Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1884-09-12

lage, and beyond the Deautliul
blue sea and the white cliffs OF
BallycOyle.
For seventeen years he had as
sociated Kitsie with the sea, the
cliffs, the lawn, the pretty cottage.
How would it all look when shel
was gone? What change would
take place in their happy home.
How would Dora get on without
her loving, constant companion
How would he, Jack Grealy, bear
the loss 1t was so sudden and un-
expected that he had scarcely time
to realize what losing Kitsie meant
to himself.
He would not think of it. If this
grave, handso me, wealthy suitor
could win her, let him; he would
not stand in her light. He had
been everything to Kitsie for sew
enteen years-since he rescued her,
a tiny baby, from the sea at the
risk of his own life, and placed her
in his sisters arms.
There had been a wreck off 'Old
Mans Nose and the only two per-
sons saved were tiny, golden
haired baby a HindOo woman
evidently her nurse who died a
day or two after.
For seventeen years the child
hal made the sunshine of the doc
tors home, the music Of his life.
She knew no other friends, was
not aware that she was their niece
in love only, and had no claim on
either Uncle Jack or Aunt Dora /;
and now the first stranger that
came by would take her away. He
or some other, it was all the same,
Jack muttered. lie would have to
lose her, and he might as we'll make
the best of it.
Il suppose you're right, Dolly
he said, at length, turning to his
sister; 'Challoner would be an eX-
cellent match for Kitsie. But |
never even thought Of such thing,
and for the moment | was surpris-
ed. OF course, | must tell him her
history, the little there is of it.
And then he left the room with
the slow, unsteady step of a man
but half awake.
Miss Dora looked after him for
a moment in panied surprise. 1t
slowly dawned upon her that there
was something wrong with Jack,
something strange in his face and
voice and manner, and that some
how Kitsie was the cause of it. But
she was a wise woman and knew
when to be silent as we'll as when
to speak, only she thought deeply
and sadly of the trouble in Jacks
honest gray eyes. After tea, Kit
sic sat down to the piano, and
played over her uncle's favorite
airs, 'The Meeting of the Waters,
The Young Hay Moon, The Coulin,'
and other plaintive, old Irish melo-
dies.
'Play something else, Kitsie,' the
docter cried at last, something new,
something English. I'm tired of
the old Irish airs, they're so melan-
choly.'
Then I'll play you something
from Pinafore. | know you like
that Kitsie cried, merrily, and
the doctor smothered an eXclama-
ton. He hated Pinafore, hated it
doubly at that moment for he re-
membered that Captain Challoner
had given her the music.
At that moment the captain him
self was announced, and after a
pleasant evening he rose to 90 at
10 o'clock, his usual time for say
ing good d-night. But when the doc
tor accompanied him to the door
he fingered for a moment, and then
said he should like to have half an
hours conversation. The fact is,
doctor, | have something serious
to say to you, and as ] am sum-
moned to England on urgent busi-
ness, | should say it before |
co.
Come into the den,' the doctor
said, leading the way. lie knew
quite well what the captain was
going to say and nerved himself to
bear it.
you must have seen DOCTOR, he
began, that l admire your niece,
Miss Kitsie, very much. She is
very beautiful, artless and unaf-
fected, and if 1 can succeed in win
ming your consent and hers, Ishould
like to make her my wife. l am a
rich man, and l do not think you
will have any reason to fear for her
future if you intrust her to me-
Il believe that, captain, but
can't answer for Kitsie,' the doctor
said a little huskily; Sin fact, have
no legal right either to give or
Withhold my consent, as the child is
no relative either by blood or mar