Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-01-25

seemed to her in her fond regret that q second
marriage for her was of all things upon this
ca: tn the least possible. There had been no
spoken promise to her child. put Daisy had
taken it for granted that her mother would be
constant to the dead until death reunited the
broken bond. u It'll she should lie down by bis
side, his true wife in the grave.
Pity and gratitude moved her profoundly at
sight of Ambrose Arden's agony. He fought
against his weakness as a strong man Nights his
foe, until those convulsive sobs came at longer
intervals. and the powerful shoulders ceased to
heave. At last. with final struggle, he dashed
the tears from his eyes. rose from the bench,
and stood before her calm and still, but dis
figured by the vermillon stain upon his eyelids
and the deathly pallor of cheek and lip.
Forgive me TOR having made a fool Of my
self. Mrs Hatrell." he said huskily; Il ought
to have known better: ought not to have
spise mer'
She held out her hand to him, with a gentle
seriousness.
"Despise you?" she repeated softly. 'Can
you think me so base as not to be grateful for
your patient friendship and for your love? But
you should not have spoken to me of love.
You should remember that my heart is buried
in my husbands grave--yet believe, at least.
that I am not upgratefnl. Let US be friends
we have been in the quiet years that have
come and gone since his untimely death"
mo no. Clara-that blessed interval-that
paradise of the dead-is over. Friendship is
too thin a mask for passion. l could not go on
acting my part-after today. 1t must be all or
nothing"
She hung her head, and the slow tears rolled
down her cheeks. She did not love him. but
she did not want to let him go.
1T must be all or nothing, Clara" he re-
peated, still holding the hand that she had
given him in assurance of friendship.
Il must leave you at once and forever, or
stay with the hope of winning you"
stay" she answered gently.
He dined at River Lawn that evening for the
first time since Robert Hatrells DEATH a COW
little party of three, his pupil pleased to have
ms company and full OF afectionate attentions to
him all through the repast, complaining of his
want OF appetite, his indifference to certain
dishes which Cyril liked and which we're really
worthy OF his notice. They dined in one of
the old cottage rooms. a room with a low cell
ing, an old-fashioned dado and chimney piece
ana bow window, the best parlor of the origi-
nal building. The dining room had been very
little used during Clara's widOwhocd
They took their coffee in the veranda in
front OF the drawing room. enjoying the beauty
OF the night and the newly risen moon.
Shall play you q little Mozart?" asked
Daisy. and without waiting for an answer she
left them and seated herself at the grand piano,
from whence she conld see them dimly as thew
sat IN the shadow of the clematis and magnolia
which Overhung the veranda.
SHe WIS uOt Il brilliant pianist, having given
only her leisure hours to music, but she played
with delcacy and expression, and as she had
been content to devote herself to one composer
she had learned to interpret his compositions
with feeling and understanding.
Mozart Is enough for one lifetime" she said,
when her cousins ridiculed her limited reper-
tore, being taught 10y amaster who discovered
q new Sclavonlc composer every quarter. Il
never hope to play as well as he ought to be
played if go on working all the days of my
life"
The clever fingers flew over the KEYS in the
light and airy Fisher variations. The round
wi9te wrist moved with easy grace in the pas
sages for crossed hands, the player looking
straight before her all the time at those two
motionless figures between the lamplight and
the moon.
How earnestly he bent over her mother as he
talked; how still her mother sat, with slightly
dropping head; and how odd that on this one
day Ill seven years her mother should ask him
to dinner. and allow him to spend the evening
in a long tete-a-tete She had kept him at such
distance hitherto that any departure from the
old habit seemed strange.
1t was Daisys custom to spend half an hour
or so in her mothers room before going to bed.
These two, who lived together always had so
much to say to each other that the day seemed
insufficient for confidential talk and if the girl
happened to be deprived of her nightly tete "a
tete she would complain that she saw nothing
OF her mother, and was altogether hardly used
On this particular evening, after Mr.. Arden
mad wished them good night and strolled across
to his cottage on the other side OF the lane the
mother and daughter walked up and down the
terrace two or three times i'll the moonlight be-
fore going in for good; and then the doors were
shut and locked and the lamps were put out,
and River Lawn sank into darkness except for
five lighted windows Oh the first floor. Three of
these windows, which opened on a wide bal
cony, belonged to Mrs. Hatrell's bed room and
boudoir, the other two were Daisy's. and the
lamplight shone through artistic terra-cotta
muslin curtains which the girl had draped with
her own hands. The boudoir was one of the
prettiest rooms in the house. 1t had been
planned and furnished by Robert Hatrell as an
Offering to the wife he admired. and both Clara
and her daughter loved it all the more for the
sake OF the love that had presided over its crea-
ton. Here in the subdued light of shaded
lamp Clara sank somewhat YEARLY into a deep
arm chair, and SAT silent while Daisy moved
about the ROOM looking at the water-coor
studies on the wall-a Surrey lane by Brkett
Foster. gIrish head, Dobson, a street corner
in Venice by Clara Montalba-or lightly touch
ing the books, the Dresden china boxes and
Indian bronzes on the tables, in idle restless
ness.
You look tired tonight mother dear" she
said presently, watchful OF her mothers
troubled face.
Yes, dear, l am very tired
And yet you have no. been bevond the
gardens today. 1t must be the heat that has
tired you. was 30 glad you asked Uncle
Ambrose to dinner for once in a way. You
are not very hospitable to him. you know. He
dees not get much attention from you i'll return
for all his goodness to me-"
You know l am grateful to him, Daisy: but
you and living alone together can hardly be
expected to entertain gentlemen"
ny, mother, you surely don't suppose that
people would talk if he were TO dine here every
day. What a strange idea Uncle Ambrose "a
confirmed old bachelor"
People are more ready to talk than YOU
would ever suppose, Daisy. Mr.. Arden is not
an old man"
Not III years. but he is old in thoughts and
habits. He Is not like other men,"
NO, he Is not like other men. He has
deeper feelings than most men. Come here
darling, and be quiet if you can. You make
me nervous while you are moving about and
touching things"
Il Will be very mouse for TRANQUILITY.
mother dear, cried the girl, smiling in a half
sitting, half kneeling position at her mothers
feet
The mother caressed the dark brown hair.
tenderly touched the broad forehead. above
hazie eyes that were like her own, eyes that
looked wonderingly at her, seeing an unwonted
trouble in her face.
Daisy, would it distress you if-if-in time
to come L were to marry agaln?"
Distress ME! No. mother It would be
only natural that you should marry ayain-you
VINO are so handsome and so young looking If
you could meet anv one good enoogh for Won.
NO, am not such selfish. ungrateful daugb.
yer as 10 be distressed at any change which
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