The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1889-06-30

ADDENBRO0KE.
IN never do you wrong for your own sake.
AIS Well That Ends Well.

She was standing at the window, her
eyes mechanically following the famil-
lar, insignificant figure of the professor
as he plodded down the gravel walk to
the gate; and when he had passed from
view she sat down in the nearest chair
and continued her reflections. It was
very strange. She had no love to give
him, and had told him SO, quite frankly;
he must know, as every one knew, of
that miserable affair with Lawrence
Fleming; was he not Jennings intimate
friend, the last person who had seen him
before he went to Africa?
Moreover, her glass had taken to re-
flecting woman who was sad and pale
and old before her time; surely not the
woman with whom man would be ex-
pected to wish to begin his life.
When we have become to ourselves
daily burden it is so hard to realize that
our presence can be desired of others.
And yet she had been aware of Alden
brooke's devotion from the days OF the
good but obstinate little boy, with taste
for chemical experiments, to those of the
modest young man, who lurked unob-
trusively in doorways for the purpose Of
saying good night to her, and was always
at hand to fill up vacancies. She had
been aware of it, but had given it little
heed; now, in her loneliness, her sorrow,
the thought of that devotion moved her
strangely.
She had seen herself drifting on to
middle age, haggard, loveless, unloved;
the sorriest of spectacles, the emotional
woman whose emotions have wrecked
her. Addenbrooke and Addenbrooke's
love interposed themselves like shield
between her and her fate.
She had given him no answer, but she
knew by now what her answer would be.
The door opened, and Mrs. Grey, her
mother, came into the room.
She sat down in silence-a chill, COM
FORTRESS presence and regarded her
daughter from the distance.
These two women lived together with
out profit or pleasure to either. Mrs.
Grey was capable of making sacrifices,
but she lacked the priceless gift of home
making; while Lydia, on herpart, chafed
beneath the restrictions of a relationship
in which neither affinity nor affection
bore part.
$50 it was to be Johnny Addenbrooke
after all" reflected Mrs. Grey; "a Cover
street professor of no particular distinc-
ton. Well, Lydia was getting en-; and,
if q girl means to marry, she had better
manage to do so before she is five-and-
twenty. And there had been nothing, it
seemed, in that affair with young Elem
ing" Mrs. Grey was disappointed. It
is true that Fleming father kept a glove
shop in Regent street, whereas the Ad-
denbrookes had been gentle folks for
ger ~ations; but nobody minded that sort
of ching in these days. Lawrence Flem-
ing went everywhere, did everything;
his new book from Africa had made him
more of lion than ever; hence he was
more to be desired as husband than poor
Johnny, who went nowhere to speak of,
and did nothing but his work.
Lydia rose slowly and went over to the
writing table.
As she took up her pen the whimsical
thought struck her that, when the other
children had carried their pence to the
sweet shop, Johnny had always preferred
to invest his capital in mysterious COM
pounds at the chemists. a faint smile
lowered about her lips as she wrote.
When the letter was finished, she laid
her head moment on the desk and shut
her eyes. The old dream, from which
she was turning forever, had rushed
with cruel vividness into her conscious
ness:
Behut dich Cot, es war III schon gewesen;
Behut dich Colt, es hat NIGHT sollen sein-
She rose, stiff and cold, and went over
to her mother.
Lydia was a graceful creature, tall,
slight, family colored; some people
thought her beautiful, others could see
no beauty in her whatever.
Mamma" she said in her strange,
pathetic voice, Professor Addenbrooke
has asked me to marry him, and have
written to say yes"
Addenbrooke was spending the even
ing as usual with Lydia at st. Johns
Wood. They were alone together, Mrs.
Grey having discreetly retired to her
own room, and the talk between them
flowed with the ease of intimacy and af-
lection.
1t was now three weeks since their en-
gagement, and already something of Ad-
denbrooke's calm happiness was begin
ming to be reflected in Lydia's face. She
appreciated, what only women can ap-
preciate, the consciousness of making
another's happiness by the mere fact of
her presence. That is, think, pleas
ure too subtle for the masculine palate.
Now, as she laid her hand lightly on his,
she enjoyed, as it were, reflection of
the delight which she knew herself to be
comforting by the act.
Johnny" she said, twill you let me
tell you tonight what 1 have always
meant to tell you? about myself and
that other person" She finished her
phrase thus vaguely, not doubling but
that Addenbrooke had mentally rounded
it off With greater accuracy; somehow
her lips refused to utter the name of
Lawrence Fleming.
"My DEAR" he answered gently, "tell
me nothing which distresses you. 1 don't
want to know. l know you have been
very unhappy; but one day, assure you,
you are going to be happier than ever"
She smiled half sadly. Johnny, let