The Penn's Grove record., 1885-01-17

1 odtiAEs
said it to comfort her. She looked
at me with such a sad lost look in her
beautiful eyes but she saw through
me.
"Ah, do you think 50 S'' she said
donbtfully then, before | could an
swer-.'But | will try to be useful too.
| will learn what things Richards wife
should know. Teach me, Lucy, will
you ?"
l promised, to quiet her. | knew as
well then as now that my beautiful
dropping flower would never learn to be
otherwise than beautiful and fragile
and-useless.
So, when Richard asked at our gar
den gate, "What do you think of her,
Lucy pn and seemed half TO dread my
answer, lest it should blame her, | was
glad to cell him
GShe is worthy Of you. But, Rich
ard, be always very tender with her."
81 will" he said.
And so the Sunday was over, and my
first and greatest trial had passed.
She was so innocent, so childish in
her quaint way, that | found myself
treating her as a beautiful %plaything.
At first she would come in the MORN
ings and watch us at our work in the
kitchen or dairy, sometimes playing at
helping us. But she soon saw that she
hindered us, though we humored her
fancy to the utmost and then she
would trip in during the afternoon and
pretend to learn to sew. This suited
her better but, after about half an
Inv,r,, ..v,,I- ,bn rv.,.1I haoiO RI lnnE
uneasy, glance up frequently at the blue
sky, and at last throw down her work
and come over to me.
'tSee how beautiful the day isl Why
weary ourselves with dull stupid work ?
Come into the wood, and let us tell
stories under the trees"
Sometimes l would consent, so little
could l refuse her; and in those days |
began to notice in her eyes a strange
shadowy look, as if she had thoughts
we never understood, as if she dreamed
Of things we imagined not.
Then there was a change in our little
household. Norwood Templeton came.
lie soon made himself at home, and
seemed not at all conscious of the IN
barrassing nature of his position. He
was a tall slight young man OF about
twenty, somewhat fair, and with d
handsome face, save for a weak etfemi-
nate something about it, which l
thought | detected. 70 the rest, he
was excessively polite in his manner
towards women, lazy and luxurious in
his habits, and inclined to talk i'll rather
a high. flown strain which offended me.
-..a& N,-.x Ena a anuy - fU,R affa-
this that | had a dream which turned
out afterwards not to have been so an
real as dreams usually are. l was
asleep III the parlor. Suddenly | heard
Richard say
81 had no idea of this. | would not
have believed it Of your fathers son,
Templeton."
He spoke sternly, and there was a
hard tone 10 his voice which | had never
heard before.
"Wha would you have 7" replied a
lazy voice. 81 confess l am not made
for fighting. | suppose some men like
it, or they wouldn't do it: l don't.
Why should | risk all sorts of horrible
pains when | can avoid them by simply
refusing to chance them ? Besides, the
man was mad"
Richard interrupted him harshly.
''If this letter is true, you made him
so. Oh, Norwood, Norwood, you have
so much pity for yourself, had you none
for him when you killed his da~ughterp''
"How horribly you talk !" said the
other plaintively. ~ didn't kill her.
L didn't even ask her to come away.
She would come. [ pointed out the
folly of the step. But she was obstl-
nate ; she followed me to Madrid. Then
she began TO fret about her father, fell
ill, and died. 1t was a most unlucky
business for me all through. When 1
refused to accept the brothers challenge,
he vowed he'd ruin me and then MUIR
der me. He has done the first. | came
here to prevent him from doing the
other. But, if You will not have me,
turn me out, and | must take my chance
in London"
When Richard spoke again, it was
with a world Of pity and scorn that he
said
"For your fathers sake 1 say stay if
you care TO do so. You shall hear no
more of this at any rate"
Then there was a dead silence. Tenn
pleton began to speak but the other ap-
parently stopped him. l thought in my
dream that Richard was struggling with
the horror and disgust he felt for the
fault of this man. At last he spoke,
gently but firmly.
"For your own sake though, and for
all our sakes," he said, 'syou must get
something to do. l should deserve the
blame of all sensible persons If I al
| lowed you to remain idle without trying
to get you employment. What do you
say ?"
son, | suppose | must get into har-
ness again sooner or later l Will do
what you like" he answered YEARLY,
without a touch Of gratitude /; then, as
if tired of a discussion which did not
concern him-''Of course L am much
obliged TO you for your kindness. And
now let US talk of something else"
BY all means" cried Richard cheer
lily /; ''and when | hear of anything else
| will let you know"
Then the voices died away. and when
| awoke it was dark. and l did not
know whether / had been dreaming or
whether they had been talking in the
room.
Some days afterwards Richard came
nOLlc viii ali Ollti ilOhA TIC NllidBC
lawyer of a seat at the articled clerks
desk in his office. | Inspect that Rich
ard paid for the stamp and provided the
money for the premium.
Norwood TempletOn grumbled pa
t~hetically at the prosaic nature Of the
employment, but ended by accepting it,
and al went we'll for a time.
The winter had come Ii gone.
Spring began to make Rsdthorpe Wool
gay again. But 1t brought no bright
ness TO us at the Wood Farm. For
soLAe weeks / had seek a sad look steal
over Richards face up he sat with us
now and then In the Evenings. l tried
to comfort him silently and he knew
it, and thanked me lsilently too with
grateful eyes. But helwould not speak.
I knew the source of his trouble,
though did not guess al the reason. |
had only to look at Qulesnle 10 see that
things had changed va her too. At
one time that shadows IRoughtful gaze
would deepen and deopsn, until she
was wrapt la some 1leasant dream