Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-08-13

friendly IS they talked. Poor girl, with no one to whom she could go with her burden of sorrow, no wonder shc chung to this friend of hers thus
 And Arthur in turn, before he was aware of what he was really saying, had related the whole story of his altered circumstances; and their cruel hedging him out of society.
 Here he stopped suddenly, for to go fur ther and speak of what had been the dear. est dream of his life was something he dared not do now he thought.
 Miriam had been listening attentively, walking along with one dainty hand rest ing on his arm, but he did not know that her sore heart was only waiting to be com fortcd by his love. Seeing Q strange look of decision cross his handsome face, she guessed instinctively that the declaration he certainly had come to mako was reso- lutely deferred because of his low finances. "He thinks I will reject him because his wealth has been swept away" she unused. Then looking down at a bordering of rare mosscs, now browning in the sun, she made reply:
 II have heard of it," she said, "but such things, although vcrs much to be deplored, ought never to mako differences between friends. I am sure it would not with me-"
 Arthur could have bowed in happy thank fitness and kissed the pale, perfect face AoA Chio SpCSSA oiOuC, UuG Ills uCdIt ld1lCu him, and he dared not yet commit him. self
 After slight pause, as if she wished to
 give him time to consider her words, she
 continued in a low, weary tone: Ut is cer- tainly hard for you, Mir. Fairfax, but your
 trouble is nothing compared to mine, at last; nothing to mine," she repeated, al
 most desperately, closing the trembling
 hand over his arm and looking up with
 swimming eyes.
 Alas p' she burst out, vehemently, "what
 is property without-a friend!"
 "A friend," he repeated after her, meet7
 ing the upward gaze with the secret of his
 soul shining in his clear, honest eyes. II
 would be more than u friend to you, Miri-
 am, if you would let me. But 1 am
 afraid," and his tones grew bitter, "that
 have no right to that one blissful dream of
 my life now; presume it ought to go with
 the heyday of fortune, with the glamour of
 gold! Circumstances and social position
 are all, it seems. there arc to measure @
 man and establish his worth. I never
 thought on this matter until have been
 measured and found not worthy of social position. And-1 must remember it."
 You have thought of-thdt, have you!" she questioned almost in a whisper, tight
 ening her clasp on his arm, but not look ing up.
 He felt her assuring hand; he heard the
 anxious, impetuous voice, and took cour age. He took the trembling, black-gloved
 hand from his arm and held it in a worship ful way for some minutes. What should
 he says
 This beautiful, sorrowing girl, so far re
 moved from him socially, was all the world to him; but did she realize that the sting of poverty was keen, was moro than she could beara
 II have thought of this Q thousand times," he answered, cholsingly. ''How can help thinking; thinking until each thought goads me to almost madnessf l havo loved you, oh Miriam, So long, and you have grown as dear as my soul to me. But now 1t seems unpardonable that should indulge in the one blissful dream of my life after my riches have taken wings" 'You need not have it so," cried the desolate girl, clutching his arm excitedly
 'You shall not go away and leave me in this prison-house, now that 1 know you love me. Never! Arthur Fairfax, take mo with you or I shall go mad and do something desperate. Here have none to speak to, as you know; none but the serv- ants. And mono to love me; no, not one. Think of that, Arthur, think what a life I mother is dead"
 "You have forgotten your father, Mir iam'
 "No,'' she returned with an earncstness Arthur had never seen her exhibit. ''No have not forgotten him, but he has ignored me-hc hates me! Ohl Arthur, you surely arc aware of the strange fatality of the house of the PcrCivalss And it Is this cruel destiny which makes us enemies, father and me. This desperate antagonism existing between us our bereavement only serves to strengthen instead of nulify Oh Arthur, you have no idea how wrctched 1 | am!"
 He put his arms about her then and she sobbed out her pent-up sorrow in a parox. ysm of grief on his breast. And thus, in anguish, in bitterness of soul and ill tears their troth was plighted.
 Thus, too, tho child of tears, the inheritor of fathers displeasure, cut the last tilmy thread of affection existing between her proud, austere parent and herself, and in. cured the lasting hatred of the paternal heart for her affia lced husband. But, with the arms of him whom she | loved with her whole soul about her, it was | doubtful whether she felt or cared in ref. | erence to her fathers wishes. To ge, | away from the doomed doors and loveless ! shadows of the rooftree which held only ! vague, uncertain destiny for her, and to be | with ono who, she was certain, cared fol l her, was now the whole wish of her sorrow | stricken heart. Failing in this, she should ! "do something desperate,' as she had con feSscd to her lover.
 CHAPTER VIII But Sir Rupert Percival raved when ! Arthur Fairfax presented himself before his august tribunal with such a request