Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-01-12
C0LoNELQUARITCH,V.C.
By Fl, RIDER HAGGARD.

shoulder it is ridiculous to scruple about call ing him by his name. Harold, thero Is no help for it. I did it myself, remember, be- cause, I told you, do not think that any one woman has right to place her indivi- dual happiness before the welfare of her family And l am only sorry," she added, her voice breaking q little, ''that what l have done should bring suffering upon you"
 He groaned again, but said nothing.
 'We must try to forget" she went on wildly "Oh, no! no! I know that it is not possible that we should forget. You won't for get me, Harold, will you? And though it must be all over between us, and we must never speak like this again-never-you will d. ways know that 1 have not forgotten you, will you not, but that l think of you al- waysp
 "There is no fear of my forsetting," he said, land am selfish enough to hope that you will think of lie at times, dear"
 "Yes indeed 1 will. We all have our bur dens to bear-it is hard world-and we must bear them. And it will be all the same in the end, in just q few years dare say these dead people here have felt the same, and how quiet they are! and perhaps there may be something beyond, where things are not so. Who can say? You won't go away from this place, Harold, will yous Not un- til am married, at any rate; perhaps you had better go then. Say that you won't go till then, and you will let me see you some times; it is such comfort to see you"
 II should have gone, certainly" he said, ito New Zealand probably; but if you wish it will stop for the present."
 "No, thank you; and now good-by, my dear, good-by. No, don't come with me; can find my own way home. And now, why do you waltz Good-by, good-by forever in this way. Yes, kiss me once and swear that you will never forget me. Marry if you wish to, but don't forget me, Harold. Forgive me for speaking so plainly, but speak as one about to die to you, and wish things to be clear"
 II shall never marry, and I shall never forget you," he answered. "Good-by, my love, good-by."
 In another minute she had vanished into the storm and rain, out of his sight and out o1 his life, but not out of his heart
 And he, too, turned and went his way Into the wild and lonely night An hour afterward Ida came down into the drawing room dressed for dinner, looking | rather pale, but otherwise quite herself | Presently the old squire arrived. He hac been attending magistrates meeting, ane had only just got home.
 "Why, Ida," he said, II could not find yor anywhere. I met George as I was driving from Boisingham, and he told me that ht saw you walking through the park"
 "Did hep she answered, indifferently | "Yes, have been out. It was so stuffy in doors. Father" she went on, with chang, of tone, II have something to tell you. an engaged to be married"
 He looked at her curiously, and then said quietly-the squire was always quiet in any matter of real emergency: "Indeed, my dear | That is a serious matter However, speaking of-hand, think that notwithstanding tn disparity of age, Quaritch"-
 "No, no," she said, wincirg visibly; 1T an not engaged to Col Quaritch; I am engaged to Mir. Cossey."
 "Oh," he said, 'oh, indeed! thought iron what saw, that-that''-
 At this moment the servant announce, dinner.
 "Well, never mind about it now, father, she said; II am tired, and want my dinner MT. Cossey Is coming to see you tomorrow and we can talk about it afterward"
 And though the squire thought about it good deal, he made no further allusion to tn subject that night.