The Democratic advocate., 1889-02-02

you. Perhaps-possibly-we may meet
each other"
"0h, yes, very possibly" l said And
suddenly felt light-hearted at the thought
of holidays. There was little pause, and
L rose and held out my hand
"It is somewhere in Devonshire, . is it
not ?" he said
''What?"
"Your home"
"Yes Axetown East Quite little
place on the coast. Have you friends
there, Mr.. Tudor
"No,'' he said, doubtfully. 81 believe
4 believe the fishing is geod?" And it
did not strike me as strange that he should
be going to a place in wn..sh he had no
friends, and of which he did NJ know the
name and county.
But | did not tell the girls what he rcd
told me. 1t was only at the end of my
visit to Claudia that broke the news to
her broke 1t casually
"He came for the fishing 1 said, ''and
father and the boys seem-accidentally-
to have come across him."
"Never mind, said Claudia
"No, it does not matter" | said, re-
siguedly
But Claudia was sympathetic next day
when we arrived at Axetown East. In
short fortnight Mr. Tudor had made great
strides toward friendship with all at home.
He had found favor with father and the
boys bis hotel was comfortless, and he de-
serted it frequently He came and went
at all hours, laughed and smoked with the
boys, and talked sensibly ike an old friend
with father. He was more bronzed than
ever; for fortnight he had been fishing
and rowing and walking with energy. He
laughed as | had sometime suspected he
could laugh; he had left his tutor manners
behind him with cap and gown. Suddenly
now, at the end of fortnight, he had
grown tired of fishing and of lonely boating
and walking. He haunted our house; he
seemed to be always where Twas. Claudia
was sympathetic; and, somehow, felt
traitorous when l received her sympathy.
It was still, warm summer evening,
day or two after our arrival We were in
the drawing-roOm downstairs, and the
French windows were open wide. Father
was showing Mr. Tudor some views of
places abroad where he had been stationed
at different times. Suddenly, on the still
air, came a voice from the garden. Clau-
dia was coming up the path with my broth
er George.
'sAnd that is the story she said 'It
doesn't seem quite modest thing to say a
man bushes when you speak to him.
Poor Cis, she will never say anything good
of him. She really dislikes him now"
That's pity" said George, "for Tudor
poor beggar-is in love with her"
do not think father had heard; he was
engrossed in photographs of China. | did
not venture to look at Mr.. Tudor; do
not think he looked at me. But an auec-
dote which father was relating was new TO
US when he told it again the next day.
Ii was an hour or two later that we
found ourselves alone together. But
Georges words were ringing in my brain
still. Il seemed natural, now that We
we're alone, that he should go back at once
straight to those words.
1t Is true, ne SAID gently uid not
mean to tell you yet. mean to try to
sin your love iirst."
did not speak. He was standing near
me by the open window, and he took my
hand and | let it rest in his.
''Do spoil your holidays2' . he asked,
gravely. Are you unhappy, as your
friends say. because | am here?"
/ hesitated for moment Il do not
think that Claudia knows, | answered
'.Cieeiy, am very bold, he said eagerly
VERY bold to speak to you now so soon.
If make you unhappy | will so. If |
have no chanee--no chance atall-tell me,
Cicely, and send me away"
But said nothing.
"Send me away now, he said pleadingly.
looked up at him. l could think of
no proper answer. Il de not want tosend
you away" | said.