The Dillon tribune., 1885-08-08

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Mrs. Rawlings glanced at him.
"Where! / suppose somewhere near th.
child, down at Blacktown. You know ths
lady's mama don't. But you'll do what,
right, won't you, sirf'
"Yes," said Frank. II will do what i,
right. Thank you. Good morning."
He left the room, and departed by the way
he had come. Mrs. Rawlings returned to
her interesting occupations. She knew thu
name neither Of her visitor nor Of the ladv
whom she had seen at Blacktown, but to this
day, when she recalls the look Of what she
believed to he remorse on the young mans
face, she is happy in the thought that it may
be few heartfelt and appropriate words.
though only spoken by humble woman
like herself, helped on the great fight of good
against evil, rightsd . wrong, and made a
sister woman happier. May such mistake
occur to many of US. II causes consolation.
A worthy soul, Mrs. Rawlings. Never
theles, we will now bid her adieu, and hope
that the business in Gray street continues to
flourish.
researches had led him into such straits.
Who had learned the terrible half truth
which by q parodox is often greater than the
whole. Carruthers walked aud walked-out
Of Gray's road-on and on-without heed.
ing whittier Such grief as he felt to-day
was new experience in mans life. When
some three months ago Beatrice told him
she could not love him, the shock as we
know was great, but in spite of it Beatrice
was still the Beatrice Of his dreams. Then
there was hope; there is always hope
in such cases. But now none! Not a vestiee!
He laughed bitterly as he thought of the
hours Re had spent endeavoring to find the
cause Of what he had called Beatrices COM
plaint-of her general apathy and indifEer-
ence to the world at large. Now he had got
at the very germ of the disease No woudsr
she was cold and reserved with such secret
to carry-such a dread overhanging her.
Poor grill Poor girl!
He could see how the boys coming to
Hazlewood House had been arranged.
Through Mrs. Miller, of course. And by his
now light be was able 10 explain discrep-
ancy which had always troubled him. On
the night when she bade him hope and wait,
the nurse had told him that Beatrice had
saved her years ago from starvation. where.
a., Horace had told him, that until she came
TO the house, she was stranger to them all.
He had not thought 1t worth while to pursue
the inquiry.
She, this strangely hammered woman, had
made him promise to wait Wait for what!
There was nothing to wait for. Even il he.
~ he scornfully told himself he could, ~ ould
forget his manhood and be willing Il. IKE
beatrice as his wife even now, he knew that
barrier, never to bc climbed, would be
raised by her. He did not wrong her in this
He knew that for all that had befallen she
was mourning in mental sackcloth and
ashes He had no blame to give her, no
stone to cast.
She hal not tried to win his love. She had
not accepted that love when offered. Too
we'll he knew why. Yet he knew also that
She loved hin,-:oved him but would never
be his. Tho thought drove him half mad.
NO friend Ut Carruthers' would have known
him, as, with heavy brows and bent head.
he walked through those quiet streets of
suburban London.
But why the fiightl No new dread. no
new dang n could have Threatened her. Did
she after all fly because he was coming to
Lakewood House: Did she fear that her
resolution must give way, and with one
breath she must avow her love, and with the
next tell her lover that love could not te be-
tween them! No. A word from her would
nave stayed his coming. She had ever, an
good as assed him to come. She was not
flying from him.
Then the thought of that man who was
seeking her came to his mind. He shul,lcred
and tit his lip: he knew not why. But his
first thought was to trace this unknown man
and hear why he wanted Beatrice.
His mood changed. He would not seek
MN. lie had no more to learn After what
10 had this morning heard all inquiries, all
information, could but tend to make him
more miserable. There was nothing now
left for hin, in the world but sheer harl
work. Work, work, work, the greatest
blessing ever given to man.
80 he walked on and ON, almost CRYING in
his anguish, almost raving in his utter helm.
lssslless to mend matters. But all the while
do Aha: he could to tear his idol ont of her
shrine. thinking Of her as the calm fair.
stately girl he had known and loved. the one
OF all tho world against whom slander should
raise no voice.
Before his aimless walk was ended his
mood had grown soft and plying. Anger
had simply faded away. All he could now
thlnk Of was Beatrice aud her sorrow All
ne asked was to be able to see her and tell
her there was ono who would ever be a. a
brother to her. The wild resolve that he
would now acquiesce in her disappearance as
calmly al did her uncles disappeared. He
would lind hcr. He would 60 to her, take
her nand, tell her the secret was his, coun-
rel her. and, IT 1t were possible, stand be-
tween her and what she had to bear
but ne Knew now, or thought he knew.
the utmost that life had to give hin, and
he saw in it sorry substitute for what
IT had seemed to promise only few davs
ago.
Rl0nln hnri N,h,- .I,,.la L. ILL