The record-union., 1891-09-05

Olive does not fear me. Perhaps l can
lead her to confide in me of her own free
choice"
God bless you, Roland try, try. /
would give the world to be relieved of
this anXietyp'
By thousand ingenious but ineffect-
ual ways Roland Harlow strove to sur
prise Olives secret, but never succeeded.
The same which was the keynote to it he
never thought to utter, and the girl was
too wrapped in her own thoughts and
feelings to observe the singularity of his.
a fortnight had gone by, when she de-
clined to attend a concert with him, and
bidding him goodnight in the hall as
cended to her room. Roland let himself
out, and, crossing the park, sat down
under the trees in the balmy spring even
ing.
The truth was, he was overwhelmed by
his thoughts, and sat racking his BRAIN
longer than he knew, for he was suddenly
surprised by the sight of Olive, wrapped
in gray waterproof and veil, emerging
from the door of her house. She came
quickly down the high stone steps, was
Joined at the corner of the park by Ada
Grandmont, and the two walked rapidly
away. Before he knew what he was do
ing he was following them.
Leaving the aristocratic quarter of the
city, they sought one less pretentiOus,
and then their steps grew slower. Arm
in arm they paced slowly along, looking
about them and talking in low tones. Be
fore the entrances OF stores, theaters and
other public places, they stopped and
waited for a considerable time. At the
door of two or three private houses they
stopped and rang, but Roland dared not
approach near enough to get any clew TO
their business.
They went down one side of the street,
.DN Hn of of lnc,
when the clocks were striking IL, return
ing home. They reached the park. Ada
GrandmOnt'S residence being near
Olives, the latter had but few steps to
go alone before the door Of her house
| closed softly upon her, and soon APP
peared light in he chamber window.
Twice Roland sought and found oppor-
tunity to follow Olive in the same way.
She was always accompanied by Ada.
The temerity which enabled these
chOicly bred girls to repeat this walk
| night after night, in ali kinds Of weather,
was equaled only by the wonder of their
doing it. They did not seem to attract
any attention, though their light gliding
steps carried them past many spots OF
peril. Their manner, though ObServant,
was reserved. No, through all these
strange nightly jaunts ROlond never
doubted olives motives to be innocent
| their object pure as unknown, but he was
| lost in perpleXity.
| lie had not yet revealed what he had
| seen to Olives father. He wished first to
| discover more. and was sure he should
when, on the fourth night, retracing their
steps precisely over the same route, the
| girls overlook man, and, passing with
| him into one of the houses, were lost tC
| sight. 1t was rather a poor lodging
house. Here they remained for over an
hour.
The next evening they met and sought
| the same house, which they entered.
| Then Roland went to Mr.. Seton and re-
| vealed what he knew.
Ou are sure she went this way, Ro-
land-down this common street-and al
this late hour?"
"Quite sure"
''And went into this poor place-is
| there now?'
YES, Mr.. Seton. Will YOU ring? ?''
! Mr.. Seton rang at the door of the poor
| lodging-house. a shabby maid an
swered the summons.
"G ou just admitted two young ladies'"
he said. Where are they?''
mo. 3, sir; Mr.. Aubert's room, sir"
| She pointed to door down the passage,
| and unceremoniously left them.
The door was evidently unintentionallv
! ajar, for low voices within were earnestly
| talking.
Not now, when you are sick, Victor?''
mo, not now, when | am sick, Ada
! You cannot say that he has ever ex-
| pressed wish for my return"
! Mr.. Seton caught his breath at the two
| voices.
NO, but I know father is heart-broken
at your absence, Victor. He would give
the world If there had been no quarrel
Dear brother, don't refuse! let me tell
! him you are here. Ever since Ada be-
! lieved she saw you from your father
carriage, coming down this forlorn street,
we have searched for you with that hope
| to urge you back home. We searched
| and waited so long, dear! but could not
giver you up, while Ada was so sure you
had come into one Of these houses. Oh
| Victor! have you not suffered enough
| trying to gain a livelihood for which YOU
| have no training-almOst Starving-ill
| now-have you not endured enough, my
dear brother, to come back home and ask
! papa's pardon for your own heat and dis
respect, forgetting his anger? Ifhe were
! hard, he loves vou-" She broke down
! crying.
He loves you, my son." added the
father, coming into the room. LET me
ask your pardon for N.Y.
| mo, tatherr' cried the poor, pale Vic
| tor Seton, springing from the bed, and
| they were all crying tOgether-all five,
! believe, but there was no uninteresting
! observer to make record.
It was true, as Olive had said, that Vic
| tor had no training for life OF poverty
| He was almost starved as music teacher
! His first experience of the worlds hard.
! ships had been bitter indeed
Father and son had learned a lesson
| At q and 81 years of age both had
| learned the same, and passion no longer
| dominates the Seftons. Love rules in.
stead, and not one Of the large and
| increasing family is more dear than
the sister and daughter who brought
about the reconciliation with such
! difficulty. Large, because while
| Mr.. Seton had never withheld his con.
| sent for Olive to marry Roland, he as
| willingly gave it for the union of Victor
and brown-eyed, faithful little Ada-anG
the children Of all rise up and call them
| blessed.