The Press., 1891-10-08

would open to her necessities. She dared not think of poor Will. Hope was kept alive in her bosom by old Miss Rivers. to whom she had opened her heart. Celestina felt IS morally certain that the story would be accepted as that her half yearly stipend would soon be coming from England or Switzerland.
 Day after day efspt by. The heat and drouth were distressingly prolonged. Even Mira Northups nerves and temper had given way, for she had brought her self to the point of spanking Margery. Every morning the maids on Grove street might have seen the young girl pass on her walk to the postoffice with yearning expectation in her eyes, and come back baffied, dropping with disap- pointment and heartache. The editor in-chief WAS away fishing in the mount aims; but how was she to know that fact? And Mrs. Archer was ill in Paris, and that, tco, was hidden from the mind of poor Celestina, who walked by faith and not by sight.
 One morning as Edith emerged from the postoffce empty handed. and even more Respondent than usual, she met Harold Ashley face to face. He lifted his hat and colored high. Edith, too, was painfully embarrassed by the unex- pected encounter.
 'I have been trying to see you this long time, Miss March, to ask you for an ex- planation. The whole Ashley family feel agrieved and injured by your treat ment."a
 "I am sorry" said Edith, walking fast, as if to get away from him, though with his long strides he easily kept by her s;4e ''I can give no explanation ex- eept the one gave your sister-the sim ple truth"
 "Yes, Fanny felt that snub very deeply" Don't call it snub, Mir. Ashley. had to say it, though it cost me many a pang. Perhaps the words were rude and blunt: but am working girl. l have no time. no right to amuse myself. should be disloyal to poor Will"
 "But there are so many things have to say to you, Miss March. and you will not listen; you avoid me. you run away whenever approach.
 'I don't understand you, Mr. Ashley, returned Edith coldly. What can you have to say to me? You ought to be al | the seashore this moment with Miss Trevor"
 Mary Trevor! She is my cousin, and 8 confirmed invalid. What has she tc do with it? She is great deal older than am."
 "I don't know'-Edith stumbled along in her speech, her face burning crimson "that is, understand-they do say you are to marry Miss Trevor"
 Harold stood still and turned quite pale, his gaze fixed searchingly on he, face. ''Oh, that explains it. You think ought to have nothing to say to yor because am going to marry Mary Ire vor," and he threw back his head and laughed. Well, Miss March, desired to let you know that am going mp tc Tamerack Camp, where your brother is | to visit Stevens It occurred to me thai | you might have some message for him. | "For Williel Oh, how good you are l Do tell him am perfectly well and il the best of spirits. and fiourishing gen erally."
 ''1 shall tell him no such thing, Miss March, for I should be telling false hood. The truth is you are looking mis ersbly pale and worn and fagged, and you are slaving your life out to keep him going at college
 ''Oh, MT. Ashley!" and she gave con vulsive little gasp He knows nothing of it. He thinks we still have our in. heritance intact. It would break his heart and mine if he knew"
 Harold looked severe and relentless. "Itwil be my duty to tell him, Miss March, that you refuse to have friends that you are too proud and independent to accept the smallest favor from those who would gladly serve you"
 ''Think what you will of me-" she answered dejectedly. "but don't hurt WiHie.'
 Without another word Harold turned on his heel and was gone, leaving the girl in state of wonder as to how he had guessed her secret. The dry warm weather continued weary time. Edith felt too weak and listless to do more than drag herself to the postoffce and the hospital where Miss Rivers was still kept in bed, though the doctor declared that nothing ailed her but debility. A little encouragement, sparkle of hope, bit of good news, something to give a fllip to her nerves and energies would quickly set the old poetess on her feet again. Day after day the two waited, and yet no letter. Edith had but few remaining dollars in her purse-only enough to pay Mrs. Northup's room rent for 8 fortnight-and yet she could not shake of the strange benumbed feeling of 1assitude. She sat whole hours idle, with her hands folded in her lap, while the cicida filed his tiny saw out side the window, and dreamed of being carried to the hospital and laid in the vacant cot next to Celestina's. She seemed to have lost much of her pride about accepting Mrs. Northup's hospi- tality, and as she sat at her landlady's abundant tea table and listened to the stream of neighborhood gossip that flowed from her tongue she wondered where her old spirit of independence had gone. 1t must be the dog day weather and the impossibility of sleep ing in her oven of room that had worn her nerves to fiddle strings and made her passive enigma even to herself DELICIOUS: MlNCE Y ES EVERY pAv IN rHE YEAR.