The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-03-20


see her there.
She bade them send the housekeeper
to her.
"My lord returns tomorrow. Prepare
everything" she said briefly
The old woman kissed her hand and
murmured tremblingly, "The Lord be
thankedr'
GLADYS looked at her with a strange
look. "Will it be well or i'll ?" she thought,
and said no more; but entered the house
where she was mistress, and uncovered
her head and sat down by one of the great
windows and gazed out at the gardens
smiling in the western sun. An infinite
peace seemed to lie like benediction on
the great house in it's silence and fragrance
and majesty. But there was no peace in
her heart.
"My fatherwill be content, if he knows" :"
she thought.
She could not think of his soul as dead,
as ignorant or as careless of her fate.
She arose after awhile and went up the
staircase to her own apartments, Kenneth
and the other dogs following her with soft,
noiseless tread; they knew the place
again, but the change to it troubled them.
She let the women take off the rough
serge gown she wore, symbol OF the wis
dom and the solitude she relinquished,
and clothe her in one of the many gowns
she had left there-a gown of pale blue
velvet, embroidered with silver threads,
with old laces at the throat and arms. AS
she looked at the worn folds of the serge
skirt, with all its stains of sea-sand and of
wet grasses, she sighed as Griseldis might,
despite all, when she put off her peasants 8
kirtal for the regal robe once more.
With the old worn gown she put away
from her forever liberty of the affections,
liberty of the actions, liberty even of the
thoughts; for she was very loyal-giving
herself once more she gave her undivided
allegiance.
She clasped a necklace about her throat,
a necklace of old Venetian gold-work
which he had given her in the early days
OF their stay in Venice, and turned from
the mirror, feeling as though a score of
years had gone since she had last stood be-
fore it there. Then she descended the
stairs, where the afternoon sun still
streamed through the painted windows
across the broad steps and the oaken bal
ustrade.
She went slowly, feeling as though she
dragged dead body with her, the amber
glow OF the late afternoon shining on the
silvery sOftness of the velvet and the gold
The house was flooded with that rich
light-that evening splendor-that fra
GRANGE from blossoming gardens and from
dewey woodlands; it seemed to make a
festival with its beauty and its odors and
its color for her as she moved.
But her face was white, her step was re-
luctant, her heart sick. For she knew
that he was on his way thither, and would
soon reioin her. Even her return to
Ladysrood would be attributed by the
world to coarse and selfish reasons; and
the remembrance of the imputation of
low motives which the world is sure to
cast on high emotions must ever be to the
nature which is above the herd loath-
some and CALLING remembrance.
She looked at a portrait, by Watts, of
Aubrey which burg IN the picture-eal-
lery. 1t seemed to gaze at her with eyes
which had life in them, and its lips
seemed to utter an eternal farewell. They
would meet as friends and relatives; they
would meet perforce and continually, but
the old sweet intimacy was over for ever.
1t left an immense loss, an immense
void in her life, which she had no belief
that the future could ever fill.
She wandered through the long sue
cession OF rooms and galleries. and halls
and corridors; the places were all so IA
miliar, yet so strange to her. Like the
dogs, she was troubled by divided sense
of exile and return. After the little lowly
chambers and lonely shores of Christslea,
LadysroOd seemed palace for a queen.
Her husband had given all to her; he
had found her poor and obscure and had
enriched her with all he possessed. She
had never cared for these things indeed, in
any vulgar or avaricious sense, but abb
sence from them had taught her to meas
ure their value in the ewes of others, and
to understand why her father, least
worldly of all men, had said to her that
the greatness of Guilderoys gifts de-
manded from her gratitude and fealty.
She entered the drawing-rooms of the
western wing, where the last glow of sun
set was lighting up with crimson rehec-
tions all the beauty and luxury of the
apartments.
She walked to and fro them in their
solitude, bidding the servants leave the
windows open TO the evening air, which
came in cool and damp and full of the
fragrance of spring flowers and spring
woodlands.
1t was the last breath of the life which
she had given up and left forever.
Henceforward she would live in the
world-for the world-of the world
Guilderoy, she knew, would never lead
any other existence. The burden of its
artificiality, the cruelty of its crowds, the
sameness of its pleasures, seemed to
weigh on her already with that monotony
and that irritation which she had always
found in them.
The hours passed on; the day altered
into night; the servants came and lighted
all the waxlights in the sconces and chan
deliers OF the suite OF rooms She stood
by one of the still open windows, looking
out at the shadows of the west garden,
listening TO the peaceful splashing OF the
fountains falling in the fishponds under
the trees,
She could hear her own heart beat in
the stiffness. She knew that he had re-
turned, and must soon come to her.
Tenderness and bitterness strove to-
gether in her soul; she remembered her
fathers words spoken IN that chamber,
and she acknowledged their nobility and
beauty; but she also remembered the
words with which Guilderoy had there
declared TO her that he had never loved
her and loved another woman.
"Why drag the chain between us when
it is pain to us both ?" she thought; and
her memory went to Aubrey.
The evening became night; the curfew-
bell, which was still rung at Ladysrood,
Lolled from the clock tower, the air grew
colder and had the sweet breath OF million
of ,orimrosaa and bvacintha in IL