The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-01-09

under the wild thyme and moss which
covered the little burial-place where he
lay.
Guilderoy didnot share that hope which
sustained the souls of Socrates and Plato,
and which the soul of John Vernon had
drunk in from theirs TO him it seemed
that quand on est mort, c'est pour long
temps; a time so long that it stretches on
to all which mortals can conceive as for
ever. And his eyes were often wet With
tears as he turned over the manuscripts OF
his dead friend.
The sincerity of his own sorrow did not
diminish the intolerable sense of dreariness
with which these last summer weeks at
LadysrOod filled him. On the contrary,
he became impatient, even OF his own
regrets: he was so wholly unused to har-
Dor as guest any thought or emotion
which was not pleasurable that he re-
sented his own pain.
These long silent summer hours In this
house OF mourning, with the figure OF
Gladys in its long black robes always be-
fore him, and no other distraction pos
sible, tried almost beyond endurance the
good resolutions which he had silently
formed as he looked on the pale serene
countenance OF Vernon lying in his last
sleep on his narrow bed, with the lattice
OF mis- chamber open to the blue sky, the
twittering birds, the quivering leaves, the
murmurOus sea.
a man of his temperament is quickly
touched to fine issues, to honest regrets,
to tender resolves; but there Is no power
on earth which can secure his adhesion
to them.
He showed her the most sincere sym
r2tbU in bar iaf ouH r-ac avaD parfpptlV
patient with its intensity and long dura-
ton. He had felt the truest admiration
and attachment on his own part for ner
father, and had always felt that Vernon
would do much TO smooth and dissipate
any difficulty which might arise between
himself and her. The philosophical, in
dulgent and temperate influence OF such
n mind had had a sway over himself
which he knew to be the most beneficial
he had ever felt 1t left a painful void
even in his own life to feel that that wise
and serene friend had forever passed out
OF sight and hearing.
Earlier, ever so little earlier, she would
have responded to his efforts, the frost OF
her heart would have melted under the
first sunbeam of kind word but now the
remembrance OF what his sister had told
her was ever dominant. 1t haunted her
night and day; guided by its cruel indica-
tlon she realized a thousand words and
signs which were confirmation true. She
recollected that her husbands abandon
ment of ths colonial adventures had been
contemporary with the arrival of the
Duchess Soria in England. His desire
that she should be invited to Ladysrood; /;
his tone In speaking of her; his pre-
occupation and visible anxiety for
her pleasure and her preSence-all
these recurred to her memory with over
whelming and indisputable testimony to
the truth OF Hilda Sunbury's words.
Hilda Sunbury herself had felt pang
very kindred to remorse when she heard,
where she stood in the brilliant drawing
room OF Ladysrood, that Vernon had been
found dead after sunset. Perhaps she had
hastened his end; she knew that she had
distressed him and there was constantly
sounding in her ear his bidding, "Be kind
TO her" Had it been kind To have said
what she had said to her brothers wife?
Would it not have been weIl if she had
obeyed the dead mans caution and coun-
sci? Her conscience told her that it
would; and she was glad to excuse herself
10 Guilderoy, and hasten from his house
on plea of urgent matters needing her
presence at her own home.
She was uneasy at what she had herself
done; she was sensible that it had been
neither wise nor laudaDle: that whatever
she knew or thought she knew should have
been kept in her own breast. But she had
been unable to help a restless desire to
have her share of influence in the life at
Ladysrood, and though she was not con-
scious of it, unity between her brother and
his wife would have been intolerable to
her. She had never been able to pardon
the manner in which, from the very first
hour, so very young a woman as GLADYS
had passively avoided her efforts at direc-
ton and tacitly rejected her suggestions
From the moment she had presented her
at court she had felt that her brothers
wife would yield to her in nothing.
"Then she is all alone in the world
henceforward! :" said Aubrey, when he
heard of John Vernon's death.
"Alone! How can you talk in such a
Manner said Lady Sunbury, greatly an
moved. In herself she blamed her brother
endlessly and pitilessly; but she would
have resented as the greatest of personal
insults hint from anyone else that he
was ever so slightly blamable.
Il know no one more entirely alone"
said Aubrey, very gravely.
"Will you console her solitude ?" il was
on Lady Sunbury's lips TO ask; but the
respect SDe Ddu JOT neT COuSln, DOJn as q
man and as a statesman, restrained her
for once from an unpleasant and impru-
dent utterance.
''Her father might possibly have re-
strained her from follies!" she observed
instead.
''Is she disposed toward folly?" asked
Aubrey. IL have seen few women so
young so wise"
"You admire ali she doesp
81 confess think she conducts herself
in what are frequently very difficult cir
eumstances, with great tact and forbear-
ance, very unusual in anyone of her
years. l think she is far from blind to
Evelyn's caprices, but she has the good
! sense to affect to be So"
''It is the least she can do in return for
all he has done for her."
"My dear Hilda, what a vulgar senti-
mentl If he had not married her, men
quite as good as he would have done Sc" !"
Would youp asked Lady Sunbury
with her most unpleasant expression and
accent.
Aubrey raised his languid eyelids and
looked her full in the face.
'If / had happened to meet her-yes,"
he replied coldly.
"He is in love with herl" thought his
cousin, outraged and disgusted; and she
began TO mediate as 10 how far it was
possible to give any hint of it to Guide