Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-05-04
CHAPTER XXIV.

Joy there, misery nere!
 Lady Valworth pushes back the por- tiere, and with g slow and heavy tread advances to where the motionless figure on the arms that are lying upon the table.
 "Granit" whispers she tremulously.
 He starts to his feet with an oath, and turns stormy face to hers.
 "What, cannot be left alone even now? What brings you here? Is there no rest-no peace?"
 "It is only I, my dear-your mother!'' Her voice breaks. "Oh, my child! my son! my darling! It is your mother, dear your own mother! Did you think any thing could make any difference to me?'' The poor woman filings herself on the ground beside him and encircles him with her arms. t'I knew you were alone" she goes on eagerly. "I would have come sooner, but IT was not very we'll. The moment could, however, I came to you. I could not bear to picture you sitting here all by yourself, and perhaps believ- ing your poor mother was holding aloof. :"
 "You had done better had you so held yourself"
 "Oh, Granit! do not so speak to mel Do not repulse me!' She is still kneeGng beside him, trying do dfaw, his dark, sullen face to look at her; and now she taxes ms nanu anu nO1uS 1C III 1Ouu11uS fashion against her bosom. He is once more her child, her boy, her little one; in trouble and disgrace-in direst grief-and to whom then should he come but to his mother? My darling, why did you not trust me?'' she says in a low, painful whis- per. 1T would have given them to you. I could have managed in some way Yes-I would have given them.'
 ''They were not yours to give''-this allusion to the stolen diamonds hardens his heart again, though not toward her 'they belonged to Sir Thomas How ever"-breaking off savagely and drag ging his hand roughly out of hers-'it is too late to dis uss what is over and done. If you have come here to maunder about my crimes, warn you will have none of it. 7"
 ssNo, no, dear; not another word shall be said.'' Going closer to him she tries to press him into chair. "Sit down now and let us talk of your plans," she whis- pers soothingly.
 "Plans?'' He glances at her vaguely, as though he hardly understands; plainly he has not been listening. Then sudden ly his face f1ushes; the veins swell upon his temples "Where is she?'' he cries in vehement tone. tShe? Millicent''
 'Pshaw! No. She who betrayed me; that fair devil, Nadine.''
 tsShe is down stairs. She has been very l ill.," says the mother trembling
 'Did hurt her? Did she feel2 Did she | suffer?'' His tone is exultant, yet there is fierce agony in it. "I hope so. Great heavens! how that girl lied to me, though her lips uttered no falsehood. She gave herself to me; she swore she would marry me, caring for that other all the time. Did you mark how she shruIB and covered away from me? How she paled, and glanced at me as though perdi tion lay in the sight of mel"
 He is glancing over his mothers shoul der toward the opposite wall. His eye. l are dark and wild; he is gazing at some thing. That past scene in the library i. again before minis again being enacted brought to light by his disordered fancy
 "Granit, think of something else, i'm p1ores his mother, in frightened man ner. His voice, his gestures, terrify her
 stFrom me she shrunk-to turn to him How her eye lit as she saw himl To hin she cried for protection from me! Sh
 held out her arms to him! She clung t, himI' His breath is coming in painful gasps. "There was adoration in tn glance she directed at himl Te gain sucl . Q glance would have died. Wellr' h.
 stretches out his arms and then he clasp