Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1885-05-24

black, and until this moment had worn
meY'
Glad, my darlingg' he cried, all the
care gone out uf bis face; eyes, very glad
You know am gladv
And you 90 love me as much as eyer,'
she pleaded, with her eyes fixed so very
anXlously on his.
Yes he said, simply. Nor did she
uouOt him now, though during the last
fortnight Of estrangement following that
~Tetched petty quarrel she had fancied
all SORTS of dreadful things. More and
more every day, dearest. 1t was all
my fault, Ethel. had been worried
ana veXed by business, and visited it upon
You"
The girl looked up at him with clinging
eyes as if Ii had been a privilege he had
, granted her. Then she said, but not re-
peacefully: Il have been Dere half an
hour. | expected you before"
DID your he answered. lit was so
good Of you to be hele, generous of YOU.
ike yourself! But You must come in Tor
a minute with me, Ethel. The house
is quite empty. The care-taker | know
mas leave to be away this afternoon,
ana Critchlow, our cashier, will have left
by now.'
Il don't think l ought" she said, smil-
ing.
"Nonsense"' he replied, gayly. 'Tmust
put my books away now and come back
after tea And see, if you are thinking OF
the properties, there is policeman
watching US with the most unfatterng
interest"
He opened the door with his key, and
she came shYly in. Once inside, howev +,
and the door shut upon the inquisitIve
pohceman-well, it is no matter TO is how
Crisp welcomed her. But this satisfac-
torly performed, they went upstairs. his
arm round her waist--a strange sight in
that dusty place-their steps echOing in
the empty house. At the top of the stairs
! the door into the large clerks room was
aJar. Crisp pushed 1t open and led her
in. And this is where you do your
work?' she asked, devuuring with wide
open eyes the long bare room, with its
four windows, its row Of desks and stools
along one side, and the glass box in the
lar corner.
NO" he answered, laughing; Il am
supposed to be cut above this, darling.
Only | am Obliged to be very careful not
to throw stones" He led her up the
room, and unlocking the door of his glass
house took her in. How delightful it was
10 help her up on his nigh stool and hold
her therefor, of course, being unaccus-
toned TO it. she might have become giddy
And see her tit her little boots TO the rail
OF the desk, and unlock the latter and
come at once face to face with her own
photograph And then to see her blush,
all pleasure at this proof of his fidelity
1t was all so delightful that he wondered
why, though they had met in Change
alley on Saturday afternoons before, he
had never brought her to see his office.
"And where do those doors lead to ?
Don't Ernest; please leave my hair alone.
How do you know, sir, that there is no one
there"
He stopped at once-whatever he was
dOlng-and dark shadow fell across his
face. ''That is Critchlow's roOm," he
said. "And, by J0ve. he's left his key in
i'll There Is nice piece Of carelessness ~
But there was no citation in his voice. 1t
seemed as if a shadow had fallen on them
both from the moment her eyes were
drawn to that door. 1t was not just ia
front of them-the door leading TO the
partners rooms stood there-but in the
corner on the left.
''Fll take the key and convict him at
any rate of this,r the young man said,
modify, and went out of mis- glass case
and crossed the door TO the door. The
girl followed him, a strange sudden feel
ing of the emptiness of the house upon
The sun, too, had gone behind a cloud, and
the room seemed dreary, dusty and cold,
too, for she shivered.
Crisp, after trying the cashiers door
and finding it locked, slipped the key out
and put 1t into his pocket. Then he
locked his own door and pocketed that
key also. 1t was strange, perhaps. that
he took no farewell kiss IN the hall, but
opened the outer door hastily, and seemed
to breathe more freely when they were
out of the alley and in the peopled street.
They took so long walk, Ethel telling
her lover of her fastest troubles at Main
tree House, a young ladies' seminary
where she was tolerated as teacher of
English, and Ernest cOnfiding the dread
ful matter Of the error in his accounts,
that when they parted he gave up all
thought of returning to his books.
"But you must not be late another day,
SIR" were her last words. He thought
nothing of them then, but a'terward,
when he was alone, they puzzled him.
There had been no appointment made for
that afternoon, no promise given, no
time fixed. SO how could he have been
late? 1t was odd. What did she mean by
Saying he was late?