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

as he does, and chatters to him gaily
Of her early years, before her spend.
thrift father was ruined and departed
this life in anything but the odouI OF
sanctity, leaving his one little girl to
buffet the waves of torture peuniless
and without protection. She tells him
too about her pictures, her success with
them, the prices received for them.
She pours out the tea, and asks him
pleasantly If he takes sugar, during
all these condolences, and IS openly glad
when he says, Eyes, lotsl" and alto
gether they grow decidedly cosey and
sympathetic. There is a pretty bunch
of white sweet. scented pinks in al ILL.,
expensive bowl in the middle of their
table, giving quite a festive air to the
entertainment. Marking her tender
appreciation of these homely flowers,
Sir Gerald makes another mental note
that will ensure his attendance at his
florists on the morrow.
"And do you mean to tell me" he
says presently, with earnest concern,
that your father left you with-with
nothing but"
But what my fingers can earn2"
"Well, yes"
mot altogether quite, she says with
a bright smile. 81 have a little-not
anything to signify, you know, but still
a little"
81 have always so wanted to know
what "a little MEANS" says Sir Gerald
fixing his elbow on the table, and his
chin on his palm, and his eyes on her.
The knowledge that there is indelcacy
in his question does not deter HIM from
making it. To know how it Ii with
her in all matters, great and small is
now the sworn object of his life.
sin my case" replies she simply, sit
means twenty pounds a year"
"Ahl" He stoops suddenly and brush
es some imaginary dust from his boots;
then, with an effort-"I dare say it,
sob, it is the greatest help to mel''
interrupts she brightly, leaning across
the table to him, herlips smiling. 81
can feel quite poor as long as |
have that, you see."
"No-of course not"
II have really-well, not everything
| want, to be sure" she goes on, with
heavenly content, ''but still many things
that-that others perhaps have not.
There is a poor girl, for instance, that
/ kHOw-the friend l was expecting
this evening But l mustn't tease
you. must II"
ut doesn't tease me. Tell mi of
your friend"
sit is her spine, poor thing! She lives
next door, and some time she creeps in
to me; but it is all she can do. The
only thing she has now to comfort her
are her books; but she has so few Of
them. She had a cousin who used to
lend her volumes from a library but she
died this year; and now there Is no one,
and she is too poor to subscribe herself.
All she can do now is to lie on her sofa
the liyelong day and think over again
the stories she has read. And she is so
patientl Isn't it sad?"
Sir Gerald makes another mental
note that will take him to Nudes on
the morrow. But his silence disturbs
her.
81 have worried you" she says con-.
tritely. with my n acquaintance and
my many troubles; let us think now Of
something more interesting to you"
81 don't think we can," returns Sir
Gerald.
"How quickly the days die, even
nowlh she says presently, without pre-
meditated thought. But, when she
has said it-as If some sudden displea-
sing certainty comes to her-a shadow
crosses her beautiful face.
He is quick to see it.
81 have a little message [ must de-
liver to my sister before the daylight
fades" he says pleasantly, rising slow
ly. LET me say, then, du ~revOfr-not
goodbye, as / trust we shall meet again
and soon."
1t is very soon-and very often too.
There is something haunting about her
face which draws him to 1T day 'fter
day. Flowers rare and fragrant make
sweet her tiny room, and her sick friend
is made happy by all the latest, best
books the library can provide.
1t Is one of those rare, glad, coveted
evenings when he feels he may go to
see her in her own home.
81 have been so fortunate about my
last picture" says Esther Horrocks.
coming up to him with eager childish
excitement in her tone as he enters her
room. 81 thought you would never
come; / wanted so to tell you. Yet
knew you would, because you promised
What do you think Mr.. Isaacs has
given me seven guineas for it, though
for the last, as l told you, he gave me
only fve.'
Generous Isaacsl"
Something in his tone strikes her so
forclbly as to change the expression on
her face. Her smile fades; she looks
at him with embarrassed scrutiny.
Losing a little of his self-control be-
meath her reproachful glance, he says
warmly
81 cannot bear to see you wasting
your whole life for so paltry a return
for a mere nothingi"
The eager gladness has quite died out
or her eyes now.
SIT is not for nothing" she says
gravely. 81 know many who -"
Eyes, | observation-disclosures less
than you do. You hate me, don't you,
because | cannot be glad of your druid.
geryP And so you think you will make
your fortune, aud it will be-"
Sufficient for me-" interrupts she,
with cold dignity.
sit will not" He goes a step nearer
to her, and there is a strange passion in
his tone. show should a girl like you
know what is sufficient for herp l tell
you"
Tell mi nothing, - says Esther, in a
slightly frozen tone. She is strangely
hurt. Until tonight he has always been
so kind, 70 sympathetic, 81 glad of her
small success.
A silence falls between them.
Esther" says Sir Gerald at last-it
is the first time he has called her by
her Christian name, and she starts as
her heart gives . heavy throb, and turns
aside lest he should see the pallor of her
lps-''as you are bent on making this
fortune you speak of off your
own bat''-this with an attempt at
lightness-''let me tell you something.
| met to-day IA friend of NINE, and
of amateurs too IN the painting line.
He has seen something Of yours some
where, and be is most anxious you
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