The Penn's Grove record., 1885-09-19

sob, no-nOt thatl" she says gently,
raising to his eyes heavy with unshed
tears. but smiling lips. 81 have read
about such things as that. / under.
stand quite. You would buy my pic
lures yourself. and give M for them
fabulous prices, out of the goodness
and generosity of your heart. But ]
cannot let you indeed"
"You will not let me help your"
'No-not in that way. You are a
great help to me in many others. You
give me all my pretty lowers"-glanc-
ing round her room-''and your friend
ship, and your interest in all do. Do
these thhngs''-sweetly-''nOt countp
And then your goodness to my poor,
poor Katel You do not know what
| you have done for her in giving her
mind food. You can notwithstanding
nearer, and laying her hand upon his
arm, and raising softly to his great shy
lambent eyes blue as gentian-''indeed
you cannot guess how | love you for
It'll"
with grim elaboration Sir Gerald
takes her hand from his arm and I'M
prisons it in both his own. His face
has grown very pale.
sis that the exact truth, or a mere
figure of speechP" he asks quietly.
SIS what?"
"You say YOU love me-do you?"
zone must love what is good and
true and generous, :" returns she brave
ly, trying to keep her hand from trem-
bling.
THAT is not an answer. Do you love
me?"
She is silent.
"NoP Then l am to believe you think
me anything but good and truep"
"Oh, no, nol'
Then you do love me You will
marry me?"
At this she resolItely releases the
hand he IS holding, and stands back
from him. Her lips are ~quivdring but
her eyes are steady.
''Do you forget2 Are you mad2" she
says, in a low tone. you are bound to
marry in your own rank"
THAT is what l mean to do. A wo-
man ian be only a lady, after Gll."
81 am hardly that, looking at it in
the light of your world. My father was
a merchant, my mother-a milliner.
You must understand however"-draw-
ing herself up with a sweet proud ges-
ture-''that | am not ashamed of her
for that. But-but others might be. p"
''If so, l am not of those others"
80 you think now; but after
wards"
"Our afterwards would always be as
nous if uRn IOua n % Il Iowa vA, A I'D
if you will only let me have my way
THAT can never be-" returns she
sadly. mo; do not say another word.
| will not do you this wrong"
I'm refusing to marry me you do me
the deepest wrong of all. But you will
not refuse"-holding out to her both
his hands in supplication.
Il shall indeed" returns she resolu-
tely, white to the lips.
docs that mean, in other words,
that l am less than nothing to you?'
a ks be sternly. 'tHave all your pretty
wiles and looks and bushes had no
m~eaningP Speak, Estherl Confess the
truth at least"
But Esther will not confess.
81 don't believe it." says Sir Gerald
passionately 81 cannot, ! will not.
There is truth in your eyes, or there is
truth in nothing. BOu will marry
mep"
II shall not indeed" says the girl
recoiling from him with a gesture he
misinterprets.
He releases her hand and steps back
from her; his face has changed.
81 fiattered myself, it seems, I" he says
with a low discordant laugh. What
a fool / have beenl And so'-looking
at her with miserable searching eyes
that try vainly to be scornful-''all this
time there has been some other man"
mo, there has been no other man."
1t is with a little passionate effort she
says this; and there is a passionate re-
proach too in her gaze as she turns it
upon him.
"How am l too believe your If that
is true, bid me now remain"
81 cannot"
"You tell me deliberately to gol IL l
do / shall never return"
Even so-gop'
"You mean that, Estherp"
Yes, ;" says the girl family, pointing
TO the door. TO, g0I"
"You shall be obeyed, of course"
The very anger and surprise and
grief seem all to have died away from
him now. He moves toward the door
aud then comes back again, and, TAX
ing her in his arms, presses his lips TO
hers for the first time. 1t is almost as
sacred as a dying fare well.
81 shall pnVaT nrOSq this Threshold
again" he says, with an anguish in his
voice which amounts to solemnlty.
A moment afterwards she awakes to
the fact that she is indeed alone; and
finging herself upon a sofa, she burles
her face in her hands,
1t seems to her that but an hour or
two have elapsed since that last miser-
able parting, though in reality the night
has worn itself away and is now fading
before coming morn, when her door is
again opened somewhat hurriedly.
Springlng to her feet, she sees a stran-
ger standing on the threshold, pale and
full of muttered evil.
''Miss Horrocks," he says hoarseIy,
my brother, Sir Gerald Bonde. has
met with an accident. He ia calling
for you necessarily. You will come to
him? The doctor says it is his only
chance - your presence, l mean. L
hardly know what to say; but come to
him quickly, quicklyl"
A little cold hand seems to clasp her
heart. 1t is AL over theni He is dying
Alas, alas, those fatal last words of his,
~ shall never cross this threshold
againl" In a dull emotionless way she
dresses herself, and follows her guide
down the stairs and into the street and
the hansome outside.
A darkened room, one or two silent
watching figures, a helpless form, a
weak yet excited voice crying always,
Esther, Estheri" A tall aristocratic
looking woman glances curiously to-
wards the doorway as Esther enters the
room; but the girl herself sees and hears
nothing but the stricken figure, the
plaintive cry.
II am here-.I have comet" she wits.
pers tremulously. falling upon her