The Penn's Grove record., 1885-03-07

$1,000 AAeFAA AAN@
Good morning. she answered, as
she would have returned the salutatiOn
of a stranger.
Her husband left the room, and
Margaret took up the morning paper,
turning by the force OF habit 70 b
army news. But the interest IL had
had for her was gone. John Morrison
was Ia England; his spurs had been
bravely won in India.
The next day was wet and stormy.
Margaret sat at the piano, playing a
melody that sounded like an accompan-
iment to the sObbing of the wind
through the rain. Her husband stood
at the window, looking dismally u
upon the lawn, where sodden leaves
were driven to and fro and the great
trees wailing above their dead children.
"Margaretl1
"Weii, Rosert." The music died
away in long mournful chord.
"How horribly lonely it isl We
dill the Court with company this
A few of these days spent indoors
would drive me mad
why don't you go outI o can
take the close carriage, you know, y h
answered satirically.
BETTER do that than listen to the
ghostly tunes you get out of the piano
they make my flesh creep. For mercy's
sase don't play any morel l say we
mast fill the house with company
LAS YOU please, " his wife returned,
closing the piano and taking up a book.
Her calm face irrltated him.
81 do please, then. One might as
well have a statue IN the house as you,
Margaret. Can't you have pity on a
fellow. and talk a ltttleY"
She laid aside her book.
"What 10 you wish me to sayp"
He paced the room before he spoke
again.
II should like the Dean and Clare
and Jack Morrison to spend a week or
two here. Is there any one you would
like to invite besides2'
"No-but, Robert, don't invite Cap
tain Morrison. f."
"WhyS l wish him to come"
'tI don't wish HIN 10 do SOL would
much rather he did not indeed"
"Just because l like him, because his
company would cheer me up q little !
l know yos too well, Mrs. Arnatn,"
Margaret was deathly white - her
voice trembled as she spoke.
Robert, l beg of you not to ask him
here"
II tell you 1 shall 1t is utter non
sense. I shall ask him tomorrow.
Have you the same Object on to your
cousin and uncle, prayH"
"If | am to receive all the visitors
you choose to name, it is useless asking
my opinion, " she answered, taking up
her book again and leaving the room.
won't you come, Clare2 Robert
wishes it Yer7 much-and L need not
say how glad | shall be o have you with
me-"
So spoke Mr Armain. She was
| standing by the dre IN the Deanery
drawing-room, her stately dgure, in its
sweeping silken robes, forming q strong
| contrast to the Deans daughter. Clare
was leaning back in her ~easy-chair,
weary with the Joy Of coming home
| again. She was changed greatly changed.
All the fire OF love and hope had left her
face. A sorroW-stricken woman she
| looked, save when she smiled the same
sweet smile of old. That was unchanged.
Sin alone can take away the beauty of
a smile.
"You won't come then, dear?"
"No, Maggie. Don't ask N to leave
my dear old home again. / feel better
here-and-and-I'm not strong, Mag.
gie."
Mrs. Armain did not answer. Her
delicate hands were twisting nervously
| T.. a,ah nNhan md haE dary auac had n
troubled look in'them.
Don't be vexed, dear, Glare went
on. "You know papa could not leave
his work. know he would not"
"Why rot say at once that you do
not care to Gomez" said Mrs. Armsin
bitterly. "You are quite right. The
Court IS only a great state-house, not a
home-nOt a home, Glare. Stayin your
own warm nest, birdie. Goodbye"
Don't leave me. Maggie, SO ooldly.
| would como If l could. Don't be
angry"
"Angry with you, my innocent, pure
minded darlingI If | had not married
for money, you would come perhaps;
but a curse is resting on me. Who
shall tell where 1t viii end?" And,
without waiting for an answer to her
wild words, she kissed her cousin and
left the room.
1t was more than three weeks later
before Glare heard anything of the do.
ings at the Court. One morning Robert
Armain called. He was going to Lon
don by the noo express to stay a day
or two on business.
81 am obliged to leave Margaret to
entertain the visitors alone. l wish you
could have come, Clare"
Have you much company at the
Court"
"a couple of my old aunts, a distant
cousin and his family, and Captain Nor
rison l thought the Court was dull
before, but it's worse than ever now.
Every one makes 1t the aim Of his or
her life to thwart or annoy everybody
else. You can imagine the result.n
Clare laughed, and the Dean re-
marked
Your duties as host must be no sim
ecure, Bob"
"By Joye, mol It's the hardest work
l have ever dope. Captain Morrison is
as bad rs any of them. l saw a
man so changed in my life. But must
be of. When are your roses coming
back, Clare? Goodbye" He shook
hands with them both and fastened
away.
Clare had been ordered to take riding
exercise. Her father had bought her a
beautiful. pony, and that afternoon
Clal g donned her riding habit and can
tered away through Dodington into the
quiet lanes. Everything was very still
and silent under the autumn sunshine,
and Clare rode on with loosened bride,
thinking, not OF the past, but of the
future - the mysterious future that
might so soon lead her into the spirit
land. For Glare knew that the danger
the doctors feared was not over. Any
sudden excitement. a chill, a keen sor-
row, might break the silver cord aud,
like her mother, cut her of In the flower
of her youth.
A sharp turn In the road rouse1 her.
It curved along a low park paling to
Join the high road. She fastened her
horse to the terrace pillar aud ran up
the steps into the hall. The peace OF
the autumn afternoon had fallen upon
the house. Nothing was stirring. Clare
went into the drawlnQ-roOm. but the