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

\ would be as much mine as his. Now"
she SAYS with little irrepressible sigh,
abe hasn't even enough money to buy
come of the books In which his soul de.
| lights
hWhat are they'll mean. their
pames?" asks he eagerly, too eagerly
She raises her soft eyes to his; there is
gratitude In them, but stern resolve,
too.
mo, no." she says, remember what
| YOU said moment since-yOur income
il not sufficient for yourself. You shall
! not waste il upon u.s."
al don't think it Is quite civil thing
TO remember every word fellow says"
| returns George reproschfully. =.
| "Well, we won't 60 into that" re-
| plies she quickly. Then as though some
hidden force compels her to return to
the subject, she says: "Tell me how
| YOU got on with Julia%
VERY WE'LL" inpatiently. "She
will look all that is satisfactory at the
head of ones table. There is consola.
| ton, no doubt, in that thought, as"
bitterly, ~ suppose must marry her."
"Oh, why say must?" gently, and
with a glance at him from under her
long lashes. at is not hardship,
surely"
"Perhaps shouldn't have thought 1t
so month ago."
"She is young, handsome; that is all
one requires, is it not?'
mot quite! There is something else,
| / think-many other things; but above
and beyond all, the essential grace that
makes life-that is, married life-sweet;
/ mean sympathy"
"She hardly knows you yet" says
Monica, deep but suppressed pity in her
eyes. "By and by it may be different"
| knowledge of Julia makes her confess
to her secret soul that small hope for
| him lies in q nearer acquaintance with
| the cousin he needs must marry.
| ain six months more it must all be
settled,n says the young man restlessly.
"Julia up to that time has everything.
| It will then depend upon me whether
she will still have everything or only
| half"
| "You are sure she will accept you?"
~ am afraid mean," coloring hot
| " at his mistake, ~ think she will do
me the honor to be my WIFE"
"You think rightly. She will not re-
sign the property. Only yesterday she
| told me she could not live without it.
| In six months, then, she will still have
everything, and-you into the bar
gain"
| repents them, and growing pale to her
| very lips, turns her bead aside and be-
| comes painfully anxious about an in
| significant tear that struggling brier
| has created in her gown.
| al am not so sure of that" says Nor
wood unsteadily. "Monica, look at
me. Nay, you must" trying to com.
pei her to return his gaze, which has
grown imprisoned.
He has taken one of her hands in his,
and is trying to draw her nearer to him.
| "Release my hand" she says in
low tone, yet with so much authority
| that he at once obeys her. There Is
] strange flash in her beautiful eyes that
| warns him to dare nothing further, and
vet makes his pulses throb madly.
| What strange, proud glance it is, and
yet what grief, what anguish it con-
tains.
~ am tired" says the girl YEARLY.
~ will go home-yes, you may come
with me; but for the future'-she pauses
and resolutely, but with evident diff
Guilty, forces herself to look at him
"for the future you must promise Inc
| never again to forget"
~ promise you faithfully" inter-
rupts he quickly, "Ishall never forget"
She signs.
Presently, turning to her almost as
they reach the cottage, he says: "Are
you going to the ball at the Grange, to-
morrow EVENING""
mo-"
"But you told me you We're asked"
$50 was. am not going, never
theless."
"Whym
There is terrible disappointment in
| his tone.
"If you must know" she says gently,
1T is because have not got gown
| good enough"
THAT dress you wore at the Court
last evening"
as fossil-almost an heirloom. The
whole county knows it by heart by
| this time. No!pride forbids my eXhib-
ting myself in it again."
az you asked your father.
81 should have one al once-at the
expense of his being even duller than
usual for q month afterwards. He
would give me every penny he possesses,
would probably sell some of his dearest
possessions-books-to get me few
| yards of muslin, in which to enjoy my
| self for an hour or two. Do you think
/ should enjoy those two hours, know
ing that? What purgatory that would
mean"
"They would, indeed" he says rever.
emily, gazing at her fair, loving face
with unaffected admiration. He does
| her full justice, and understands per-
| fectly the loyal affection that could find
no happiness in pleasure secured at
! the expense of beloved object. 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 he ought
| to marry.
"You must come to see me the day
| after the ball, and tell me all about it,"
she say lightly. "Second hand to hear
| of it will be better than nothing"
"Yes, / will come" he says absently
but it is plain his thoughts are roam.
| ing, and that he is thinking Of some.
thing far removed from the soft evening
scene that surrounds him.
The morrow passes; the day dies.
Night comes on apace and covers every
thing. At the Grange the fiddles are
sOdnding, bright forms are moving to
and fro; the air is heavy with the breath
| of dying flowers. 1t is ii o'clock, aud
the ball is well begun; the music grows
sweeter, fainter; fans are waving
| gently.
Down in the cottage girl is standing
in white gown at one of the open win
dows, and is gazing eagerly and with
sad straining eyes at certain lights that
two miles away can be seen distinctly
through the still haze OF the summer
night.
Yes, he is there, of course; and happy
and regardless OF everything but the
moment. 1t is most natural is it not?
What is there else for him to think Of?
She herself, how dearly she would like
to be there too! She glances at her
gown and tells herself that almost she
might have gone-and then she shrinks