The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1889-09-07

the firm, Shapely A8nQ 3gEdC0 WOIN1 II - -
\ positive were Of poetic fire with much the
same feelings Of gladness that one sees =
potion prepared which is to give great rehe1
!. to suffering friend
+ had made up my mind, and accordingly
| / thought best not to mention my meeting
| Allan Perclyai in the park to Peggy OF An.
| eli. They, to say the least would be curl
| Gus and perhaps night ask questions which
| | could not answer and do justice to the con-
! idencs reposed in me.
| So. trusting that they had not seen Allan,
! i thrust the letter to Miriam in my pocket
| and entered the house. They had not seen
I Allan. and I counted myself lucky in es-
Gaping all chance of being Intercepted, for
nv visitor OF the park had enjoined secrecy
/ upon me in the matter OF his identity and
| his message to Miriam
I Said he: 'tKeep this meeting here-that
1 is. the identity of the Individual you CHANGED
to meet-a profound secret as far as this
side the water is concerned. yentured
here because 1t was my fathers home until
I driver from it,'' and his eyes took on an
angry agonized CLEAN which made me
shudder in spite of myself. "Ah! here, too.
is Percival,'' l thought, and Che look in
his eyes reminded me Of Miriam.
81 presume" he began, after pause, ~
ought never to have come here; it fills my
soul with hate to look about me and re-
member my fathers story, and also that Of
Cousin Miriam. But, after all, it is quite
| lucky for me- because have met you, her
! friend, by coming"
His face speedily regained its former
pleasant expression and yearning hope
supplanted the dark look of revenge which
| had so awed me.
eyes" replied, lit is stroke Of Provi-
dence; YOU were to meet me and / am to
carry your message to your cousin"
$50 you believe in that theory?' he asked,
an odd, puzzled look on his face.
Certainly do,'' I answered, Sand you
will too by and BY" .
Il am almost converted to your doctrine
now,' he laughed.
| Then. after wishing me "bon voyage'
and reiterating his des ire that Miriam
should get the letter from my hands only,
he lifted his hat and babe me goodbye again
and walked away toward what used to be
the deer park, but now rather neglected
| close.
One morning not long after this decidedly
romantic interview in the old, deserted
Heatherleigh grounds found myself ready
! to leave the Hall.
Peggy. who had either grown tired of
coaxing me to prolong my visit or presumed
further pressing was useless, which, indeed,
would have been, brought Miriam's portrait
from the gallery, and, wrapping 1t care
! fully. with many a caress and grooming
word of endearment, gave itinto my care
| 7 considered this quite a feat-to get pos
session of portrait from this old Hall, and
showered nv unfeigned thanks on Peggy's
devoted head in consequence.
II will do all in my power to get her to
return. if only for a years visit" prom
ised the two aged servants at my leave
taking, and intend to keep my promise good
Not for worlds would prove false to those
old Irish dwellers at Heatherleigh by not
trying to persuade Miriam to come back,
if for nothing else than to see them.
Harkl what is that? Oh, it is the ting,
ting a-ling of the bell for luncheon, and
Gladys expects my cousinly presence in the
pleasant little breakfast-room shortly.
Cousin Gladys luncheons are something
famous for suburban cottage, with their
delicious cake and fruit arran cement, to
gether with their smatterng of cold meats,
and flanked with spiced wines.
She is in high glee this week, for we are
to take little run up into the dear old
Cotswold hills, Gladys and /, and she is
clipper as bird in consequence.
| shall enjoy the trip, to be sure, but the
secret of Allan's letter and the pleasant
knowledge Of having met him eclipse all
the happy anticipation I might feel in run
among the Cotswold hills. find myself
lost in speculation as to what Miriam will
do and say when 1 give Allan's letter into
her hands and tell her met him accident
ally-not providentially-at Heatherleigh.
With such weighty secrets in my posses
sion from both sides of the water, no Won
DER am beginning to feel myself a person
of uncommon Importance. And the letter
and portrait in my keeping, either of which
is worth a ransom to the owner, presume,
make me feel more like an ambassador than
simply guest. 1t seems to me that my COM
ing to see Gladys has lost Its identity-be-
come, as it were, a secondary object or ex-
cuse for the grander possibilities.
| All! here comes Gladys. expected as
much. lhave kept her waiting too long for
her busy, busting nature, and she has come
to see if have gone to sleep in this coy
! nook or turned deaf ear to her luncheon
| bell.
Aweek later finds me making ready for
the return voyage
CHAPTER XIII.
| We have been having an outing, Gladys
and l. We have taken that little run
up the Thames for which we were booked
some time. ...
| Gladys, having some friends in London,
and wishing to see them also, we spent q
couple of days there. From there we start
ed for the delightful country trip. It would
have been more to my liking to have gone
in midsummer, but the summer was PAST,
the opportunity had gone by, and the upper
Thames had beea left until now
| No matter; we found ourselves at the
Great Western Paddington station one fine
morning, with lunch-hamper iu hand.
GLADYS remembers the lunch item, il nothing
else, en- route for Taplow.
Away we roll out of the big city and
across the quiet peacefulness of q reauti-
full stretch of country. The fields, however,
were unfortunately rather brown and bare,
it being too late in the season for field dais-
les or bright and blooming hedge rows. It
seemed to me kind Of solemn, quist lonsll-
ness pervaded the landscape, and ceased
to look from my compartment and shut my
eyes to the outside glimpses of the real
| world. busying myself in delving into the
impossible and-perhaps-poss ideal
| world of my own.