The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1885-01-16

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"When you wish to go out, Lily, go in
the carriage. / don't like to see young
girls s~trolling about the city
But Lily did not go out enough for her
own good. When she did, she went in the
carriage, as her father instructed; and so
it CHANGED that Launt Winslow saw the
sweet, pale face once, twice, thrice, among
The purple cushions of the Boseobel ba-
rouche, and from the sidewalk lifted his
hat.
Each time the eyes of the two met-the
blue ones, startled, sweet: the hazel ones,
eloquent, steady.
Launt Winslow meant now, if it could
be done, to win Lily Boscobel.
Her father did not guess the resolve in
the heart of the young man, but was plan
ming against him none the less steadily.
He did not want to part with Lily, but
he had a weakness for rank, and for the
first time in his life he dined with a noble
man.
And Lord Luther Lawton Langley had
said: II have seen your daughter. A
lovely young lady, Mr.. Boscobel. Pray
give me an introduction.
Plain Peter Boscobel was fla ttered as
many a more superficial mar had been, and
secretly began to make plans for Lily.
She was pretty and accomplished, and
he was rich. Why should she not marry
this nobleman, who was seeking fora wife,
people said?
So he brought Lord Luther home to dim
ner one day, and Lily was exquisite in a
dinner dress of wine-dark velvet and still
as a nun, but none the less lovely for that.
Lord Luther was honestly charmed; es-
pecially when, at her fathers request, she
played and sang for him. But Lily went
to her chamber after he had gone, and Sc
cretly whispered to herself that he was
horrid.
She did not like his w~atery-blue eyes and
broad smile: and his hot breath upon her
cheek. hen he turned her music, made her
shudder.
No, the truth was that Lord Luther was
not so bad, as lords go, but her hear was
all given to her little dream of Launt Win
slow, and she wanted none of him.
The less often she saw Launt, the more
she thought of him, and the warmer and
sweeter were her thoughts.
Well, Lord Luther came again and
again, and yet again to the Boscobel man
sion, and, it turned out, asked Peters per-
mission to pay his addresses to his daugh-
ter, for Lily's father said:
lord Luther comes this evening to see
you. If he asks you to marry him you will
consent"
Such a wild white face as the child turn
cd upon him.
But Peter Boscobel was lighting a cigar,
When his cigar was lighted to his salts
faction, he went out.
II cannot, I cannot! | cannot cried
Lily.
1t was already 6 o'clock then, and the
short November day nearly done.
Pretty soon a servant came into the
drawing-room to light the gas, and in five
minutes more the bell rang. Then, hear
ing the dreaded voice asking for her, Lily
started up and ran out of the house.
Bare-headed, she ran across the broad
flags of the yard, and then, chilled by the
night air, darted into the great carriage
house, where were ranged the Boscobel
coupe, the barouche in which she drove out
and her fathers Stanhope, besides various
other vehicles.
In a twinkling she had leaped into the
upon the velvet cushion, painting and
listening.
Poor Lily. Of course she had behaved in
a very panic stricken and unreasonable
manner but it did not take much reason
ing to assure her that she did not want
Lord Luther, with his fashy eyes and
broad smile, to make love to her. Lily
could bear a great deal, but she could not
bear that.
So she sat painting and listening, with
burning cheeks and a painting heart, when
she heard a step which nearly made her
heart leap out of her mouth.
She held her breath. hoping, after an in
slant, that it might be Jerry coming to
lock up the coach house. But it was not,
for a. voice said;
Miss Boscobel-Lily-will you allow
me one moment p
A little changed with agitation, evident
ly. but Lily knew Launt Winslow's voice.
The she saw him step in at The open door.
oh she cried. covering her face with
her hands.
What is the matter? Are you frighten-
ed? Have | frightened you?" he asked
gently.
mo, no; not you!' said Lily.
He came to the side of the barouche,
and stood there, with his hat in his hand
and his foot upon the step,
pardon me, but | have not spoken to
You for so long. | have learned a bad
habit of lingering near here lately, with a
faint smile. From the street | have seen
the light shine out from your chamber
every night for a week"
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