Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-01-11

The rein dropped iron, the roof. den graves beneath, and ran in thin sheets down the flint facing of the tower; the dead leaves whirled and rattled in and about the empty porch, and over all shot one red and angry arrow from the sinking sun. She stood in the wind and rain, and gazed at the old church that had seen the end of so many sorrows more bitter than her own and the wreck of so many summers, till the darkness began to close round her like a pail, while the wind sung the requiem of her hopes. She was not of a desponding or pessimistic char acter but in that bitter hour she found it in her heart to wish, as most people have done at one time or other in their lives, that the tragedy were over and the curtain had fallen, and that she lay beneath those dripping sods without sight or hearing, without hope or dread. It seemed to her that the hereafter must indeed be terrible if it outweighs the sorrows of the here.
 And then, poor woman, she thought of the long years between her and rest, and, leaning her head against the gate post, began to. cry bitterly in the gloom.
 Presently she stopped crying with start and looked up, for she felt that she was no longer alone Her instincts had not deceived her, for there, not more than two paces from her, ill the shadow of the fir trees, was the figure of man. Just then he took a step to the left which brought his figure against the sky, and Ida's heart stood still, for now she saw who it was. It was Harold Quaritch, the man over whose loss she had been weeping
 Its deueed odd," she heard him say, for she was to leeward of him, 'but could have sworn that I heard somebody sobbing; SUD- pose it was the wind."
 Ida's first idea was flight, and she made c., l~s.> tripped over stick and nearly fell.
 In O minute he was by her side She was caught, and perhaps she was not altogether sorry, especially as she had tried to get away.
 "Who is it! Whats the matter?" said the colonel, lighting a fusee under her nose. It was one of those flaming fusees and burned with a blue light, showing Idas tall figure and her beautiful face all stained with grief and tears, her wet mackintosh, and the gate post against which she had been leaning showing everything.
 "Why, 1da,' D ke said, in amaze, ''what are you doing here, crying toog'
 II am not crying;" she said, with 0 sob; 'it's the rain has made my face wet"
 Just then the light burned out and he dropped it. s
 ''What is it, dear, what is it?' he said in great distress, for the sight of her alone in the wet and dark, in tears, moved him beyond himself, and indeed he would have been no man if 1t had not.
 She tried to answer, but, poor thing, she could not, and in another minute, to tell the honest truth, she had exchanged the gate post for Harold's broad shoulder, and was finish ing her ''cry" there.
 Now, to see young and pretty woman weeping (more especially if she happens to be weeping on your shoulder) is a very trying thing. It is trying even if you do not happen to be in love with her at all. But if you arc ill love with her, however ittle it is dreadful; whereas, if, as in the present case, you hap pen to worship her, more perhaps, than 1t is good to worship any fallible human creature, then the sight is positively overpowering. And so, indeed, it proved in the present in- stance The colonel could not bear it, but lift ing her head from his shoulder, he kissed her sweet face again and again. Now nature has generally a remedy for most ills if only the physician knows where to look for it, and there is no doubt that this sort of treatment has before now proved efficacious in many similar cases. At any rato it answered here, for presently Ida grew quieter.
 Don't" she said feebly-a phrase common to people in such circumstances, from duchesses to milkmaids, and one full of hu-
 "What is it, darling:' he said; "what 1s the matters"
 "Leave go of me- will tell you," she answered.
 He obeyed, though with some unwilling. ness.
 She hunted for her handkerchief and wiped her eyes, and then at last she spoke:
 II am engaged to be married" !" she said, in low voice, ito MT. Cossey."
 Then, for about the first time in his life, Harold Quaritch sworo violently in the pres. ence of lady.
 "Oh, d-n it ell, ," he said.
 She took no notice of the strength of the language, perhaps, indeed, she re-echoed 1t iu some feminine equivalent.
 Ut is true," she said, with @ sigh. 'I knew that 1t would come, those dreadful things always do-and it was not my fault I am sure that you will always remember that. I had to do it-he advanced the money on the express condition, and even if could pay back the money, suppose that should be bound to carry out the bargain. It Is not the money that he wants, but his bond"
 "Curse him for an internal Shylock," ," said Harold again, and groaned in his bitterness and jealousy. "Is there nothing to be doneF' be asked presently in a harsh voice, for be was very hard hit.
 Nothing" she answered, sadly. '1 do not see what can help us unless the man died," she said; land that is not likely. Har- old," she went on, addressing him for the first time in her life by his Christian name, for she felt that after crying upon Q mans
 To be continued.