The Irish standard., 1889-08-03

Together they walked out over the
grounds, Arthur and Miriam, as they used
of yore, but the heart Of each was sadly
changed-hers with her sorrow, and his
with his fears.
How pale she was; the deep mourning OF
her gown rendered her more ghost-like, it
possible. Her dark, expressive eyes met
his with strange yearning tenderness in
their depths he had never seen before.
Such an unconscious, preoccupled gaze, as
one might see when a broken heart looked
forth from its portals.
Miriam grew unusually confidential and
friendly as they talked Poor girl, with no
one to whom she could go with her burden
of sorrow. no wonder she 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.
Their and speak of what had been Che dear.
est dream of his life was something Re
dared not do now, he thought
Miriam had been listening attentlvely,
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
forted by bis love. Seeing strange look
of decision cross his handsome tace, she
guessed instinctively that the declaration
he certainly had come to make 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
MOSES, now browning in the sun, she made
reply:
II have heard of it, she said, s'but such
things, although very much to be deplored,
ought never to make differences between
friends. am sure it would not with me-"
Arthur could have bowed in happy thank
fitness and kissed the pale, perfect faco
for this speech alone, but his heart tailed
hizn, 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 low, weary tone: cit is GER
tainly hard for you, Mr.. 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.
s.Alas ~ she burst out, vehemently, "What
is property without-a frlend!''
GA FRIEND" he repeated after her, meet
ing the upward gaze with the secret of his
soul shining in his clear, honest eyes. II
would be more than "a friend to you, Miri-
am, if you would let me. But l am
afraid" and his tones grew bitter, ''that !
have no right to that one blissful dream OF
my life now; presume it ought togo with
the heyday Of fortune, with the glamour Of
gold! Circumstances and social position
are ali, 1t seems, there are to measure
! man and establish his worth. l never
thought on this matter until have been
! measured and found not worthy of social
position. And-I must remember it."
You have thought ofthat, have you2"
she questioned almost in whisper, tight
ening her clasp on his arm, but not look
ing up.
He felt her assuring hand; he heard tha
anxious, impetuous voice, and took cour~
age. He took the trembling, black-gloved
hand from his arm and held it in worship"
full way for some minutes. What should
he say!
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 more than she could
bear:
II have thought Of this a thousand
! times" he answered, chokingly. elbow
can help thinking; thinking until each
thought goads me to almost madness?
! have loved you. oh (! Miriam, 50 long, and
you have grown us dear as my soul to mo.
But now 1T seems objectionable that l
should indulge in the one blissful dream Of
my life after my riches have taken wings"
sYou 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 I know you
love me. Never! Arthur Fairfax, take
me with you or I shall go mad and do
something desperate. Here 1 have none to
speak to, as you know; none but the serv-
ants. And none to love me; no, not one.
Think of that, Arthur, think What life /
mother is dead.'
f'You have forgotten your father, Mir.
iam.''
';No,'' she returned with an earnestness
Arthur had never seen her exhibit emo, I
have not forgotten him. but he has ignored
n1e-he hates mel Oh Arthur, you surely
are aware Of the strange fatality of the
house of the Perciyals? And it is this
cruel destiny which makes us enemies,
father and me. This desperate antagonist
existing between us our bereavement OILY
serves to strengthen instead Of nullify. Obi
Arthur, you have no idea how wretched
a1a!"
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 in tears,
their troth was plighted.
Thus, too the child Of tears, the inheritor
of a 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 affianced 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 get
away from the doomed doors and loveless
shadows of the rooftree which held only
vague, uncertain dies tiny for her, and to be
with one who, she was certain, cared for
her, was now the whole wish Of her SORROW
stricken heart. Failing in this, she should
edo something desperate" as she had con-
fessed to her lover.
CHAPTER Will