The Indiana State sentinel., 1889-01-16
CHAPTER XXXVIIL.

W tlCdl OiaI D A lldA lO bihiO " ~
you know" said Aubrey moment after,
''for l was uncertain myself until last
night that should be able to accept the
invitation of your county to their ban
quet. | have only two hours to spend
with you; but that is better than nothing.
You look i'll, dear. But that is natural.
So irreparable calamity as yours cannot
be borne without suffering, which Is IN
itself an illness"
She was glad to see him; the frank,
warm sympathy of his words, the grasp of
his hands, the sense OF kindly and stanch
sincerity were always precious to her.
After the platitudes of HiIda Sunbury,
they seemed like a fresh sea-wind after
the dull, close air of some shut chamber.
Yet a certain uneasiness which she had
never felt before made her constrained
and troubled under the searching and
earnest gaze of his eyes. She knew that
she had done what he would blame; she
knew she had written what he would
blame still more.
at must be consolation to you to be
absorbed in public life?" she said wist-
fully.
at takes one out of oneself" he replied.
"All work does so; but national work most
OF all'
"You have 80 much to think of" she
said evasively, you could not be un-
happy"
Aubrey was silent.
81 have nothing to think OF" she
added, except my father"
"Ah, dear Why did tell you? There
is no irremediable sorrow except death"
They were alone in the gardens into
which they had strolled. Lady Sunbury
was away for few days, the girl had gone
out riding on the moors; there had been
rain in the morning, but the early after
noon was fine though sunless. There was
the warm glow of autumnal flowers every
where.
"Why is Evelyn away?" he asked
"Have you done that which l besought
you to do? l hoped to find you drawn
nearer TO him. He was sincerely afflicted
at the loss you sustained"
"Yes. He was fond of my father"
Her voice trembled; the tears rose TO
her eyes.
"Wen, surely that common sorrow
should have united YOU"
''He does not even write to mel'' she
said with Indignation. He only writes to
Ward and Brunton."
They were his land agent and his house
steward.
"He probably does not know what to
say to you" replied Aubrey. "When men
are in false positions they generally avoid
writing. We are all moral towards, I as
sure YOU. He is not more SO than the
rest of us. We dislike TO give pain, and
our dislike to doing so usually brings
about more pain in the end than # we
had frankly grasped the truth at the first
He is your cousin; it is natural that
you should take hiS part"
II have not deserved that rebuke from
you, Gladys"
There was the scent of wet grass and
fallen leaves, and the sound of the foun-
tains came through the perfect silence,
monotonOus and melodious.
"Did you ever lose any one you loved
greatiy?" she asked him.
yes" he replied. 81 lost one whom I
loved immensely; vet for whose loss l was
thankful, since her life would have been
a greater torture to me than her death
was"
''That must have been terrible"
''There is nothing so terrible"
She did not ask more. She was alb
sorbed in that selfishncss which is begot-
ten in the most generous natures by the
suffering of the affections. She could not
rouse herself from it to enter into the life
OF another. Aubrey saw that her thoughts
were not with him, and the impulse of
confidence which had momentarily moved
him was checked.
"Did you know that he loved the
Duchess Soria ?" she asked abruptly. The
question troubled and embarrassed her
companion; he answered with hesita-
ton:
"Who could be infamous enough to tell
YOU that IL was before his marriage"
"It might be before. But he loves her
still, now; he has never really loved any
other woman; he has told me So"
"a boutade," said Aubrey angrily. One
of his innumerable boutades. He is like
Horace's wayward child:
Porrigis irato puero quum pomam, recusat;
Sumo, catelle; negat. 81 non des, optat--
'That is why he adores her; she is
withdrawn from him"
81 have never found the fruit that he
would court, given or withdrawn" said
Gladys bitterly.
She was thinking of her husbands easy
acquiesence in her own withdrawal from
him.
"Pardon me, dear" said Aubrey ten
derly; but / think you have never en-
deayored TO understand his character
enough to soothe or influence him. You
have loved him no doubt; but you have
given to your love that apre and exacting
complexion which alienates any man,
and, most of all, a man as self-indulgent
and as universally caressed as he. Forgive
me if | seem TO blame you. l know he has
made life difficult for you"
"Will you read what have written to
him?"
She took letter from her pocket and
held it out to him.
81 have written many others and de-
stroyed them. They seemed too insolent
Read thisw
1t was the letter which she had written
that morning.
Aubrey sat down on a bench under one
OF the cedars, and read. She could tell
nothing from the expression of his coun-
tenance. He folded it up, and gave it back
to her.
"If your father were living, he would
not let you send it.
She colored; she knew that already.
'.Io send it will be to sever your life
forever from Guilderoy's. Anger is bad
counsellor. You will live on the excita-
ton Of anger for few months; it is like a
drug; it supplies all the natural forces Of
life for time, only TO leave them utterly
PROSTATE when its effects have passed.