Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1885-04-16

"I fancied did, he said. in a low
voice. "But now / doubt. That fever
ish dream was different from the deep,
abiding passion / feel now. But why
speak or even think Of itp Aunt Mar
garet told you the story, suppose? 1t
Is well that you know 1t. Isabel Grier
| Is as one dead to me. never expect to
| see her again. You can be all and more
| to me than she has ever been."
What response was Sylvia to make?
The tingling sweetness that seemed to
shoot through her veins told its own
story. Her head dropped against his
shoulder, and she breathed sigh Of
sweet content.
Never had Mrs. Dalton been more
startled than when her handsome
nephew led Sylvia into the cheerful
morning-room where she sat, an hour
later, and said, in his even tones:
Miss Dreeme has consented to be-
come fixture at Ingleside. Not as my
ward, but as my wife"
At first she could utter no word, but
a CHASTITY smile slowly parted her thin
lips.
"You are disposed to jest, perceive"
she faltered. Il must say, Mark, that
l consider it in very bad TASTE"
isioihS hdoUiiy, oliO lclb Illt lOOlll. MI.
Castleton and Sylvia looked smilingly
into each others face. They were too
happy to care.
The week that went by was like a
happy dream to the young girl. She
fitted about the house gay and careless
as bird. Love had entered her heart,
and the whole world was transformed.
She seemed to be living new life, as
different from the old as day differs
from night.
Mrs. Dalton utterly ignored the new
relation that had grown up between the
young people. 1t was part Of her world
ly-wise policy.
Sylvia felt like one who, havinG. sass-
ed through storm and flood, COM @sud-
denly into calm waters, and sunlight,
and a beautiful smiling sky. The chiv-
alrous love of Mark Castleton was like
a haven of rest. No more lonely hours
or homesick longings. The measure of
sweet content was full.
One day Mark sat in his library alone,
thinking of the new love that had bless
ed his life. This new dream is thou
sand times more precious than the DID,"
he said to himself.
A servant entered with letter. He
turned deadly pale as he glanced at the
superscription. Surely he recognized
the handwriting?
Tearing it open, he read these words:
DEAR MARK:-I have returned from
abroad, my foolish pride humbled to the
dust. 1t was impossible to enjoy the roman
tic scenes Of the old world while the weight
of your displeasure rested upon me. From
the momentI landed upon European soil
my heart ached With an irresistible longing
for America, and-you! 1t would have
been death to remain; so am back again.
know you love me as well as ever and
never understood my own heart half so
perfectly. The blame of that foolish quar-
rel was all mine, and / am ready to make
all the reparation. l shall be with you
The letter fell from his hand. He
knew by the way his heart beat that
the old spell had not lost its power.
What was he to do? Ingleside was the
last place for Isabel to come to-, under
the circumstances; but she was already
on the way, and he did not know how
or when to intercept her.
'She is a very proud woman" he
groaned. ''She will never forgive me-"
Suddenly the thought of Mrs. Dalton
came like an inspiration. The woman
was distant relative of Isabel's. She
should receive the girl, and take her
away TO some quiet place until the
first shock of disappointment had worn
away.
He had just come to this conclusion
when sudden hustle became audible
in the hall, and woman's graceful fig
ure, exquisitely clad in silks and laces,
appeared i'll the open door.
To be Continued.