Los Angeles daily herald., 1886-12-19

how would it have been with you then,
think you?"
| Mary bent her head consideringly for
u few serious moments.
no." she added, lifting it briskly. as
| if she had come to clear and de6n q
| conclusions: II cant find any love for
him in my heart at all now. 1t there
was ever any, it has left no trace. NO;
l am sure never loved Hugo Fortescue.
1 think liked him to admire me and
fatter me; but, no. I'm sure l never
loved him, and / don't believe he ever
really loved me-"
"Mary," said the squire, in so hesita-
ting voice that she looked up to him
in surprise, "have you ever wondered
that-that have never married? Per.
haps, though" he added after q mo-
ments disappointment at her apparent
unconcern, lit never occurred to you to
think about it ?"
81 don't think it ever did," she said.
simply, Il don't know if it ever should
have occurred to me. Now you ask me.
it seems odd that you haven't married
before getting SOL mean, before get.
ting as old as you are"
She felt that she was treading on dan
gerous ground, as she saw an unwonted
cloud on his face.
"Of course, you seem old to me. l
have known you so long. l was baby
when you first saw me, Mr.. Brooke, you
know" she went on, trying to account
for her maladroitness.
Il was only 10 then, Mary" he said,
"and am only 40 now.'
"No. oh no |" she agreed eagerly, for
she saw there was something unusual in
his voice and manner and feared she had
unconsciously vexed him. ''But then,
you see, am only just 81. 1t has al.
ways seemed to me that you were ever
so much older than me. But have l
vexed you? Why do you look SO
troubled 1 didn't know you minded
being old. People SO often call you
'Old Joshua Brooke" she said nsively.
thought old. Mary. except, perhaps,
when it reminds me Of one thing"
He paused. and his usually hearty
sounding voice had SO sad and tender an
echo in it that Mary was certain he had
sorrowful story to tell.
81 am quite sure, godfather" she ex-
claimed, that you are in love; that you
are meaning and talking of some partic-
lar real person; and it is young girl;
now, isn't it? Do tell me! think you
ought to tell me, because l guessed it
myself. Ever since you came in here
and began to talk about why you never
married, felt sure that you had story
to tell me. Do tell me, pleased"
And Mary settled herself in her seat,
smoothed her muslin apron, and folded
her hands in demure waiting, with great
interest in her attentive eyes, but curl
"a story, Nary" he repeated, smil.
ing at her. eyes, have, inueed; but
am so old, Mary, aud you--you are so
young that l am almost ashamed, al.
most afraid, to tell you. 1t is the 'old,
old story Mary"
He spoke SO hesitatingly, so timidly
and sadly, that she tried at once to re.
assure him.
"Never mind" she said, II like the
old ones best, like the old songs. Go on,
please tell me-"
He stopped abruptly, and she counted
up rapidly on her fingers.
"Forty-l9. Then she is 2l-just my
own age. On, shall love her dearly, l
am sure, MIR. Brooke, for / love you so.
Do tell me her name and all about her!
When shall see her?'
He hesitated, looking into her eager,
unconscious face, the color rising to his
own and fading again. Then, in low,
earnest voice, he said
Her name is--Mary Bartemy."