The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1884-03-15
VOL. XIx.-NO. 18.

1 could not tell if it was defiance of me
or curious sort of resignation to the will
of woman whom he wOrshipped with all
his soul
eyes," he said, languidly, "send for Per
cival, if it will relieve Your mind"
The next day Mark Percival came, and
for long while he and Gerald were closet
ed together, while Ste and my sister and
myself were told not to go near the room,
but when Mark Percival came out into the
hall Ste spied him from the lawn, and in a
moment she was by his side, speaking in
tently-so intently that she never saw my
eyes watching from a bow-window in the
morning room that jutted out, giving a
view of the rest of the building.
By and by they went down the steps,
side by side, into the garden, and l heard
him say, in rather low voice:
ale must stop work and rest little,
Mrs. Fame. He complains of pricking
sensation in his right side and shoulder. l
do not like that. 1t is rather unfayorable.
Still, with our united care, and with rest,
[ think we shall bring him around"
And Ste answered him with smile. l
could not see that, and believed that she was
young and sanguine, and that she never
realized her husbands danger How could
| give her credit for this when | suspected
suspected as foully as | could-that
it was not Gerald whom she loved, but
Mark Percival.
Gerald was resolved to work on in spite
of everything. We were not rich, he said,
and work was necessary then for several
weeks. Ste, instead of passing the hours
in his studio, as she used to do, would re-
main in her own room with her door locked
-sulking, l told our sister.
At last one day blow fell on us ala
dreadful blow and harder to me since l
believed 1 had helped TO bring it-that
perhaps l was really the instrument that
had dealt it. Had l not made my brother
unhappy? Perhaps he would not have
worked so necessarily in the vain hope of
banishing thought.
Ste found him one bright summers day
apparently lifeless beside his easel, and for
weeks he fingered, lowering, as it were, be-
tween us and eternity.
And his wife, remorseful of her treach-
cry and want of faith, seemed to have no
thought but him. She never left him for
a moment, and if she slept it was by snatch
es only, with her head against his pillow,
when his slightest movement would awaken
her.
After what seemed an age of anxiety to
us the doctor said he would live, but never
more to work, for Gerald's right arm was
paralyzed. had been growing less bitter
in my feelings towards Ste during my
brothers illness-she seemed to be really
so devoted to him. But when they said he
was not to work any more with his brush
a look of triumph came into her eyes which
puzzled me, and again began to doubt her,
and the doubt grew stronger when L saw
her meet Mark Percival in the porch, and
stand for many a minute in earnest whisp-
cred conversation. Once-from behind a
Laurentinus bush-I saw her place her
hand on his arm, and look up into his face,
her great, wild, dark eyes full of glittering
tears, while she said, with quivering lips:
"How much longer? Oh, these last
weeks have been centuries to me. And if
oh, if you have not been deceiving me
| may hope-
'Everythingv he answered, interrupt
ing her, and taking the mite of a hand il
his II tell you that you have not many
days to wait, and then We shall both be
very happy"
Upon this Ste smiled up into his hand
some eyes with strange, wistful yearnins
look that drove me almost wild with the
bitterest anger and suspicion. Now l dare
not even look back to the horrible feeling
that filled my heart with regard to the
woman whom my brother had made his
wife, and in whom he had placed his happi
ness, his infinite faith, and, more than all
his honor.
But Gerald was in weak and critical
state, and 1 did not dare to warn him o.
what feared. He was very loving and
tender to her, and could see his eyes fol
low her slight figure wherever she moved
with an expression of mingled affection ant
doubt that was sad to look upon.
When one day she heard Mark Perciv
ais voice at the door, she darted out of th'
room to meet him, forgetful of mass Of
roses on her lap with which she was max
ing bouquet, and needless of the lovely
fragile flowers in her haste and evident
agitation, she trod out their beauty with
her feet.
Then l heard Gerald murmur to him
self, "Poor little one She is so young
1 hoped to make her happy, but | am Sc
grave and quiet that she cannot love me
God give me strength to bear it !"
l told my sister of this, but she woulC
hardly listen. She had bewitched her anC
she declared that my brothers wife was {
thoughtlesS child, but nothing worse.
The death of the summer had come anC
autumn brought its wailing wind, and tn,
leaves died in company with the long brigh
days, wrapped in splendid cerements o
rainbow hues. And Gerald grew no bet
ter.
The truth was, that he did not care t.
live.
She was IN state OF teyerlsh excite
ment, which seemed to grow worse eacl
hour. One day | felt the crisis was near
Her cheeks burnt with two red spots; he
eyes had wilder look, and I knew tina
her ear was strained to catch every sounc
of coming footsteps.
At last she heard the welcome sound o
Mark Percivals laugh. He had not beel
near us for whole week, and regardless
of us, she few down the stairs to him.
l heard him exclaim:
"Hurrah it's all right"
And her answer was:
"God bless you! how good you are.
In another moment or two she ran up
stairs again and l followed her, but if sh
was aware of my supervision, she did no
care
Gerald was reclining in an easy chair
his face was ashy pale and he looked
shadow of his old self; but still his face wa