Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-04-19

and so proud Of each other hitherto had
parted i'll friends And it was all Daisy's do
ing. poor little feather-headed Daisy, who
should have been a bond of union, but had be-
come the occasion of disunion.
Clara Arden felt weighed down by the sense
of inexpressible sadness as she sat looking out
into the moonlit garden, that garden which
she and her first lover had found a wilderness
and which he had made into a paradise for her
sake II was her girlish admiration of that old
garden by the river which had made Robert
Hatrell eager to possess the place. He had
laid il at her feet as If it we're bunch of roses,
never counting the cost of anything which
pleased her. Had it been ten times as costly q
place he would have bought 1t for her.
His image was with her tonight more wildly
than it had been for a long time. 1t was as if he
himself were at hand in all the warmth and
energy of life, and that she had but to stretch
out her arms to beckon him to her. And, oh,
with what heart sickness of longing and regret
she turned toward that idolized image Face to
face with the inexplicable gloom of Ambrose
Ardens temper she recalled her first husbands
happy nature, his joyous outlook and keen de-
light in life. With him her days had seemed
one perpetual holiday. II she ever complained
it had been because that energetic tempera-
ment took life and its enjoyments at a faster
pace than suited her own reposeful temper.
But how bright, how gay those days had been;
how frank and open her companions face; how
expansive his speech and manner! He had
thoughts light or heavy she shared them and
he knew every desire of her heart
But in this man, this cherished friend of
many years, she had discovered mysteries. He
had griefs which he would not share with her.
He was angry with his only son; they had
parted within few hours. perhaps for all this
life. and he would tell her nothing of the cause
of their parting, he invited no sympathy. He
sat by her side in melancholy silence, and she
felt the burden of unhappiness which she was
not allowed to share.
IF he would only talk of his trouble if he
would only let me comfort him, should be
twice as good wife," she thought despond-
emily. 1T is not my fault if our lives are grow
ing farther apart"
After this night an emotionless monotony
marked Clara Arden's days in the house where
her early married life had been so full of hap
piness and where her one great sorrow, the
sorrow of a lifetime, had come upon her. The
idea of going on the Continent for the autumn
was not carried out. The scholars book alb
sorbed him wholly in the waning of the year
and he preferred the quiet of River Lawn to all
the glory OF the Italian Lakes or all the art of
Florence. He spent a good many hours of
every day in his old cottage study, while his
wife and her daughter lived very much they
had lived in Mrs. Hatrelrs widowhood.
Your second marriage and my engagement
to Cyril seem almost dream, mother, when
you and are sitting here alone together, and
Uncle Ambrose is pouring over his books on
the other side of the road" said Daisy as she
sat at her mothers feet III the morning room,
pretending to read Lecky's England Under the
Georges, but looking up every now and then
to talk. Il call him quite perfect husband in
his way-never interfering with our plans.
never grumbling at his dinner, always courteous
and kind and ready to do what we like"
Yes, he Is all goodness to us" answered her
mother, land one would have nothing left to
wish for if he were only happy"
Il daresay he is happy-in his way, mother
his calm. philosophical way, which used to
soothe and tame me III my rebellious fits when
was child. He was always the same, don't
You know. Tranquil and rather mysterious
like deep still water; like Lake Leman whose
depth one would never suspect if one did not
see the mountains upside down in the water
and get reminded by those delusive shadows of
the real depth below. Rely upon it, Uncle
Ambrose has all he cares for in this world.
having you and his books, and you give your
self groundless trouble when you are anxious
about him."
Her mother sighed. but did not answer. She
had watched her husbands face with new
anxiety ever since Cyril's departure; and she
had seen the lines deepen, and the melancholy
droop of the firm lips grow more marked.
No one at River Lawn know anything about
Cyrlls whereabouts, unless it was his father.
He had left Lamford within few hours of his
with Daisy, taking with him only
single pOrtmanteau, as Beatrice Reardon in
formed her lrlend, TINS young lady having
habit of meeting every fly that ever entered or
departed from the village.
Its no use telling me you haven't quar-
relied" protested Beatrice, when Daisy denied
any ill-feeling between Cyril and herself II
sa@ the poor dear fellows white face as he
drove by, acknowledging my bow in the most
distracted manner and / never saw such a
change in any man. A few hours before he
had been the gayest of us all on the tennis
lawn. and now he looked positively like his own
ghost. You must have had a dreadful row,
Daisy"
1--WE had no row, you call it, We only
agreed that it was better for US to part"