The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1885-11-13

mine it cannot have touche her at a
single point"
"All that the world knows" she said
eagerly, "and more beside. know of
the hard and thankless work done
through good report and evil report,
through sickness and health l know
much of all that with which your chief
was credited was the result of your
brain and courageous patience. He is
the first to acknowledge it; he said to
me himself, just before he returned to
Madras six months ago, that you were
the one man who had served under
him who cared for the good done, and
totally disregarded the credit for doing
it. Surely, that was high praise"
"lf it were, it would be saying very
little for human nature. But there
were a dozen men at least more disin-
terested than myself. If | did not la
Dor and scheme for my personal profit,
| did for that of my kth and kin.
was always or the lookout for a COR
ner into which could insinuate Jack,
or some opening that would help poor
| Toms career | was eager enough to
utilize any goodw / that fell to my
share for their benefit. l am scarcely
to be persuaded that | am a hero, even
by Lady Cathcart."
"Do you admit there is any satsfac-
tion in having succeeded so well in do
ing what was required Of you! ?"
"a little he answered, with an i'm.
patient sigh, "but scarcely enough to
justify mans career. And there is
another side TO my good deeds, Lady
Cathcart. and very seamy one. What
of the miserable and far-reaching mis-
takes which have made in my official
capacity of temper of Judgment,
aye, even of justice and mercy. Then,
again, what merit lies in being without
ambition, when you know the one prize
of life Is out of reach? To do stolidly
ones routine duty saves many man
and woman among us from despair.
But am forgetting TO whom speak
--or no, | remember it only too well,
but it seems with less power of self
control than when | was boy"
He turned away abruptly as he
spoke, as if with the intention of
breaking off the interview; but she laid
a OBTAINING hand on his arm.
"Stopw she said, in low but firm
voice, and with sudden flame of color
sweeping over her pale cheek, "you
shall not leave me this time under
mistake. l am going to confess how
much that boyish self-control made me
suffer. Suppose l had told you that
sad Autumn morning that if you went
to India you would take with you all
my Joy in life, would you have stayed
behind? And yet it was true!"
He started and turned little pale.
"Aye! You can venture to own a
girls folly now, but you wisely kept
your secret then y was his answer.
81 kept it, she answered with
sweet forbearance, "though it cost me
a hard struggle to do so. You were
bound to go away-you had the for
tunes of your family to make-you
would have refused to take what l
yearned to give. 1t would have him
dered, not helped you, if you had
known how keenly the girl suffered
whom you had left alone in England
"Fcr mercy's sake, he said hoarsely,
"spare me, and say no more Is it
not the very refinement of woman's
cruelty to tell me of good | meyer
knew had until l lost it You loved
me once, but thought it kind to keep
the secret Would that you had kept
it till the end Is it within my right to
ask if the girl had ceased TO suffer
when she became wife?"
''Yes and no" said she, fixing her
softened eyes upon his agitated face.
. "When we have buried our dead, and
take up the daily duties of life to those
, still left us, we do not cease to remeln-
Der because we consent to submit to
= the inevitable. You had told me our
, love was hopeless, for you could never
marry, and it seemed TO me wrong to
sacrifice the reasonable wishes of my
dear parents, and refuse to make a
, good man happier. He was quite will
. ing to take me even when he knew
: what | have told you, and from that
y, hour strove to do my duty toward
him, and was happy in the doing of it.
| hushed my love to sleep and buried
8 it out of sight and hearing
:, thought" she added, almost in whis
: per- ''that it was dead-but-but the
. old life stirs in it YETI
G He caught her hand eagerly and
e leaned toward her, to question more
e closely the glowing averted face.
), as it not pity?' he asked, with tn,
sharp abruptncss of intense feeling
e ''not a womans passion for self-sacri
< flee I? Are you sure THAI what yor
$. felt long ago was anything more thar
d a noble girls sympathy with the pail
e she had given, or that now-now you
e kindness goes beyond compassion fol
,e the love you have detected after 81
IF many years fidelity? But even if yol
y were in doubt, at least you give M
leave to try and win you, sinking m.
!, unworthiness, and no future will b.
a. long enough to tire out my patience
It my love, my queen! y
n She looked at him with a smile
though her beautiful eyes were We
re with tears.
" Take what the present gives you
ie and let the future take care of itself,
10 she said. mo need to wait or try fo
al what you have got already. l belev
~ | loved you in the past, Laurence, ant
no | have strong faith that | shall low
,, you in the years that are to come; bu
III all that counts for nothing in compari
son with the conviction that | love yo
w. now-now, with all my soul !"