Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1885-03-14
Sir Rawdon, her eyes dilate, and

n
0 With little passionate movement
Q the hand, unseen by all but him, 81
crosses the room with slow, gracefl
steps. and disappears through II
) doorway.
1t takes Sir Rawdon but momer
J to invent some idle speech, that leave
: him, too, free to quit the apartmer
without arousing suspicion OF the rel
motive of his departure.
Finding himself in the hall, h
comes TO a standstill, and asks himse
7 what it is he means to do. He cannC
forget that last glance of hers, or tn
, passionate anger contained in it. III
feels he would give half his possession
to be able honestly to hate her, but h
knows, by the sheer impossibilit
: of his being able to do this that h
,, loeus her.
AS he stands irresolute, one OF TIN
footmen passes through the hall. TheI
and there a sudden resolution come
to Sir Rawdon. He will go to her
tell her, tell her all-lay bare his hear
to her, and, if it must be, hear from
her own lips the "No" that will bias
his life forever. Anything win be bet
ter than this crushing suspense.
"Where is Miss Monteith?" he asks
the man as he goes by.
ain the library, sir. Saw her go in
there just now"
| Opening the library door he enters
the room, and find himself alone with
her.
She is standing at the far winow
/ II cfo ovf MI 01o ornc
his entrance. He would have gone to
her, but with certain impulsive ea-
gerness she too moves and meets him
half way. That her late anger is still
warm within her eyes is known to him
at the first glance.
"So-now you know me" she says
defiantly, @are you satisfied? is your
curiosity satiated?"
al knew you from the first moment.
Was / likely to forget ?"
'That is the bitterness of it," she
says. "Are those three sad years of
my life never to be obliterated 2"
"From my mind, never! The few
weeks | claim out of them were the
happiest of my life"
@What brings you to me nowY de-
mands she suddenly. as there more
you would still learn as to the why
and wherefore of my going into hospi
tai as nurse? | warn you l shall
give no explanation"
II do not desire one" says Dare
humbly; II know all about it. Your
fathers tyranny; your escape from a
marriage with that vile old man; your
life in Il hospital-everything. Do you
hate me the more because | know all
this ?"
"Hate you-no!" There is studied
contempt in the curl of her lip. @Ha-
tired is a strong sentiment; what feel
for you is only indifference"
She goes back TO her former posi-
tion in the window, as though to ter
inmate the interview. But he, having
"cast his all upon the die" makes one
more effort for dear life. He follows
her there.
"Even the worst criminals get fair
hearing" he says. "Let me plead my
cause"
"No. 1t would be waste OF time"
"At least tell me of what | stand ex-
cused."
Listen, thenT exclaims she, turn
ing to him with flashing eyes. when
unkind Fate sent you to that hospital
a year ago, and you saw me there day
after day, mere nurse, and-as you
believed-unknown and obscure, you
deigned to fancy yourself in love with
me. Your momentary intatuation
went even so far, that as the hour ap
preached that was to put an end for
ever to our intercourse with each OH
er, driven by some puerile impulse,
your love, and offer me your name.
But when it came to the point, you
quaied; you drew back your half-ut-
tered words; you shrunk from allying
yourself with one beneath you. My
feelings were as nothing to you. Know
ing myself scorned, rejected, without |
being afforded SO much AS the poor
qualification of being able to refuse
you, left the room, hoping, praying | |
might never see your face again. Do |
you think" with painful sob, al shall |
ever forgive all that?"
Here me"
IL will not. If your life, and heart,
and title were all at my feet now, I"
They are ut your feet"
"rhen | reject them," returns she
with vehemence,
"As you will. But at least you shall |
listen to what have to say in my de-
fense," says Dare with dignity. THAT |
of which you speak-my last
in the hospital--I truly meant as you
say to tell You of my love-" /
"Heant! And then--you hesitated."
Il did," says Dare simply. any
name and the honor of my house are
dear to me. Is it a crime beyond for
giveness that / should have paused be-
fore Offering that name and honor to
a woman who, though the most beau
tiful and lovable in the world, was still
why should you seek to excuse
yourseIf?" interrupts Miss Montelth
II know all that"
"There is however, one thing that
you do not know. You saw that did
battle with myself that morning, but
YOU did not wait the termination of it.
Love and duty fought a hard fight, but
when il was over, yOu-that is Love
1ad won the victory; | raised my
lead again to tell you ALTO beseech
you to be my wife, but you were gone.
Later on searched for you every
| advertised, all to no purpose.
For eighteen months / sought for you
in vain"
Her face is turned away from him
low, but faint sound, that is either a
Ugh or protest, escapes her.
about all this you must believe me
,r not, as you will" says Dare quietly.
j have only my simple word to give
you, but it is at least word that has
lever yet been dishonorsd. Will you
lot say something to me?"
"All have to say has been said long
go. / cannot forgive you" says Miss
but us she says it she bursts
nto tears
81 will not accept such words from
'ourl ips," exclaimed Dare, with deep
citation. And then all in a moment
lis arms are around her and his cheek 1
pressed to hers.
Beloved" he says, "have pity upon
ne! Just think of it! You have a
lame as old us mine, can you not un-
lerstand the struggle endured ?"
II can," murmurs she sadly; "and-
res, /. honor you for it. But
Here her voice fails. 30, if you could
,nly know what suffered" she says,
obbing bitterly.
IL do know it. 1t was just half what {
suffered" returns he, gravely 20,
larling, put an end to my misery nor
-here.' OF the two am the more to