The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1886-01-30
q know that said Edith, abut I can't

picdsdub CHduSe NlCnlH me, anu, WANING
from my little dream, became reasonable
mortal again. A barrier of embarrassment
had sprung up between us.
After little pause, however, l Informed
Edith that took fatherly interest in her
the adjective did not seem happy-and
that if could serve her in any honorable
way it would give me pleasure.
"Thank you,' she said ''I value your
opinion very highly, and think if you
were in my place you would act as l do. /"
| smiled at the idea of being in her place,
and wondered if l should have preferred
the society of men of ripe years to that of
inexperienced boys 1t seemed to me that
[ should
"I'm sure you would" she added with a
blush. "Would you give up man because
he happened to be poor?"
There was beautiful CLEAN in her eyes.
"No," said |, "not if there were any
thing in him worth caring for, which isn't
usually the case"
Z '5Ehe man / care for is much too good
for me she exclaimed.
"Nonsense," said feelingly.
"You would like him very much If you
knew him." she went on. | doubted it.
"And you've just seen this paragon,
said |, sarcastically.
"Yes,'' said she, "and you can't imagine
how difficult it is"
Then she told me the old story of an at
tachment-youthful detrimental-no pros
pects-maternal disapproyal-clandesti
meetings in cousequence-all the difficult
ties so full of absurdities and pathos that
dog the steps of unhappy lovers. Poor
Edith like the rest of the world she had
her troubles. If it had been any one else
l should have lectured her, but her manner
of stating her case threw dust in my eyes
and made it appear she was quite right
"And what is his name?" | inquired
bluntly.
'I would rather not tell you" said she.
"What does he do then?'
ale is an artist"
| naturally concluded that he was not a
successful one, picturing to myself good
looking young dauber accusing the Hang
ing Committee of the Academy of all man
ner of crimes when they had the good taste
to reject his productions from the mass of
mediocrity with which they annually cover
their walls.
sI have nephew who calls himself an
artist" said 1.
She gave little start.
"You never spoke of him before" said
she.
''No; because we quarrelled."
"Whose fault was it?
"His, of coursep And l told her the
story of Charles ingratitude, while she
listened intently,
"Poor fellow" she exclaimed, show very
nice he must be.
This was not what l expected. | felt
she ought to have pitied me. So COM
menced to defend my course of action,
while she, on her side, pleaded Charles
cause with warmth and interest that, con-
sidering her own troubles, surprised me.
| tried in vain to persuade her that the
first steps toward reconciliation must come
from Charlie; but, woman-like, feeling
blinded her sense of justice and she waf
logic-proof 1t was almost dark when we
separated at her gate. watched her as
she fitted through the gloom of the trees tc
the house, and then walked slowly home
with new set of thoughts about her.
did not sleep well that night.
CHAPTER ".
From that day Edith and l were on Q
different footing. The interest l felt il
her was changed rather than lessened; that
which she felt in me had been increased
bv our mutual confidence. When we met
cieverly parrying my efforts to ascertain
the name of her lover-and confess l wa:
curious-she turned the conversation tt
the subject of the estrangement with my
nephew.
The mysterious person referred to as
"he" or shin" had evidently departed from
our neighborhood, and think Edith missed
him a good deal. Mrs. Lyall asked mt
more than once if l did not think a chang
would do her good, which gave me an op
portunity of teasing Edith on the sly. Il
ended, however, in her. going on visit t.
some friends. She departed with SO mucl
cheerfulness that 1 felt convinced she hat
contriyed some means of seeing the "name
less one" as l called him, and accuses
her of it; but she only laughed and said
ssNonsense p and that is easily said, ant
we had quite touching little parting il
the garden, and I called her "my dea
child" found the place very dull with
ont her, and went abroad until the follow
inc autumn. was pleased to find Edit
did not forget me, and received severa
letters from her, in which she "hoped tn
waters we're doing me good for my reasol
for expatriation was to drink of a yer
nasty spring recommended for the goui
which afiicts me intermittently. l foun
she was still harping on my estrangemen
with my nephew, for she trusted l had bt
come reconciled with him. 81 am sure,
she wrote, 0if you have you will be hap
pier, for you have. a kind heart although
il rather an obstinate one" When cam
home in September l heard the Lyalls wer
at the seaside; and having. as usual, notf
ing to do, I thought would go down an
ascertain how Edith's love affair was pre-
crossing. They were staying at littl
place which has been familiar to me, fami
lar to me from child, and which is mike
up with all my early memories; its attra'
tions therefore were two-fold. | arrive
there late in the evening, and found l ha
forgotten their address, so l went to tn
hotel, deciding to ascertain it in the morr
ing. When it came I was awoke by
numerous and noisy family on my floor wh
were eager to catch the first train. Natul
had supplied them with peculiarly pen,
trating voices, and they could have hard
made more of their feet if they had bee
centipedes. Sleep being out of the que
ton, L dressed and went out. The brigl
sea and sky put me in coed spirits, and Il
salt breeze made me consider with SON
interest what would be the incest breakfa
could order when / returned from n
early walk. | left the little town, an
made my way to the grassy summit of Il
cliffs, which, sloping down from the brln
shut out the sight Of the sea from the foo
, path marked at intervals with patches
white chalk, landmarks at night for Il
coast guardsmen in their lonely round
How well remember the place Reca
- Il Il e. ho