The Portland daily press., 1883-01-27

81 am tired" SAYS the girl YEARLY. 81
will go home-yes, you may come with me;
but for the future''-she pauses and fesc-
lutely, but with evident difficulty, forces her
self to look at him-"for the future you
must promise me never again to forget"
81 promise you faithfully" interrupts he
quickly, 81 shall never forget"
She signs.
Presently, turning to her almost as they
reach the cottage, he says, care you going
to the ball at the Grange tomorrow even
"No",
"But you told me you were asked"
$50 I was. am net going, nevertheless"
"Why?" There is terrible disappointment
in his tone.
IF you must know" she says gently, sit
is because l have not got a gown good
enough"
''That dress you wore at the Court last
evening"
SIS fossil-amost an heirloom. The
whole county knows it by heart by this
time. No! pride forbids my exhibiting my
self in it again"
''If you asked your father"
| 81 should have one at once-at the ex-
| pense of his being even duller than usual
for month afterward. He would give me
every penny he possesses, would probably
sell some his dearest possessions books
to get me few yards of muslin. in which to
enjoy myself for an hour or two. Do you
think should enjoy those two hours, know
ing that? What purgatory they would
| mean.'
''They would, indeedp' he says reverent-
ly, gazing at her fair, loving face with unaf
| fected admiration. He does her full justice,
and understands perfectly the loyal affec-
ton that could find no happiness in pleas
ure secured at the expense of beloved OBJ
| ject. Then he wonders why Julia, who has
more money at her command than she quite
! knows what to do with, has had no thought
| for the poor little cousin in the cottage, and
| then / am afraid he thinks bitter thoughts of
| the woman be ought to marry.
you must come to see me the day after
the ball, and tell me all about it," she says
lightly. Secondhand to hear of it will be
better than nothing
eyes, will Gomez he says absently-but
it is plain his thoughts are roaming, and
that he is thinking of something far re-
moved from the soft evening scene that sur
| rounds him.
The morrow passes; the day dies Night
comes on apace and covers everything. At
the Grange the fddles are sou, ding, bright
forms are movi e to and fro; the air is
heavy with the breath of dying flowers 1t is
| IL o'clock, and the ball is we'll begun; the
| music grows sweeter, fainter; fans are wav-
ing gently.
Down in the cottage girl is standing in a
white gown at one of the open windows, and
is gazing eagerly and with sad, straining eyes
at certain lights that two miles away can be
seen distinctly Thu ough the still haze of the
summer night.
Eyes, he is there, of course; and happy
and regardless of everything but the mo-
ment. 1t is most natural. is it not? What
is there else for him to think of? She her.
self, how dearly she would like TO be there
tool She glances at her gown and tells her
self that almost she might have gone-and
then she shrinks within herself, and refuses
to confess even to her own heart that it
wouldshave been agony to her to have APP
peared badly dressed before-before-o !
many people!
She signs impatently, and the tears gath
er in her eyes, and blot out the lights shin
ing galy so far away; they blot out, too, a
dark figure, that, advancing rapidly through
the few shrubs, enters the second open win
dow, and, crossing the room, is at her side
before she has time to recognize him.
1t is George Norwood, of course-a little
flushed from his run, and with bis hair
slightly ruffied, and with the gladdest light
possible in his handsome eyes.
Monica, moving backward, involuntarily
seizes the curtain with one hand and stares
at him almost affrightedly. Her attitudere-
minds him of that happy moment when first
he saw her. Before he has time to speak she
RECEIVERS herself and says, with poor at
tempt at GOODNESS:
what has brought You here~
"You know" replies he calmly; San over
powerine desire TO see you-to hear your
voice again. Your face was in every corner,
smiling at me-your voice was clearer than
the band, and called me necessarily I have
! GOMEZ
He sinks into a chair with all the air of a
| man who intends to make it his resting
| place for the remainder of the evening"
''Where is Julia?' asks she, reproof in
her voice, unmista kable gladness in her
| great cleaning eyes. She has got heavy
spray of scarlet geranium in the bosom of
her white gown. 1t rises and falls nervous
ly, as she stands before him, trying yainly
| to be stern and angry
II don't know-I don't care. Dancing, l
suppose"
''Go back to her, won't have you here.
Go back to her at once!'
Il WON'T says Mr.. Norwood.
''But desire you,' exclaims she with a
little stamp of her foot.
"Of course, if you turn me out, I shall
| have 10 CO." says George Norwood, without
showing the faintest symptom of an inten-
| ton to depart; "but certainly sha'n,t go to
| Julia-Ive had enough of julia
| Monica'S breath comes little quickly;
she lifts her hand to her soft rounded
throat.
You ought to be with the woman you
mean to marry she says slowly.
81 entirely agree with you" says Norwood
with the utmost vivacity. ''But that wouldn't
drive me back to the Grange. / shall never
marry Julia"
s.You don't know what you are saying,'
says Monica, shrinking still farther from
him.
81 do. Quite well. / ought to have said
it before, bnt tonight have made up my
mind If you refuse me, shall never mar
ry any woman-never! my darling, don't
shrink from me; say you love me, say it
Monica, say it,"
"No-no. You must be mad,' says the
| girl, as. white as death, with both hands she
keeps him away from her. SIT is 100000 a
| year. You shall not do this thing. In the
| morning you will think"
"As l do now," interrupts he. "And as /
thought yesterday morning, and every
morning during the past week-that / love
| you better than my very life-to say nothing
| of filthy lucre."
| The pressure of the hands that repulse
him is not so strong now. Emboldened by
this sign of coming weakness, he goes on
| with renewed spirit:
"We shall be poor, you know; but you
said once you thought e700 year quite e.
nough to live on. You can't go back of that
now. You said also that it would be a dis
| graceful and contemplate act on the part of
any man to'marry one woman when he loved
| another. You can't get out of that either,
and am not going to look either dsgraceful
or contemplate in the only eyes l worship"
The hands have grown quite reasonable
| now, and indeed have slipped from his chest
| to his shoulders.
''Monica am yours, whether you like it
or not. You must try and make the best of
me-" he says very humbly. my beloved,
can only promise to be good husband to
| you till death us do partp'
''Do not talk of DEATH" she whispers
| TREMENDOUSLY.
mo? Shall we not pray that we may die
the same day, and be buried in the same
grave? But, living or dying, my own darling,
every thought of my heart will be yours
The hands have slipped little higher up,
and now with faint but heavy sigh that
is almost sob, she twines them round his
neck and lays her soft cheek against his
You must imagine good many asterisks
here, and then we go on.
"How was Julia lookng?" asks she pres
emily. They are now sitting close together
very close indeed-upon the patriarchal
c;.Dt,