The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1886-05-15

herself, in her simple piety, that Provi-
dence had opened way for the provision
of her son; she called on David to rejoice
with her.
But David refused to rejoice. On the
afternoon when we find him in the White
chapel parlor his aunt's communication was
under discussion, and his contribution to
the conversation was favored with the
spice of petulance. He was seated on a
low chair, at his mothers feet, his elbows
on his knees, his face in his hands, and his
eyes fixed gloomily on the fire. One
clause in the letter-that relating to pos
sible marriage between Joyce Balfour and
himself-had aroused his ire. The young
mans ideal of marriage was high and pure;
to have it rudely broken in upon with
mercenary suggestions, and with the threat
ened interposition of third person to reg
ulate his choice, was to the last degree dis
tasteful to. him. :.
aWho is this Joyce Balfour, mother =
asked David, tossing aside the momentous
letter.
aI know little more of her than your
aunt tells us, dear; she was Mr. Wilton's
ward, is rather younger than you, l fancy,
and | have heard that she has considerable
property. When she inherits my sister s
estates. in addition to her own, she will be
enormously rich. Your aunt'-with a
slight pause and wistful look in David's
direction -"was always fond of match
making. If her fancy for an engagement
between you two young people should be
realized your fortune would be made,
David"
"But don't want my fortune to be
made-after that fashion, ' cried the young
man hotly. "What do l know and what
do care about Miss Balfour ?"
"She will be enormously rich, urged
the mother, falling feebly back on her first
point. Il should he glad to know you
were saved from poor mans portion,
David, for 1 have learned by experience
how hard it is to struggle against poverty"
The mother laid down her sock and glanced
appealingly toward the young man, who
responded with frown. David was young,
and he had dreams of an affiuent position,
to be won, not by mercenary marriage,
but by literary achievements. But he
could not brag of his spurs before he had
won them; he grew silent. :.
ave have no right to assume mother,
he burst forth at length, his slumbering
ehivalry awakening new life, "that Miss
Balfour would accept the honor of an alli-
ance with myself, even if were inclined
to offer it.
Mrs. Murray smiled. She took up her
work again. ssMiss Balfour is probably
aware, she said, as she stopped torethread
her needle, 'of your aunt's plans, and she
must know that it might be greatly against
her interest to oppose them"
There was another silence.
aAt least you will not decide in the
matter till you have seen Miss Balfour,
David?"
'No, 1 will not decide till l have seen
her."
"And you will go to Florence?
David rose, walked to the window, and
looked out. But he saw nothing; his
thoughts were far away. 'Florence" was
a fascinating name to the untraveled lad;
he wished that his errand there were not
so unwelcome,
ayes. Twill 90" he said slowly, 'if l can
reconcile myself to the thought that L am
ousting my unknown cousin Tom from my
aunt's favor"
aNonsense. The flying needle halted
in miideourse. "You are not ousting him;
he has already ousted himself. Don't be
Quixotic, dear"
David sighed. His last hope of escape
seemed disipated.
Just at this moment the sound of fleet
footsteps was heard; the door flew open
and three or four children who had been
passing-as marks of treacle on hands,
faces, and pinafores testi6ed-an agreeable
half hour in the kitchen appeared on the
scene. Their advent was the signal for
Dayid's departure to his own room.
A few days later the young man started
on his travels. In the excitement insepa-
rable from first foreign tour the object
of his wanderings was almost forgotten
He went through the usual vicissitudes OF
a long Journey. The usual important pack
age was left behind, and its absence, as
usual. discovered too late for recovery
The usual countings of handbags and wraps
were performed, and then the recountings
to make assurance doubly sure, The usual
sprightliness on boarding, and dejectednes'
on leaving, the packet were duly expe
rienced. Then came hurried meals at rail
way stations, then views of monotonous
French landscape, with its inevitable long
straight rows of populars, then ghmpses OF
bolder scenery, of chalets, and of snow
peaks, and then Switzerland burst upon
Dayid's view. The young man had choser
the St. Gothard route; he had determined
to avail himself of his aunt's generosity
and to linger over his journey; in a letter
in which he announced his plans to her he
spoke of an intention to spend couple oi
days at Lucerne, few hours at Milan, anc
a week in Venice, the town which above
all others appealed to his poetic fancy.
The lad reveled in his new experiences
His fellow-tourists caught something of his
enthusiasm; every day he made new friends
who parted from him at night with hatter
ing reluctance. Not only did the wonder
full sights which met his eye delight David
in his young freshness he thoroughly en-
joyed the importance of ordering beds anc
meals or paying scores at foreign inns
At last Italy was reached; atlast Milan lay
like dream behind him, and one early
morning found him sleeping ftfully in I
railway carriage and nearing Venice. Al
five o'clock he awoke, rubbed his eyes
opened the window, and looked out. Th'
edge of handbag, which had very poorly
played the part of pillow during the shor
night had left proof of its insufiiciency il
the cramped condition of David's neck
The young man was sleepy and cold; cir
cumstances were not favorable t. his frs
impression of the approach to Venice. 1
was with some sense of deariness tina
David found himself in waste Of water
Before him, behind him, and on eithe
side, gray water stretched out, to meet
gray, cold morning sky; no land was visible
He was on the bridge-nine miles long
which connects Venice with the mainland
In short time the forms of towers an,
clustering houses began to reveal them then