Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1890-12-12

honestly, do you think me prettyp'
1T is too poor wordp' says the miser-
able Denis, so far forgetting the stern role,
allotted to him as to take the little thin
fingers from the ong-suffering button and
press them to his lips. ''If you will say.
lovely l can answer YOU"
"Oh, now!' with little pleased laugh,
shat is going too far. They tell me my
mother was beautiful, but that do mob
resemble her much; that I'm like dads peo-
pie. Like" thoughtfully, ''your people.
You, psrhaps' How strange that would
bel Am like your
II dare say ! have frequently 1attered
myself, says Denis, laughing. 1--WE all
do it; but l think / can honestly say never
to that extent"
"Well," persists the Duchess, positively.
''now that it has occurred to mo, / am
sure | reminded myself of somebody this
morning when was doing my hair before
the glass. 1t must have been you. Come
over here" slipping her hand into his and
drawing him to where deep pool lies
drowsily in the the sunshine, encompassed
by ferns and moses.
Over this she bends, scrutinizing tho
faint, imperfect reflection Of her charms 10
throws up to her. Delicate, vague, unsat-
isfactory it is, yet sweet withal. Depis,
standing behind her and gazing over her
shoulder, can see the quivering image that
so maligns her pure 9nl perfect beauty,
and turns with impotence to the living
original beside him. She is still absorbed
in tracing u likeness that does not exist,
and sudden desire to play upon her an
old schoolboy trick, and so disturb her
thoughts, takes possession Of him.
Passing his hands round her waist from
the back he pushes her we'll over the brink
of the pool, holding her thus for an instant,
and then drawing her back to terra irnla.
There! only for mo you would have
been in" he says vaingloriously.
"Oh, Denis!' cries she, genuinely startled.
Then she laughs, and with his arms still en-
circling her sho looks back at him over her
shoulder with parted lips and frightened
eyes. Her attitude brings her head almost
to his shoulder. She was never yet so near
to his heart. Was she ever yet so lovelya
His pulses are beginning to beat madly, his
eyes grow warm. The laugh is still fresh
upon her lips.
Ny love whose lips are softer far,
Than drowsy poppy petals are,
And sweeter than the violet.
But the smile has died from his There
is a quick irrepressible movement, Ho
Lends over -nearer-nearer still; and
then lie loosens his hold of her and stands
back, frown upon his brow, his face a
little pale
"Aro you frigatenede" asks she lightly.
"Did you think L was really going to fall
in? Hal Did punishment then overtako
| youP But you should know that am sure
| footed as a goat; that seldom catch myself
| tripping"
She is evidently puzzled good deal by
| the change in his manner, which has gone
| from grave to gay, from lively to severe"
| without seconds warning, and would per-
haps have subjected him to rather en-
| barrassing cross-examination, but that at
this moment the appearance of woman at
the lower end Of the path attracts both their
| attention.
CHAPTER VIII.
To mortal men great loads allottCd be-
But OF all packs no pack like po/erty."
She is woman, withered, snd slightly
bent, and wret,lIedly dressed, as are all
| poor Irish peasants. Her petticoat, made
of thick blue flannel, is short, and patched
| literally here and there. No stockings
cover her legs, no. boots her feet, which
though wonderfully small are hard as tho
| path itself and roughened by work and ex-
| posture. An old jacket, worn at the elbows
| and very much the worse for wear, covers
| her body, and over her shoulders dingy
| little red and black shawl is thrown.
Clothing enough certainly for q hot day
| in July, but alas! terribly insufficient for
the frosts and SHOWS of winter; and when
| they come there will be nothing extra to
cover that poor, frail body. Poverty has
| no diversity of costumes wherewith to meet
the exigencies Of each coming season.
Seeing Norah tho woman quickened her
| footsteps, already marvelously agile for
| woman past fifty.
IAN! Biddy, is that youT' says Norah,
asking the superhuous but kindly question
| with smile.
GOOD morning, your honor, my lady,"
returns the woman this Scing u very usual
gLeeting in the south cf Ireland to thoss
known to be of 'dacent blood" There is
| no such ardent admrer of aristocracy as
| tho Irish peasant. "Are ye i'm o hurry,
Miss? Might have a word wild we, Miss
| NorahP'
"What is it now, Biddys" asks the
Duchess, anxiously. Nothing wrong with
little Larry?"
mo, Miss, CIR be to God, he's betther
an Scttner eve y day. But tell me, alan
ma, tits the masther want to see. Is he up
above?'' meaning Ballyhinch, not heaven.
al left him there about half an hour
ago." 1t is impossible for Denis, who is
standing Ivy, not to become conscious that
she has found time in his society to run
wonderfully swift "What do you want
from him now, Biddy?"
"Faix, miss bit of n sthick, no moro.
1 thought as how he'd give me wan out Of
the wood beyant to keep up the house. Tho
rafthers is givin' way like, but if 1 could
get somethin' to prop 'em up wild they'd
hould together il only for a year itself.
One o. thin young threes, miss, out of tho
plantation would do. The masther, God
bcs hint is good to all, an if ye think,
miss he'd give it,
''I know hc will. Hurry up, Biddy, be-
cause he may lie going out. BY the by"
OBTAINING her, "how's DAMP when did you
hear from him!'
''Sure thut wa. rarity what was bringin'
me up to the house. But" shyly, "when
! saw ye wild the gintleman," with shy
glance at Denis "Anyhow, Miss, twas
this mornin' letter came. I've got it here
wild me- pulling 1t out Of her BOSOM
''Maybe ye'd like to read ityh
''Of course I should" said the Duchess,
heartily. Dear me, what a good boy he
always was!"
''Thruo for ye, mis-" intensely gratified.
God bless vel Ye have the poOl word al-