Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-01-26


her thoughts lie openly upon her lovely
face.
"You are hard to please" says he, his
eyes on hers. As rule, his eyes are seldom
anywhere else.
"Well, you are not" returns she,
promptly.
From afar the thrum, thrum, thrum of a
banjo comes to them, making stiffness
that is almost oppressive.
"That's tie unkindest cut of all p says
Mr.. Brooke, placidly. 'Its rather a cut
at Miss Morland, too, isn't it? l pre-
sumo you allude to my engagement to
her ?''
"You presume very wrongly, then. |
was not thinking of Miss Morland. She
ought to please. She is rich, young, hand
some"
"Rich, yes"
"And handsome" persistently.
as she? Oh, yes, of course she is. A
perfect Juno. Too perfect Juno, per-
haps:"
girl, grayely.
81 know that, and that's why l do it,"
says he. at is so difficult to resist temp
tation, and to do the wrong thing is al
ways so pleasant" He is talking idly,
scarcely knowing what he says, his mind
full of her; full of the knowledge that he
loves her-her only, and with all the pas
sion of his nature, and that he is engaged
to be married to another woman.
A handsome woman, the daughter and
heiress of cotton merchant-what her
own class would call "fne girl-tall,
with light eyes and lighter hair, and dis
.inctly underlined. She had met George
Brooke some months ago at the house of a
mutual friend, and being filed with a
strong desire to rise out of her cotton sur
roundings, had given him very clearly to
understand that she was willing to accept
him should he choose to accept her fort
une, which was enormous, in exchange for
the old title that must come to him on the
death of his uncle, Lord Farnham. A
beggarly title-no penny of money COM
ing with it, as the uncle let the nephew
know as often as opportunity occurred
There had been bad blood between Lord
Farnham and his second brother, George
Brookes father, and Farnham was not
man to forget. He swore he would visit
the sin of the father upon the son, and
sooner than let his money go to the young
George he would leave it to hospital.
As for the old name, and the keeping of it,
let it go to the devil. Young George
would inherit that in spite of him, but it
should prove a barren honor to him.
George took no steps to assuage his I'M
cle's wrath, but he thought good deal of
the time when he should be Lord Farm
ham, with only $500 year to back his
title. He had shirked the idea of marry
ing for money, but when Miss Morland,
with her undeniable golden charms, flung
herself at his head, he permitted himself
to argue the question with himself. Many
fellow, he told himself had done it be-
fore. 1t was a fair exchange. His title
for her money. He was heart-whole. He
would not do her or any other woman any
wrong in marrying her. He would think
about it-he hesitated and finally was lost
Miss Morlani accepted him calmly was
little vulgar over her money; let it be
known that she thought it pity that the
present Lord Farnham was in such re-
markably robust health for so old man
and said she would not like to be mar
ried until the coming autumn. 1t was
then November. George, glad of respite,
did not press for an earlier day, circum-
stance the helress remembered. He bore
up under his new chains with a marvellous
courage. He was not in love with any
one, SO they did not gall him. Then came
a day when both he and Miss Morland
were asked down to stay for month at
the Shirleys, and there he met Dorothy
Dene.
A little slender maiden, with big gray
eyes, and hair that rippled all over her
white forehead. A rather out-at-elbows
little maiden, whose best frock was mus
liz, and whose only ornaments were roses.
The Shirleys-a young couple, adored her,
and would have her to stay with them as
often as ever the old squire, her father,
would let her come to them. She had
been taken forcible possession of by them
from the month that saw George Brooke
there and his fiancee, with the most dis
astrous results. George Brooke fell madly
in love with her, and she loved him.
1t has gone so far with them, indeed, that
though no word has yet been spoken, each
knows the others heart, and sitting here
to-day, in this little dangerously lonely re-
treat, sense Of passionate protest against
the fate that is dividing them is thrilling
through every tone.
1--WE ought to go back" says Miss Dene
presently, in a rather changed tone. She
had been little offended, perhaps, by the
frivolity of his answer.
ooh, not yet, surely. We have been
here SO short a time; and to get away
from Shirley's banjo, if only for minute
or two, is so intense relief"
SIT is more than minute or two" ris-
ing. ave have been here an immense
time. Agnes Mrs. Shirley will be Won
dering what has become of us; so," re-
garding him steadily, "wiil Miss Nor
land.'
''Let her wonder Besides, she has for
gotten us by this time in the delight of
Lord Tottenham's society. wonder what
she sees in that old fossil? For my part,
I'm always thinking when with him of
what | don't see-hair, teeth, etc"
'iShe is very kind to him, poor old
man"
"Aud amiability is her strong point
How many charms you have discovered in
her of late"
Il don't think you ought to speak of her
like that" SAYS the girl, turning upon him
VIII Il ilttIS HASH III ller lONtIJ eyes. lou
shouldn't criticiSe her"
"Why not? | certainly shan't be able
to criticise her next month, so | may as
well make the most of my time now.
Next month"-slowly, and almost de-
family, 81 shall be the blest proprietor of
Mrs. Brooke; and it is not permissible to
criticise ones own wife, whatever you may
do with regard to your friends"
He has spoken deliberately, and with
seeming unconcern, though in truth his
heart is torn in two by very passion of
despair and regret. They are both stand
ing, but she has turned sharply aside, and
has so placed herself that ne cannot see
her face. He had meant to provoke some
word from her, and her silence maddens
him.
aWhat are you thinking of?' asks he.
augrily, going up to her and compelling
her to return his gaze.
She has grown very pale, but she meets
his eyes without fiinching.
Nothing" says she, in tone out of
which all her courage cannot keep the
sound Of desolation.