Waterbury evening Democrat., 1890-08-29
MT. Wayt'SWife SSiSter
 ~#~
 BY MARION HARLANp.
BY MARION KIRKLAND.

to make hers happy. l hoped once. put you see for yourself how she avoids me. could fancy sometimes that she is afraid of mel"
 "Perhaps she is afraid of hcrself?" 1 He looked up eagerly.
 "Is that achance remark? You women understand one another. Have you seer any thing"
 1 Nothing I could or would repeat, my dear boy. But there is mystery some where, and cant believe it is the phe- nomenon of such a sensible girls failure to appreciate my brother. May I say something, March, dear?"
 "Whatever you like-after what has gone before"
 May be 1t ought not to have gone be- fore-or after, either. For, brother, this is not just the sort of connection that you should form. To speak plainly, you might look higher. 'Strike-but hearr Hetty is all that have said, and more. But there is a Bohemian flavor about the household. We will whisper it-even at half-past ten o'clock in the orchard-and never hint it to the peo- ple,' or to mamma! They are nomads from first to last-why, can not say. They have lived everywhere, and no- where long. Mrs. Wayt is refined gentlewoman, but her eyes are sad and anxious. You know how fond l am of Hester, poor child! Still namelesa something clings to them as whole not a uite a taint, but tang! Especially to MT. Wayt. There! it is out! Let us hope the apple trees are discreet! I distrust him, March! He doesn't ring true. He is always on pose. He is a l I,,,hs sah Dn sanctified) self lover. Such men ought | to remain celibate."
 March tried to laugh, but not success fully.
 'I dissent from-and agree to noth- ing you say. But" He waited so long that May finished the sentence for him. "But you love Hetty?" "Yes! She suits me, May! As no other woman ever did. As no other woman ever will. l have tried to req son myself out of the persuasion, but get deeper in. She suits me-every fiber and every impulse of my nature. I seem to have known her forever and | always to have missed her."
 With all her pride in her family and ambition for her brother May had a TO- mantle side to her character. Had she l pledged her support to the lover. She told him this while they strolled home ward, and then around and around the gravel drive in front of the Gilchrist | portico, and had, in return, the full story of his passion
 It was that, by now, the strong over flow of an unhacl;neyed heart.
 'When marry my wife will have all there is of me-" he had said, long ago. to his sister.
 He reminded her of it tonight
 "She is not a brilliant society woman. Not beautiful, perhaps. l am not com potent judge of that at this date. She has not the prestige of wealth or sta tion. But she Is my counterpart" He always returned to that
 When his sister had gone into the house he tarried on the lawn with his cigar. What freshness the fierce sun l had loft to the air was all to be found out of doors. As the gray swathos con tinued to smother the light out of the moon the heat became more oppIes- sive. The gravel walks were hot to his feet; the bricks of the house radiated caloric. With half laugh at the whim, he entered the now silent and darkencd dwelling, sought and procured car riage rug and, pulling the door shut after him, whistled for Thor, and re- traced his stops to the orchard. He spread the rug upon the grass kept cool by the down leaning branches of the arbor and cast himself upon it. He | meant to make a night of 1t. "I have camped out many a July night in far less luxurious quarters, :" I ,sg ie | cred"
 When the mosquitoes began to hum in his ears he lighted another cigar. He was the more glad to do 1t, as he fancied, once in awhile, that the young apples or the wilting leaves had pe- culiar and not pleasant odor, as of some gum or essence that hung long in the atmosphere. He had noticed 1t when he pulled down a branch to get the spray he had torn apart while May talked. The air was full of foreign scents tonight and this might be an olfactory imagination.
 As twelve o'clock struck from the nearest church spire he was staring into the form less shadows overhead and living over the apple blossom week, the symphony l in pink and white. The young robins | were full hedged and had fitted from the parent nest. The young hope, born of what stood with him for all the poetry of his six and twenty years ot life, spread strong winds toward future he was not to enjoy alone.
 Thor was uneasy. He should have found his share of the rug laid upon elastic turf as comfortable as the mat upon the piazza floor, which was his usual bed yet he rose to his launches, once and again, and, although at his masters touch or word, he lay down obediently the outline of his big head, as March could make it out in the gloom, waG alert.
 "What is it, old boy" said he, pres ently. What is going on?"
 Thor whined and beat the ground with his tail, both tentatively, as ask ing information in return.
 l Tn rafa tbr