The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1888-12-22

! which latter the tiny bells tinkIcd ulerrily %
Marjory lifted it. Her tears fell thick and
fast as she rubbed the pretty toy with an old
glove until it shone quite brightly in shc
dim candelight. Then she went down
stairs. Jim was sitting where she
had left him, but he turned as she came in
and shivered slightly; for the night was
chilly, and a fire was luxury not to be
thought Of She held the rattle out to him
silently.
80, Mariory not that can'tl" he said
hoarsely, hiding his face in his hands.
Eyes, DEAR" said the sweet, unsteady,
little voice. "We-we--" She stopped
uncertainty, and, to her husbands terror
and dismay, tainted sud denly and quietly
away in his arms.
The next day Carol himself wrote to old
Joseph Linton. His letter was returned
unopened.
''Post these letters for me, KIng-will
you" said Archie L yle, one October fore
noon. Pm off in tearing hurry to catch
a train Don't 70 rget them, there's good
| fellow"
"All right" said the young man addressed;
and he put the letters carelessly into the
| breast pocket Of his overcoat.
"Hang it all" King said to himself tho
/ y
tiers. However, don't suppose it matters
much. He'll be none the wiser" He dropped
them into the first pillar box he came to
and lighting a cigar, sauutered on his way.
!, On the morning of this same day Carol
and his wife were standing, pale and silent,
at the window of their sittiug-room. They
were watching for the postman. They had
watched for him unspokenly, feverishly,
desparingly, for many days. Soon they
heard the sharp rat-tat on the doors in the
distance. He came nearer He knocked at
the door of the house nearest theirs. Then
he passed on!
o, Jimm said the little wife despairingly.
Carol was white to his very lips.
'Never mind, childie," he said, putting
his arm round her, and trying to speak
steadily.
80, my dear, can't help it," she sobbed.
There was a long pause; then Mariory
said, almost cheerily; perhaps if you went
to MIR. Lyle, he could tell you. jim"
II did CO. Marlory, yesterday, he inter
rupted her quietly, "but he has gone from
home for a fortnight If my drawing had
been successful he would have written be.
fore he left. Try not to grove, darling; it
can't be helped" Jim went on, with scky
smile. 1--WE must try something else. l
may hear of something to-day"
perhaps there will be- letter tonight"
said Mariory with renewed hope, as she bid
her husband goodbye at the door.
Jim came home about six, looking terri
bly, weary and depressed. He had beon un-
succeSsful-Once more.
"No letters yet, dear" said his wife,
Fastening to answer the unspo5en question
in his eyes. AS she spoke they heard the
postmans knock in the distance; it came
nearer-and died away
perhaps there will be one in the morn
ing Mariory went on; but her voice fall
tered.
In the morning. Another long, awful,
sleepless night of hoping against hope, of
maddening, steadily-growjng despairl Jim
shuddered. He was worn out, physically
and mentally; and he felt as though he could
not stand the sickening suspense longer. AS
he looked at his wife, her wan, changed
little face, with its pale ghost Of a smile,
seemed to pierce his heart.
A strange terrible, determined look set
tied round his mouth, but Marjory
leaning her curly head against his arm and
did not see his face
The room was quite dark now, but they
were still standing at the window. For
| time Carol was very still. Thon no said:
81 am very tired, Marjory, darling Twill
didn't sleep last night" (nor for many nights,
he might have added)
But won't you have a cup of tea first,
JIM"
mo, l don't care for any"
GA long sleep will do you good, dear" she
said, anXiously and caressngly. "You look
dreadful"
Yes" he answered in "a strangely quiet
voice, "a long sleep will do me good" Then
suddenly: kiss me, Marjory!"
"Ah, my own dear disappointed boyW
she cried, throwing her arms round him.
He held her to him tightly, and kissed her
again and again.
'"My darlingp he said, hoarsely. "My
own darlinGW
Then he let her go, and went away She
heard him go up stairs and his footsteps
echo in the room above
MarjOry sat at the window for long,
long time; and watched the stars grow
brighter and clearer in the soft dark sky.
Somewhere in the distance a street organ
was wailing out an old hackneyed waltz tune.
1t stirred her heart strangely She remem-
bered dancing that waltz with Jim, so very,
very long ago-it seemed long ago, like
every thing else that was bright and hope
full Even Marjory's brave little heart was
heavy tonight. What would become Of
them, she wondered2 God only knew.
The clock in a neighboring church tower
doomed out on the night air, and as the last
stroke died away there was sharp knock
at the door. 1t was the postman. Marjory
took the one letter he held out to her, and
closing the door again she went back TO the
sitting room With trembling fingers she
lighted the candle and examined the en-
velope eagerly. Yes, it was Mr.. Lyle's hand
writing Mariory recognized it without
difficulty, for it was a peculiar hand. With
a beating heart she stole softly up stairs
she did not take the candle, for fear of
waking Jim, should he DO asleep-and
peeped into the bedroom. All was still. In
the pale starlight she could just make out
the dim outline of his figure on the bed.
Jim !" she whispered.
No answer. He was evidently asleep.
Ali it seemed a pity to wake him. she
thought; and perhaps, after ALL the letter
held bad news. She softly laid a shawl
over him in the semi-darkness, and crept
down stairs again
After looking at the fateful envelope for
some time she slowly opened it. She could
not wait. and she knew Jim would not mind.
In another moment she uttered little glad
| ba,- I'D In,