Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-04-12

doe sn't suit Uncle Ambrose. He is not happy,
! and you are not happy. Our lives are begin
HIng to be a failure. There Is something wrong
somewhere
Yes" answered my mother grsvely, ''there
is something wrong. Your stepfathcr is out of
! health. There is some depressing influence at
! work. have done all l can-bu. l cannot
make him happy"
Poor mother. There was such settled sad
ness in her tone that the tears rushed to my
eyes. and it was all could do not to sob aloud.
] understood her secret thought so well. She
had done all she could. She had sacrificed her
freedom her fidelity 10 her first love. the idol
| lied husband of her youth, out of gratitude to
| this faithful friend. She had put every selfish
! thought and feeling aside in order to reward
his devotion. and the sacrifice had been useless.
| He was not happy.
{ In one vivid glance / saw nv own future
Z fashioned after the semblance of my mother
: life today. / saw myself the wife of a man
I whom | could not love, and | saw him unhappy
! in the discovery which ali my care could not
/ keep from him.
/ Poor mother poor daughter.
1t WAS nearly three o'clock when mother and
I went INTO the dining room, and by that time L
/ had cOntrIvei to cheer her with talk about the
/ books we mad been reading lately. and about a
( possible run to the Continent in the early part
of September. We talked of AuverCne and Of
! Cauterets, both of which districts were still
/ unknown ground to US, and that unknown
ground has always the attractions of an earthly
/ pdTdul>e. 1Here was 10 sign OF tVrll.
| He must have luuched at the Vicarage"
/ said my mother. Rather bad manners on his
! part. He ought to have come to lay his laurels
| at your feet"
| His laurels. All yes. the result of the final
/ The prize 10 copy of the ''Idyls OF the King"
! bonnd in veiium; and If Cyril wins | am to have
/ the book. Beatrice viii be savage at losing it.
/ though | don believe she ever read twenty
consecutive lines OF poetry, unless it was John
! Gilpin.'
! After our feeble attempt at luncheon mother
/ went of on one OF her charitable expeditions.
! | knew that would last for a good two hours so
L resigned myself to take tea alone. unless
Gym should reappear. | was really anxious to
/ see him, az | wanted to hear what he had over
/ heard III theflane. and fancied he would not
/ keep his discovery from me. although he would
/ expect to be reproved for his unworthy behavior
/ In playing the spy upon his father. or course
/ there could be nothing to the discredit of
/ Uncle Ambrose in his discovery. only the
revelation OF that dear good mans weakness
where anything IN the way of a book is con-
cerned. Such a devoted lover of books would
allow himself to be imposed upon even by the
man whose trade vas to bind them. Indeed. it is
extraordinary the importance which these book
/ lovers attach to the outer covering of book. |
/ have seen volumes in Uncle Ambrose's library
with landscapes painted on the edges of the
| paper. under the gliding decoration which
has cost two or three pounds per volume; and
the book Is put III shelf where nobody sees
tiit pdlittu ttSGS from year emu 10 year
end.
i ordered my tea upon the terrace-exactIy
where | had my tea table that afternoon when
Mr.. Florestan and l took tea tete-a-tete
Somehow, haphazard, l think. had taken Ma
pier : "Nanderings on the Spey" from shelf
IN the library. and the book seemed to carry
me nearer to Scotland-and him. NO doubt
he Is enioring himself immensely in that
sportsman's paradise thought |. and turned
over the leaves to see if Napier said anything
about grouse shooting.
1t was delicious afternoon. with a hot sun
and a blue sky: a sky fccked with little feecy
clouds. rs i. Dejanra had been throwing about
! the wool that Hercules spun for her. 1t was
the kind of afternoon which used to mean mn
qualified bliss; and even i'll spite of my troubles
/ could not help feeling kind Of unrehecting
sensuous content as l lolled back In nv pet
wicker char and watched the ripple of tho
river. and the gentle movement of the willows
where the opposite bank curved inward toward
the reach over which the old solemn church
tower casts its dark shadow
The second quarter after four chimed from
the dear old tower. the tea table stood ready
the little copper kettle Missed gaily, but still
there was no sign of Cyril. | began to feel lust
e little uneasy about him. for it was so very
unlike his usual way to be anywhere within
reach and not come to hunt me ont every hour
or so, either for ramble or ride, single or
a row on our beloved river.