The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-05-01

would be almost enough to keep me from
writing to Sir Andrew. She actually had
the assurance to ask me one day why 1
did not write and tell him what difficulties
we are in sometimes. You are laughing
at me. Cyril you don't know what such
trifies weigh when they touch a sore
place"
II dare say it is very CALLING" he re-
piled, sympathetically, "but this is not the
only postoffice In the world. Suppose
you write now and suppose | take the let
ter with me to Liverpool and post it.
am on my way there now and shall sail
tomorrow; then it would escape inquisi-
tive eyes,"
II will" cried; "since, as you say, he
knows of our poverty-half the humilia-
tiOn is spared me. l shall have good
starting point to tell him what he richly
deserves to hear"
"My dear Sylvia!" cried Cyril, ''I did
not mean that kind of letter. Do not vent
ure On any rash assertions or accusations.
Tell him what straits you are in, and that
you have a claim on him, but do word it
carefully"
Il am going to word it carefully" re-
piled, taking my pen to begin; do not
trouble yourself about what | say. 1t is
between him and me, and it shall be case
of kill or cure.
would you like to see it?" l asked
when l had finished it. al am a little
lazy about legal matters, and you might,
perhaps, help my ignorance"
He hesitated.
81 had rather not, Sylvia"
"You are no braver than Audrey" l
| rejoined, contemptuously. 1 felt inn
mensely braver myself just then. 'Tf you
had had more courage, who knows how
things might have been?'
He smiled rather sadly-then, after Civ
ing me a great many messages for my
husband, he went away, carrying my let
ter with him to Liverpool. Poor Cyril!
and this was the end of his patient love
for Audrey.
was glad, later in the evening, that 1
had written, hurried as the impulse had
been; for when Duncan came in he looked
more tired and wan than l had ever yet
| seen him look.
You really must make better fire,
Sylvia" he said, though l had increased it
in honor of his arrival. | am starved
through. No, thanks, no bread and but
ter; that butter is so nasty. l will have
some tea as strong as you can give it to
me-"
My heart sank as L looked at him and
felt his burning forehead. Was he break
ing down under his burden?
The next morning l got letter from
Audrey. She must have known that Cyril
was coming to see us, for she had gone to
the trouble OF giving me an explicit YER
sion of her own side of the breaking of
| their engagement. "Cyril was horribly
foolish to act as he did, she wrote. "but.
perhaps, was a little hard on him. I
certainly did not think be would take
what said so much to heart as to re-
solve on leaving England when
had time to look at the matter
all round, wrote him few lines
to take off the sharp edge of his disap-
pointment. Uncle Andrew can't live for
ever; in fact. he seems to have aged and
worn out a great deal this last year; /
may be free to do as l choose in a short
! time, and | put it to Cyril, how short
sighted it was to bring about an unpleas-
ant crisis instead of waiting a little
longer"
Was ever woman more heartless and
I calculating than my sister Audrey2
read this sitting by Duncan, who was
/ in bed with what he chose to call an in
fiuenZa cold. But he did not impose upon
me for a moment, and, even ii he had, the
course of the day would have undeceived
me. By evening he was lying half un-
conscious with burning hands and pulse
at fever rate; and, whatever name the
doctors might have given his illness, it
would only have been the scientific dis
guise for starvation and Overwork.
On the third day of his illness | was
surprised to see another letter from
Audrey-a letter, whose perusal came as
a thunderclap in my already tempestu-
GUS sky. "You will no doubt be startled
a. l,oN An io
found him yesterday in the library struck
by apoplexy while reading his letters. He
recovered consciousness for some time
this morning, believe, though l did not
see him. He sent for the lawyer as soon
as he could speak, and l believe they all
thought he was going to get over it, but
late this afternoon he died quite quietly
and suddenly. OF course neither of you
will 60 to the trouble and expense of COM
ing up here for the funeral, as you know
so well what his irrevocable decision
about you was am awfully sorry that
YOU never made it up with him. / shall,
of course, do my best to help you if the
terms of his will allow me to do so"
As l read, the words kindled and
glowed as if they had been written with
fire. Lee had found him struck down
reading his letters-smitten to death.
something, whispered my conscience,
must have agitated him terribly. Yester-
day, in Audrey's letter, meant the day be-
fore yesterday, and Cyril took my letter to
Liverpool-when? How many days ago
was it since Duncan had come home i'll?
l had lost count of everything took
up Audrey's letter and looked at the date
again, and again | tried to reckon when
my letter, posted on Cyril's journey,
would have come into my uncles hands.
Bah what was the use of worrying?
Out of so many letters that reached him
every day, why should mine, or why
should any letter at all, be at the bottom
of this sudden death stroke? II might
have been the course of nature; Audrey
said he had grown older and weaker.
If l could only have told it all to Dun
can-all that l could remember of that
angry letter-how had called him thief
base enough to defraud an orphan how
had upbraided him with all our miseryl
But Duncan lay half asleep and half un-
conscious. l could not tighten my con-
science by asking him to say that it did
not seem to him probable my letter had
had anything to do with it. All day long
i went about in a pitiful state, and in the
evening 1 wrote Audrey. telling her of
Duncan's illness, except for which should
have certainly gone TO Bedford square at
once to learn all the particulars-to see if
there were any chance OF my being cleared
in my own eyes from the apparent con-