Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-08-13

SHE PUT HER ARMS AROUND HER MOTHERS alleviate the sorrow she felt had fallen, somewhere and somehow, on the idolized mother.
 The nurse came for her charge, but for the first time the child stoutly refused to leave the room.
 "Leave her to mo awhile, Hewitt" the whitehead mother interposed, and the nurse left them together alone, wondering much what troubled Lady Percival as she closed the door softly and went back to the nursery.
 Having arranged tho cushions to her sat isfaction, Miriam went over to the window whose narrow panes gleamed in the after noon sun, and stood gazing far away over the environs of her palatial home, awed into silence by something she could not under stand.
 How tue mellow light fell through the tall issome elms, and glowed in its sitting rays through panes, falling at last on the long sunny curls, and forming halo of glory around "the eldest ohild-a daughter" as she stood puzzling her inexperienced heart over the dark tltlc-page of her life.
 Lady Percival watched her with a sense of utter helpless misery The child's sen tence of an hour ago fell like verdict of lite sentence, dooming them all to woe: "Cause do not love him velly well.n
 The legend of Heatherleigh Hall was be- ginning to unfold it's menaoing power, and the tide of doom had begun to set toward shores of estrangement, heartacho and tearsl
 Lady Percival gazed long on the heiress of the proud and aristocratic manorial pos sessions in dumb anguish. But her heart was making moan against Q dreary barren shore, and the burden of it's language was: ''Ohl Miriam, my own lovely child, why must 1t be; why, oh whys"
 And an unseen influence made answer: ''The eldest child, if 1t be q daughter"
 Sir Rupert never referred to the scene in the park, and, to all appearan ces, had for gotten the unpleasant occurrence. But there was a change in him that rendered him at times suncompanionable and reticent.
 Tho servants noticed the change and speculated accordingly. John, the coach man, remarked to his fellows that "the dreary days wcre a-settlin' him. and that halter 'while hit would be war to the tilt be- tween the master and tho young mistress"
 But long to be remembered was the day of tho first real disagreement between fa- ther and daughter.
 Miriam had rushed into her mothers apartments and had thrown herself into Lady Percival's arms, crying and trembling in very much excited manner. Upon being interrogated in reference to her un- | usual behavior sho replied amid sobs of painful excitement, while she chung to Lady Perciva's gown: Il do not love him one bit, now, and he doesn't love mo, either; and do not care"
 Clarkson, who was passing her mistress rooms on duties intent, heard and saw Miriam ill her paroXysm of grief and anger "Oh, OIve known it iver so long that it
 
 hone! an that's the ginuine Parcival tim per-" muttered she to herself. And the old housekeeper communicated the affair to tho cook with doleful shake of the head that set the broad white ruff1es on the cap | she wore to trembling over her whitened | locks.
 Subsequently, Sir Rupert had come into his wife's apartment in search of his daugh- | ter, yet, after all dreadlng to meet her. Finding her sobbing on her mothers knee, 1 he gave her such strange look of deep, angry sorrow as perhaps few see in a life | time, and said, ill a voice as strange as his look: 'I have tried, God is my witness, l to love the child and break the power of | the decree which will estrange us, and l find it is useless. can not love my child !' He covered his face with his trembling hands, as if entirely overcome by the l baleful intent of his own words, and leaned l against the doorway screen. II can not,' he moaned, "avert mightier decrees than my ownP'
 l Miriam seemed to understand, in part, her fathers great grief, for she shuddered visibly and ceased her violent weeping, hid her face in Lady Percival's gown and re- 1 mained silent
 l Seeing this demonstration of fear, Sir Rupert went over and, bending down, with white lips pressed the last kiss he ever be- slowed on his child on her sunny ringlets, while the tears rolled down the face of heartbroken Lady PercivaL CHAPTER VII.
 And after the scene closing our last chap l ter Lady Percival never saw another happy | day. From that wretched day on, until her decease, her existence was but living death.
 Not many months after the death of Lady