The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1885-04-04

1uS up lTOIH du OpGH lcOCCl OudO SAO HSAN
in her hand, such sad thing None o
the -th can come. Colonel Davenant wa
killed this afternoon by fall from hi
horse.
II do not know what happened next, OIL
what | said or did. have confused re
membrance of exclamations, questions and
answers, of sounds in the hall, of the rustic
of dresses, of murmur of greetings, Of
laughter and of gay voices Then awoke
from my stunned condition and rushed
back to my own room, where | locked my
self in.
"Colonel Davenant dead Oh, it was
impossible paced the room in an agony
of misery. What would 1 do? How
could [ bear it in silence, and alone? Col
onel Davenant dead My dream was
shattered and left no trace behind He
was dead. l should never see him again,
and had no right to grieve. He was
nothing to nothing nothing! l do
not know how long it was before this
thought reused me to perception that the
music was sounding below, and that 1
should be missed. [ must go down. l
could not betray myself by staying away.
Bad as the indifference of ignorance might
be, the indifference of scornful pity would
be worse. must hold up my head and
keep my secret As 1 turned to leave the
room l caught glimpse of myself in the
glass. All, what different self from the
happy being whose image had been re
fected there an hour ago
"a choking, fearless sob rose in my
throat as, yielding to sudden impulse, l
snatched from my head the violet wreath
| had placed there with such pride and
hope. | had worn it for him, and as he
could never see it, [ would wear it for no
one else.
"Then | went downstairs. [ have a
very indistinct recollection of the incidents
of that night. | believe l talked and
danced, but of what | talked or with whom
| danced do not know. only know that
ever afterwards ball was to me a horrible
amusement, and that to this day sound of
dance-music makes my heart ache.
"Neither then nor during the days that
followed did 1 betray myself. My habit
ual reserved helped me, and my sisters were
so much occupied in discussing the ball that
they did not imperil my self-possession by
any allusion to.the topic of which my heart
was full
''It was with accents of surprise that
Claire exclaimed one morning when we
were all sitting together, according to GUS
tom, in the boudoir
'Hark there's a soldiers funeral COM
ing. Why, of course, it must be poor
Colonel Davenant's.
Everybody rose and went to the win
dow. followed, for it was the only room
from which we could see the road and,
much as | dreaded it, | could not forego
the mournful satisfaction of looking at the
last pageant in which Colonel Davenant
could ever have any concern.
'The melancholy procession came on,
moving so slowly that its progress was not
momentarily perceptible, and for the first
and last time in my life [ listened with
dry eyes to the grand, solemn air which he
had loved, though every beat ofthe muffied
drum seemed as if it were struck on my
heart.
II heard Claires sobs, and | knew mann
ma and Amy were furtively wiping away
their tears, but 1 gazed with set teeth and
clenched fingers in motionless silence OF
the dismal cortege. No detail of it es
capped me. [ saw Jack walking beside the
gun-carriage on which the coffin lay, with
dropping tail, and head only raised from
time to time to give vent to a prolonged
howl, and 1 clasped my hands still tighter
together as 1 wished what I had so often
wished before-that [ were Jack, that
might walk humbly in that funeral train
and express my grief unrestrainedly in dog
fashion.
II envied every soldier who marched in
the long ranks, in most cases with faces
that expressed something of genuine sor-
row. They all had right to mourn for
him, and /, whose grief was deepest, had
none. I looked on in silent bitterness until
the last line of soldiers had passed out of
sight, and listened till the mournful dirge
was out of hearing. shed no tears; l
uttered no expression of regretful pity.
Claire might cry for him. She had no
deeper feeling to hide or show than kindly
compassion for the untimel y fate OF apleas-
ant acquaintance. dared not indulge in
that luxury. But the right was to be given
me.
"I was alone in my room the next morn
ing when my stepmother entered.
"'Hester,' she began hesitatingly, 4
lo,,o loo,, ro+I,o. c,,rpricad iuct now hU q
visit from Colonel Davenant's brother.
'sThe blood rushed to my face; 1 trem-
bled all over Mamma looked at me with
an air of scrutiny, and went on:
"FHad you any reason to suppose that
Colonel Davenant cared for you ?
s'I did not answer; l could not.
"It seems, at any rate, that he regarded
YOU with interest His brother has come
here to see you; but it is not necessary for
YOU to see him if you would rather not,
my stepmother added kindly.
"'But would rather, | said quickly,
and went to the door.
"She made no further objection, but ac-
companied me down stairs and led the way
into the library. j,
sFor a second my heart seemed to stand
still. for near the window stood pair that
we're painfully familiar to my eyes-a tall,
soldierlike-looking man STOPPING to caress
dog that stood beside him. Butth vision
thus called to my mind quickly vanished;
1t was, indeed, Jack, but Jack in a mood
in which l had never seen him receive his
masters notice. His tail dropped, his
whole attitude was expressive of abject de-
preston. and from time to time he gave
melancholy whine. I saw, too, that Mr..
Davenant, though tall and fair, had scarce
" touch of the likeness had at once
hoped and feared to find.
"My stepmother introduced him to me,
and then sat down at little distance from
us with her work.
"Mr. Davenant hesitated. He was evi-
IDENTIFY embarrassed. When, after a mo-
ment's awkward silence, he spoke, his voice
at once recalled the memories his face had
failed to do. For some moments | was
too much agitated to take in the sense of
his words. When | had IN some degree
recovered myself, I found him saying:
"'It is only a sense of what / owe to my
Al. ,.J,,aog ,.ax, 70 ~,