Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1889-08-03

And, indeed, Lord Carew felt a tightening of
his throat and Q mistiness of his own ewes M
he told the disappointed sutton he had come
too late. Wilfrid heard him with dreary
patience, bearing 1t as such men bear adverse
fate-composed enough to outward seeming,
but with bitterness in his heart that was like
the bitterness of death. Lord Carew seemed.
indeed, the more moved Of the two but he
understood the others stern self-command and
when MIR. Lyle asked to see Doris he did not
know how TO refuse.
1T can't hurt You to say q civil word to
him." he said, when Doris shrank back: sit
isn't as if you had cared for him, you know"
NO." said Doris, family.
"Then go to him, my dear He will saw
nothing to pain you; he is too much OF a gen.
tleman for that. And, after all, it il not your
fault, you know. You have no cause for self
reproach."
docs he know about tomorrow"
"Of course, of course. I told him every-
thing, and he only wants just to say .good-by.'
You can't refuse him that, poor fellow, il it's
any consolation"
No; Doris felt that she could not refuse.
She went into the drawing room where, wilfrid
was waiting, telling herself proudly that she
should, at least. know how to meet him as
Philip Chisholm's bride-she, Doris Carew!
But the proudest women sometimes over
rate their strength. She had not realized what
1t would be to stand face to face with him once
more, to feel her hands in his to meet the
eyes and hear the voice for which she had
hungered so long in vain. She stood mute and
pale, unable to utter a word.
There was a cloud of pain and wonder in
Wilfrid's eyes, and his face was almost as white
| as her own.
'Doris," he said "Dorisy" There could be
no pretehse OF commonplace greeting between
| them, but till she heard his voice she did not
| realize how much better it would have been
| that there should have been no greeting at all.
| She looked up, too shaken and apitated to
| sneak. oitnnra Cd %rh
more natural than speech. In that supreme
moment of meeting neither thought Of con-
ventional civilities, neither thought of anything
but the other. Neither of them even saw that
! gentleman in evening dress had come in un-
announced, and was standing Just within the
! door, as If turned into stone.
Doris" said Wilfrid, Il will not take your
fathers tale without word from you. Is it
| true! And is this thing Of your own free will?''
She bent her head silently, and he let her
hands fall.
And thought such different things" he
muttered. did you not know how loved
you? Doris, did you not know"
How could II" she whispered in toneless
voice. "They said-they said--" Her
voice faltered, and trailed off into a despairing
| silence, but MIR. Lyle understood.
They told you was married. Your father
| had heard some foolish story about that 1
| suppose there was some confusion with my
Cousin Charley, who was married a little while
C. Lyle?"
"Of course-wilfrid Charles. We call him
| Charlie to distinguish him from me- but he is
always called Wilfrid at home. Was that the
| dreadful mistake that robbed me of you? Oh,
Doris, Doris! How could you believe it-you?
Had you forgotten that last night, and what
you gave me then?'
She hid her face with sharp and bitter cry,
and the man who was watching them, himself
| 80 unthOught of and unseen. scowled fercely,
| and clenched his hands az he looked.
did you not care for me when you gave me
this?" said Wilfrid, and his tone compelled her
to look up. He held out an open pocket book
and on it lay a small withered flower, scentless
and brown and dry. "Did you not care for me
could not even control the trembling that
| shook her from head to foot
.'You loved me, then!' he cried, with swift
conviction; land, Doris, my Doris! believe
you love me now!'
moment Doris bent her head on her
pace, and looked at him, and, trembling as she
was, her gaze neither shrank nor wavered. Her
face was set and PALE but there was something
SO noble and lofty in her look that both the
men held their breath
Dear" she said, '.this is the last time shall
oversee you, and if it is any comfort to you
to know that love you, take it! But even for
you l cannot go back from my word or wrong
the good and noble gentleman whose wife
shall be tomorrow. Did you not yourself teach
me 'Noblesse Obligep"
Her tone and look went to Wilfred's heart.
and not to his only. Sir Philip Chisholm strobe
suddenly down the room and fronted them
with eyes that held great sorrow and great
resolve.
Miss Carew," said the gray-haired soldier,
whom Doris had called not untruly good and
noble gentleman, Miss Carew, have come to
bid you good-by. love you too truly to lcri-
fee your life to mine. Yes, Doris. my darling!
would have kept -FOUR word and done your
duty-and broken your heart in doing it! Do
you think will let you do it, or that an old
soldier shall be outdone in heroism by girl?
1, too, have duty to perform, and that is to
is, like yours and his, 'Noblesse Oblige.'"