The morning call., 1891-10-25

CHAPTER Il
The Lashmeres of Deyor Court were an
old county family of good position. The
present owner, Mr.. Archibald cashmere,
was a WidOwer with three children; the
elder, OF whom, as his heir, he was exceed
ingly proud, was Captain Richard; next to
him came Laura, who was 81 then Meg. the
youngest. Laura was the very opposite OF
her sister; tall slim and graceful, there was
a ca IN dIEnty in her carriage and q gentle
repose on the handsome features while a
peusive expression seemed ever to dwell in
her soft gray eyes, shadoWeI by long dark
lashes.
Laura cashmere had had many suitors,
celaya sans dire, for she was we'll lowered,
besides beng amIable and handsome. Ot
these one had gained her sincere, undivided
affection. Horace Walton, a fine, cookbook
ing Young fellow, well born and we'll tred,
being the only son of Sir John Walton, who
rather more than a year previously had
rented the Pines. about mile distant from
Deyor and made the acquaintance OF the
Lashmeres.
The young peoples engagement had fully
met with Sir Johns approval, nay, he was
delighted. He saw in Laura one III carriage
and appearance suited to be mistress of his
sons house.
~ have but one regret" he remarked to
Mr. cashmere one day, almost with sigh.
that | have no daughter to win the heart
Of your handsome son; tnsn, when we had
found husband for merry Miss Meg, our
family circle would be complete"
Mr.. cashmere Was no less pleased. His
family was old and honorable, yet TO have
daughter Lady Walton excited that pride
to which, being exclusively human, all man
kind is subject, Thus, when Meg in her
room sat gazing out al the rose garden,
without seeing II, her mind too occupied by
the events of the morning, she felt terribly
i'll at ease.
She was little more than girl. neverthe-
less she knew something Of the world,
and she tIembled lest she was about to
make soma discovery detrimental to Hor-
ace, and consequently hurtful to her sisters
happiness.
{" Really" she reflected, with petulanee
" it is too much for one morning. Poor
Dicks confidence. and now this mysterious
portrait. This Amy, with her dear, DEAR
dearest Horace. 1t makes ones head ache.
Pom my word, don't think I'll have any
thing to do with it. Why should /? Why?
Because it may have to do with dear Llura'5
future married comfort"
Poor Meg had never been in so much per
plexity in her life. and she was glad when
the dressing-bell rang.
suspense IS always worse, in nine cases
out of ten, than reality" she thought.
The dinner-hour was at Devor On its
conclusion Dick, as usual, followed his sister
to the drawing-roOm Tor coffee while the
pater and mater INDUCED in a short nap.
Laura and | are going to try tina. batch
of songs Mitchell last sent down, remarked
the Captain, moving to the piano; i'll you
come, Meg?"
Not at present, Dick have some things
to arrange in my room," she answered; and
no sooner did she see the two thoroughly
occupied with the new pile of music than
she went into the hall, put on her hat and
cloak, then, by sidedo0r, entered the
grounds.
1t was moonless night, and only soft
reached the pine wood. There it was dark,
indeed, save for gray patches here and there
on the horizon, seen through the straight
dark trunks.
Darkness, however, was Of small matter
to Meg. She knew the path well, and as
the stile was at the opposite side to Devor,
had no fear OF encountering Horace. Never
theless, as she approached the place OF rem
devious she went more cautiously. Sup
pose, after all, no one should be there? The
letter might have been an old one-the
Thursday, not that Thursday.
Almost as the thought occurred the mur-
muir of voices fell on her ear. Raising her
eyes, she perceived, standing by the stIle,
and outlined against the gray background,
two figUres-HOrsceWa! s and a wOman's.
In moment Meg halted, her heart beat.
ing rapidly. Then, feeling it imperative
she should know more, knowing SO much,
quitting the path, she crept noiselessly
through the bushes toward the spot
Soon thelr voices were clearly audible:
but either Meg was too late or they had
been earlier than the hour appointed, for
they seemed about to separate. The woman
in whom Meg now, even in that light,
found no difficulty in recognizing the origi-
nal OF the portrait, had evidently been cry
ing. There were tears in her voice as she
said:
dear Horace, life would have small
charm for me we're it not that possess
your love, and know you at least would be
true"
Never doubt that, darling" he replied
feryentiy, hts hand holding hers. II love
you'll am true to you in secret; but il need
were, Amy. l would be so openly. 1t is for
both our sakes that / remain now silent"
81 ] know it. | never, never doubt you.
dear. Oh, heaven! if j ever should lose
you, Horace, my existence would be wort TIL
less indeed. You cannot tell how miserable
get when weeks pass without my seeing
you. At last l cannot bear It. so come as
1 have now, and ask you to meet me, for
getful OF the risk you run should--shoul
Sir John discover"
Amy, neither my father nor any one
should ever keep me from YOU" he replied.