The morning call., 1890-06-09

doctors, to learn that Wnat Sne naQ only
looked on as a general lack OF health was
acute consumption, tubercular phthisis-it
does not matter much under what name
death is introduced to us.
Helen Fawcetts life had been pleasant
always, but these last two years she had
loved it SO much, had clung to it so eagerly,
had found sweetness in the aspects of it
which She had not been used to care for.
Mrs. Fawcett had wondered why her once
rather shy and reserved daughter had
grown so fond of society, especially that Of
certain set. True, she had developed into
more attractiveness than she had promised
in very early girlhOOd. Despite her quiet
ness, there was reality in her which gave
charm to her brightness and refinement,
and she was pleasant to look at, though
neither beautiful nor pretty. The figure
was slender, graceful and delicate; the
face, not very regular, was, yet sweet with
its tender, true mouth and lustrous hazel
eyes.
Three or four days after the consultation
Mrs. Fawcett and her daughter were driv-
ing in the afternoon. Mrs. Fawcett had
gone into one or two shops while Helen re-
mained in the carriage. They were STOP
ping in front of shop in Bond street. and
just as Mrs. Fawcett was re-enterlDg the
victoria young man passing lifted his hat,
then stopped and shook hands warmly.
81 thought you had left town." he said !;
$50 many people have gone. I'm off myself
next week"
I'VE are thinking of going somew here
sOon," said Mrs. Fawcett. " Helen is not
very strong, and we are trying to fix on
some very quiet, mild place where l can
nurse her up-somewhere in the west Of
England. l think"
"Have you not been well?" he asked,
turning to Helen, " You don't look ill''-
his voice was one of those which have the
dangerous charm Of expressing an earnest
interest which the speaker may or may not
feel, and his eyes sought the girls face as
he spoke, with a certain tenderness in the
keenness Of their glance He was right; the
girl did not look i'll; ber checks and lips
had gained color, her eyes were deep and
beautiful, with a melancholy subdued into
pathos as, desIite her struggle, their gaze
rested on mis- face.
-" am much better than 1 was," she said
she spoke OF the present moment, which
she had longed and hungered for, and yet
which was slipping away so fast.
No, remember nov" said Paul Bea-
toun. have not met you out lately.
hope you have not been very ILL.,"
How his voice touched herl-uncon-
sciously cruel as the words were. in spite
of the interest, warm and real, even if only
m0mentary, Of the last sentence. She
looked at the clear-cut face she knew so
we'll yet which ever seemed TO hold dearer
secret of beauty when her eyes again be-
held it. 1t had never meant SO much to her
as it did at that moment, vision of all
life would be to some other woman. 1t
might have been hers if-no, he never had
cared, he never would have cared for her.
All this passed through her mind as her
mother answered MIR. Beatoun's inquiry:
"Oh, no! She will be all right SOON"
A few more words, then he held out his
hand.
We'll" he said, sit is good-by for some
time, suppose-lill the winter"
Yes, SAID Helen. It'll the winter,
gOod-by."
She longed that her mother should ask
Paul Beatoun to come and see them before
they left town but Mrs. Fawcett was far
too eDgrosSed with the one thought of Helen
10 think of doing so. He was charming and
clever and handsome enough, this young
man of whom some prophesied much when
he should have learned his own power.
Mrs Fawcett liked him, but just now he had
no interest for her; she could not know
that when Helen was once more In her own
room alone she paced up and down in mis-
cry
meant "G0od-by for ever "?-that the
touch of his hand, which still staid with
her, which made her treasure the glove she
had then worn, WAS the last she should ever
feel?
They were hardly friends, at all events
not great ones, she and Mr.. Beat0un. Most
likely lie never gave her thought unless
they were in the same room, not very often
then; but all her life had grown to be the
thought of him; sleeping or waking, even
when she thought she was dwelling OH
other people or things his strong idea"
possessed her entirely, rasSlonately, as 1t
had dune these two years. Ii Mrs. Faw-
cett gave dinner or dance to Which he
was asked Helen spent the time till his
answer came in sickening suspense, and
then tried, even If he accepted, to school
herself into the belief he would not come,
20 ha lien int z IN
did not being cruelty sharp-a self-dis-
cipline utterly without effect. as had been
proved to her cost once or twice. She
never went TO any gayety without the
vague, subtle hope "he may be there" or
the dreary certainty "he will not" With
out him all life was
As cOrone without the stones.
Yet in spite OF this folly, maduess-what-
ever you wll-ruling her life, she knew
Paul Beatoun could never guess what he
was to her, or the strange intensity OF
emotion which possessed her in his pres
ence from her quiet manner. She had not
the instinct OF allurement belonging to
many women, by which, without unmaiden-
illness or lack of refine ment, they can, as by
magnetism, draw the man they wish to win
to their sides; she felt and owned the lack
in herself though she could not have de-
fined it. Her love made her shy, almost
cold, in her manner to Paul BeatOun; some
times, indeed, she felt less nervous. but
then frank frlendliness, which seemed
strange to herself, was ali that appeared.
Dere was the bitterness of death, the
knowledge which lent the sharpest pang to
its nearness. He would not forget her. for
she would never be to him even memory
If she had ever held any vague, dear hope
too sweet to lay bare, even to her own gaze,
that was dead now. Helen knew that when
she died Paul Beatoun would be rather
shocked, would say, or think, Poor thingw
and perhaps sigh. The French verse she
had read years ago rang bitterly now in
her ears:
Au banquet de Ia vie, intortune convive
J'apparus un jour, ct 10 meurs;
Je meurs, Ell sur ma tombe. GU entemept jarrive
Nui ne viendra verser des pleurs.
On! she wanted no one but him to remem-
Der herl