.
"Oh, my husband, what is it?'
He wavered little in his walk, and
mortal pallor had overspread his face.
"I-Quest has been telling me some
thing strange. He thinks harrington
saw the-the nurse. He came down on
the train-Launt, did-and met u lady
at the station. Harmon thought it was
you, and l came to ask, but of course
he was mistaken"
He spoke in an uncertain, dazed way,
which alarmed her more than his looks.
Power ~ she cried out again.
What is the matter with you Is it
what he has been telling you that has
made you ill?'
"I-I suppose No; don't know
do feel little queer, but my head has
| been in whirl off and on all day. It's
touch of my old vertigo, but Tn get
ting better of it out here in the air
Rose, do you know, l really hope Far
rington has got hold of the truth? It's
only question of time, in my opinion,
till one or the other of those two gives
us away. l can't understand, though,
why he shouldn't have come here at
once"
He was turning away.
Don't go back, Power. Stay here
with me. :"
II promised Quest. He had some-
thing more to say"
at is sure to be something unpleas-
ant. Let it wait until morning. Stay,
Power, please!''
He looked down upon her smilingly.
The healthful color was coming back
into his face; the undecided manner, SO
strange to him, had gone.
almost thou persuadest me, tempt
ress. Altogether, then. am not in
the mood for anything more unpleasant
tonight. Rose" his voice changed,
something as we stand here brings
back that morning seventeen years ago
when rode away and left her with so
little thought that / was never to see
her again. Poor little Rose!"
The sigh was for that lonely grave
in that far-away land. She had slipped
her hand into his arm; she pressed it
close now. There had never been any
jealousy of that first wife in her heart.
He went on after little pause
II wonder, sometimes, how it would
have been had she lived. / can not
imagine her-pure, tender child that
she was!-ever growing dear to me as
you have been. 1t is well that the
power of directing our own lives is not
given into our own hands. How little
we know that from our greatest sorrows
may spring our greatest joys. am not
given to fancies, usually, but am in
clined to be fanciful tonight, 1t seems
in some manner different from what has
gone before, and from what is to come
after in our lives"