Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-01-17

not like anything else-it means, as you must know, many things to woman. There is no magic about marriage to make that which is unrighteous righteous, or that which Is i'm pure pure"
 sThere," said her father, cit is no good your featuring to me on marriage, Ida. If you do not want to marry Cossey can't force you to. If you want to ruin me and your family and yourself you must do so. But there is one thing. WhSe it is over me, which suppose will not be for much longer, my house is my own, and l will not have that colonel of yours hanging about it, and shall write to him to say so. You are your own mistress, and if you choose to walk over to church and marry him you can do so, but it will be done without my consent, which of course, however, is an unnecessary formal ity. Do you hear me, Ida7'
 ''If you have quite done, father" she answered, coldly, II should like to go before say something which I might be sorry for Of course, you can write what you like to Col. Quaritch, and shall write to him, too"
 Her father made no answer beyond sitting down at his table and grabbing viciously at a pen. So she left the room, indignant, in- deed, but with as heavy q heart as any woman could carry in her breast
 DEAR SIR," wrote the not altogether un- naturally indignant squire,-'I have been informed by my daughter Ida of her en- tanglement with you It is one which, for reasons that need not enter into, is most distasteful to me, as we'll as, am sorry to say, ruinous to Ida herself and to her family. Ida is of full age and must. of course, do as she pleases with herself. But cannot con- sent to become party to what disapprove beg you tS'cease your visits to this house. 1 am sir Your obedieut servant
 "JAMES DE LA MOLLE."
 Ida, as soon as she had sufficiently recov- cred herself, also wrote to the colonel. She told him the whole story, keeping nothing back, and ended her letter thus:
 "Never, dear Harold, was a woman in a greater difficulty, and never had I more need of help and advice. You know and have good reason to know how hateful this marriage would be to me, loving you as do entirely and alone, and having no higher de sire than to become your wife. But, of course, l see the painfuness of the position. l am not so selfish as my father believes or says that be believes l quite understand how great would be the material advantage to my father if could bring myself to marry MT. Cossey. You may remember told you once that thought no woman had right to prefer her own happiness to the prosperity of her whole family. But, Harold, it is easy to speak thus, and very, very hard to act up to 1t What am to doa What am to doa And yet how can in common fairness ask you to answer that question: God help us both, Haroldl Is there no way out of itf'
 These letters were both duly received by Harold Quaritch on the following morning. and threw him into fever of anxiety and doubt. He was just and reasonable man, and, knowing something of human nature, under the circumstances did not altogether wonder at the squire's violence and irritation. The financial position of the De Ia Molle family was little, if anything, short of des- perate; and he could easily understand how maddening it must be to a man like Mir. De la Molle, who loved Honhan-which had for centuries been the habitation of his race better than he loved anything on earth, to suddenly realize that it must pass away from him and his forever, merely because a woman happened to prefer one man to another, and that man, to his view, the less eligible of the two. So keenly did he realize this, in- deed, that he greatly doubted whether or no he was justified in continuing his advances to Ida. Finally, after much thought, he wrote to the squire as follows:
 II have received your letter, and also one from Ida, and hope you will believe me when say that quite understand and sym pathize with the motives which evidently led you to write it. l am, unfortunately-al- though 1 never regretted it till nova poor man, whereas my rival suitor is very rich one. 1 shall, of course, strictly obey your in- junctions; and, moreover, can assure you that, whatever my own feelings may be in the matter, l shall do nothing, either directly or indirectly, to influence 1da's ultimate de cision. She must decide for herself"
 To Ida herself he also wrote at length: ha SoI " nothing more; you must judge for yourself; and shall accept your decision Loyalty what | ever it may be. It is unnecessary for me | now to tell you how inextricably my happi- | ness in life is interwoven with that decision, but at the same time do not wish to influ- ence 1t. It certainly to my mind does not seem right that woman should be driven l into sacrificing her whole life to secure any monetary advantage either for herself or for others, but then the world is full of things that are not right. l lean give you no advice | for do not know what advice l ought tc give. l try to put myself out of the question and to consider you, and you only; but even then fear that my judgment is not impar. tial. At any rate, the less we see of each other the better at present, for do not wish to appear to be taking any undue advantage If we are destined to pass our lives together this temporary arrangement will not matter and if, on the other hand, we are doomed te a life long sepafation, the sooner we begin the better. It is cruel world, and some times las 1t does now) my heart sinks witLir me as from year to year struggle on to ward a happiness that ever vanishes when stretch out my hand to clasp it; i. but if fee thus what must you feel who have so muck more to bears My dearest love, what can say9 can only say with you, God help usl'
 This letter did not tend to raise Ida! spirits. Evidently her lover saw that there was another side to the questionable side ol duty, and was too honest to hide it from her She had said that she would have nothing t do with Edward Cossey, but she was vel aware that the matter was still an open one What should she doa What ought she to do Abandon her love, desecrate herself and say, her father and her house, or cling to her lov, and leave the rest to cLancea It was a crue position, nor did the lapse of time tend tt make it less cruel. Her father went abou the place pale and archaeological his Jovia manner had vanished beneath the pressur, of impending ruin. He treated her witl studious and old fashioned courtesy, but sh, could see that he was bitterly aggrieved by A~-.- "A s- N .