The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1883-06-02

jean" | said at last, "surely there is no
cause for all these tears. 1t is quite SIM
pie what Denis says is more or less true;
the Baron will never hold you unwilhngly
to your word. Be frank with him, my
dear; it is always the best way to be honest.
"You do not know" she answered, lift
ing her tear-drenched face into the moon
light that now streamed in soft effulgence
through the open window, "what it means
to us to have plighted our troth 1t is only
a very little less binding than marriage
vow and |, above all others, must not break
mine; for, do you not know my dying faith
er promised for me, and may not soil his
his honor, though [ might my own?"
And from this we could not move her.
Denis was in despair, and not less moved,
for loved these two children dearly, and
in my secret heart had cherished the hope
that they might one day become something
nearer and dearer than friends.
Jean sobbed on a little longer, while
Denis held one unresisting hand, and the
kindly shadows of the calm May night
wrapped us all in soft obscurity. Present
ly there came the sound of wheels and the
tramping of horses in the quiet street be-
low, and then my little maid appeared with
her lisping message:
Baron Won Stock, was waiting for Miss
DOrsay.''
SO Jean dried her tears, put her hat over
her dark, ruffled hair, gave her hand calm
ly to Denis, kissed me hastily, and then we
were left alone The horses pranced below,
and through the evening air came Jean S
plaintive voice. Then the rolling wheels
growing fainter in the distance, and then
silence
Denis" | said at length, "don't give
her up
Don't give her up, Madam Octavia' =
/ he replied; ''but what can do? 1t is she
that gives me up. What can do?'
/ ''Go to her guardian, Mr.. Haviland, and
tell him. If he has any remnant of youth
left in his heart, he will try and help you. +"
/ This [ said not unmindful of Denis's
good family, good looks, and his great
wealth. He frightened somewhat at this
suggestion, and left ME, later on, more
willing to see some hope for the future.
| did not see either of my children for
some days after that evening; indeed, [
think two weeks had gone by; but each day
saw me so busily employed with my pupils
and an amount Of extra work, that scarce
ly realized the flight of time.
One afternoon, quite late, as | sat cor
recting very much t-of-drawing study,
Jean came in. I did not look up, but well
coined her from my easel; she came across
the room silently, and stood before me
without speaking.
HWell, my dear | said, rubbing out a
forearm with bit of bread, Kit is a long
time since you gladdened my eyes with a
sight of your WinsOme face"
Then, as she did not answer, [ looked
up. She was standing directly in front of
me, with the light from the north window
full upon her Her dress was long, soft,
white null, with a breast-knot of dark Rus
sian violets; she held her hat in her hand,
and her soft, dark hair lay slightly moist
upon her forehead. But it was none of
these accessories that drew from me the
startled exclamation:
"Jean, what have you been doing to
yourself?" For she was perfectly colorless
with a pallor that betokened sleepless nights
and restless days, while all the tiny blue
veins about her temples were plainly visi
BILE, and beneath her sweet eyes were dark
purple shadows, She gave little laugh.
'.Oh, nothing, Octavia, unless breaking
ones heart can be called an occupation. |
have been doing that"
''Then you are very foolish, L said.
'Why should you break your heart and
some ones else as well, when the remedy
lies in your own hands? ?
She made no answer at first, trifing in
nervous way with the feathers on her hat.
Then in troubled voice: us it Denis,
you mean, Octavia? :?
"Who else should it be?' [ answered.
Break your own heart if you will, child,
but you might have spared my boys
! | spoke quickly and in temper, but [
grieved when had said it. The girl start
ed as if wounded, and gave a long, deep
sigh, though she answered me quietly
enough.
"Dear Madam Octayia, in deciding as |
have, believe me, [ have not spared my
self; but | did not come to you to say SO.
| came because l am very miserable, and
all alone, and because I am motherless; and
to ask you to give him-Denis- lay
inc little note on the ledge of my easel.
"And now [ will say goodbye, Octavia."
She left me before | could speak, with the
same hurt look on her face, and all that
remained was the white note for Denis, and
one or two violets that had fallen from her
dress as she moved away.
A few more days passed by, and Sunday
morning, as I sat over my late tea and toast,
the door opened, and Jean came in.
"Have you forgiven me, my dear? L
asked. as [ kissed her sweet mouth, remem-
bering my hard words few evenings ago.
"Oh, indeed, Octavia, I had nothing to
forgive. Surely, if you may not speak
your mind to me, who can? See, [ have
brought you these white lilacs, Octavia.
Baron Won Stock gave me such a large
bunch of them yesterday, and at once [
thought of you and the dear, dusty studio.
You know [ always used to keep the old
place frightened up.
Then, as she separated the fragrant white
flowers and arranged them in my two ma
iolica vases, she asked in shy voice:
.:Have YOU seen Denis, Octavia? p
"No, my little Jean; but l sent him your
note"
"Did you read it, OctaviaY p
"My dear, no. | noticed it was unseal-
ed, but fancied that an oversight, so / fast
ened it up tight and sent it on its way.
You did not tell me to read it, Jean.
! at does not matter" she answered
Then after little pause: at was only to
tell him, Octavia, that Baron Won Stock
and Mr. Haviland have decided 1t shall be
ON the 18th day of June made no re-
ply. though l knew it was her wedding day
she strove to speak of SO calmly.
She came and rested her hands upon my
shoulders.