The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-06-28


me that he had no hope Of seeing me again.
''You did not 90 to see him. hope" said the
Colonel anxiously, not knowing to what coDpro-
missing step the girl might have been tempted, in
her inexperience Of life.
That would have been impossible. think
might have persuaded that good old Bouge to ask
for an evening out, and to 60 and see him for
me. But there was no address to his letter
There never had been any address to his letters"
IA curious gentleman, to be ashamed to own
where he lived, said the Colonel.
TT was only pardonable pride, poor fellow.
He knew that my people were rich. and he was
ashamed to let me know how shabby street he
lived in. AS if that would make any difference
to me-"
You answered the death-bed letter.
Eyes, godfather" Grace answered softly,
hanging her pretty head and contributing few
more tears to tine watery meadow.
"And what kind of letter did you write, my
dearP asked the Colonel gently.
II am afraid it was a very foolish one. was
SO sorry for him, poor fellow-so sorry to think
of his being alone. dying, in a wretched lodging
and begged him to get we'll for my sake, and
told him that would be true to him in his
poverty, and that if he would be content to wait
for me till | could win my fathers consent to
our marriage and be constant to me-, as would
be to him, perhaps for years, would give him
the promise that he had so often pleaded for in
those beautiful letters"
II am very glad you made the matter con-
tingent on your fathers consent, my love-" said
the Colonel cheerily. "The business is not half
SO bad as thought Was there anything more
in your letter.
"Only that if my father should refuse his con-
sent to our engagement I would never marry
anyone else. So far, at least. was my own
mistress. might not be allowed to marry him.
loved my father too we'll to be disobedient or
rebellious. But pledged myself to be true to
Victor even in life long severance"
"Whew," exclaimed the Colonel. "A pretty
kettle of fish! And is that why you so unmercl.
f,,11x NH Cd {ha rof
the hounds, when we were out cub -huntng the
other morning2"
II am not aware that 1 snubbed Mr.. Col
chester" said Grace, blushing furiously
"Oh, but he aware of it. You treated
him shamefully! Such nice young fellow, too
and so particularly attentive to you-opening
gates and making way for You at fences, and
lingering by your side to talk when he ought to
have had no eyes except for those young hounds
of his, till at last you drove him away by sheer
incivility. When man is lord of the manor
and master of the hounds he hardly expects to
be treated like that"
II have nothing to do with Mr. Colchester's ex-
pectations," answered Grace tossing up her head,
but with tears still in the sweet hazel eyes. 1T
is cruel of you to talk like that, godfather, when
have told you that am bound to poor Victor
by most sacred promise"
did you see much more of poor Victor after
the death bed betrothal9
"We only met once after that, for my last
term at Madame Sartori's was just coming to an
end and father and mother were coming to
fetch me. Victor came to the Louvre on the
very last day | painted there. looking like
.ghost poor fellow; and with feverish light in
his eyes. He ought not have left his bed; but he
was determined to see me before went back to
England. His poor hand trembled like leaf
when he shook hands. He thanked me with
tears in his eyes for my letter, and implored me
to keep my promise. He said he was prepared
to wait lifetime for me; but he hoped to over
come my fathers objections to our marriage in
year or So when he should have sold a few
pictures and exhibited in the Salon. Directly
have a little money and shred of reputation /
shall come to Darnel and ask for your hand
boldly he said l told him that my father was
the most generous of men, and that / had
plenty of money for both Of us.
"And SO you parted. And you have CORE
spondeG with him since, l concluded"
1--WE have correspondence intervals Victor
writes the lovelest letters; but he is very ir-
regular correspondent. Sometimes a month
goes by without my hearing from him, and l am
tortured by the idea that he is i'll or dying-dead,
perhaps; while l am amusing myself playing
tennis, and going to parties, in ignorance Of his
fate. And then comes long, eloquent letter,
explaining his silence He has been i'll and out
of spirits, too depressed to write afraid to plague
me with his misery-or he has been working at
picture like demon, only to have it refused
at the Salon."
mot cheerful correspondent" said the
Colonel 'And now, Oracle, my pet, my dar-
ling, whom can remember chubby baby in
white frock and blue shoulder-knots, and with
little blue shoes-how proud you were of those
little shoes-now tell rue, honestly, frankly,
bravely, are you desperately in love with this
young French painter, whose face your father
has never seeng'
II was very fond Of him, Colonel, or should
never have given that promise"
"Of course not. But you have had year and
a half for sober reflection. A long time in such
young life as yours. And reflection has told
you that you were very foolish to give such
promise and you would be very glad to be re-
leased from it,
For my fathers sake (" faltered Grace eyes
I should be glad to be free from that foolish en-
gagement; for Tam afraid it would grieve my
dear father And he is so good to me-so indul-
gent-every new kindness Of his seems like
knife plunged into my heart"
'Well, my dear girl, you have two duties be-
fore you, painful, perhaps, both of them. First
to tell Sir Allan everything. just as frankly as
you have told me. Secondly to write to Mon
sieur Camillac, requesting him to release you
from your promise"
"Oh, no, no, Colonel, don't ask me- I could
not tell my father, and | could not ask Victor to
release me: not now, while he is poor and Ill and
unhappy. If he were to become rich, admired,
famous would not mind asking him to set me
free"
THAT is just like my generous, romantic
Gracie" said the Colonel, smiling ''You
would be true to pauper and failure; but you
would ask for your freedom from successful
painter Well, my child you have trusted me,
and must prove myself worthy of your con-
idence. Take time to think of what said just
now feel sure that you will not be happy
till you have made full confession to your
father, who would not scold you whit more
severely than have DONE"
''But he would be so shocked, so grieved,"
exclaimed Grace. II could not endure to see
the grieved look in his face; his surprise in find
| ing that had kept secret from him. He
always praises me for my candor-and to find
toll of hat lam a cd lahp
| No, could not bear It'll"
| Better to pluck up your courage, Grace, and
| take the bull by the horns. A secret like yours
| cannot be kept forever. This Monster Camillac
| is poor, an artist, and Bohemian; and he
knows that you rich, and will have an indie
pendent fortune under your mothers settlement