The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1891-04-25
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HER INHERITANCE.
From All the Year Round.
CHAPTER /.

CHAPTER 1.
In lonely little room in dreary Lon
don house woman lay asleep on sofa.
and man sat near her with an open letter
in his hand. 1t was a lodging house sit
ting-room, evidently-there is something
about furnished apartment" which is
not to be effaced or disguised without much
care and skill and this room bore token of
neither one nor the other. 1t was a No
vember afternoon, and the rain had been
falling all day with that dull, dreary, de-
pressing persistence which is characteristic
of November rain in London; and though
it was only 4 o'clock the room was lighted
rather by the flickering fire than by the
light from without, which only seemed to
intensity the dreariness within, as it brood
ed over those corners in which it still ruled,
seeming to keep its brighter rival at bay.
The shabby specimen of the hard, slip
perry, horsehair-class of sofa on which the
woman lay was drawn up close TO the fire
and the dancing flames threw their uncer-
tain light full on her face. twas SO white
that even the red glow failed to give it
color; and as she lay sleeping there, her
only expression one Of pain and distress, it
was impossible to tell whether in health
and animation she might or might not have
been pretty. 1t was young face-not
more than nineteen, apparently-framed IN
pale yellow hair, which fell somewhat un-
tidily about it, and it was worn with pain
and illness; the mouth was very sensitive
and expressive, but lacking in strength, as
wa the delicate chin. The fading daylight
grew fainter and fainter, the freight
triu mped and reigned in every corner, and
still she lay asleep, and still the man set
motto Mess by her side. As he watched
her he saw her face lose the strained look
of pain and a happy smile curve her white
lips. What was she dreaming Of? All
he knew well enongh that her dreams were
always the same; he could almost conjure
up before his own eyes, as he sat there IN
the desolate room, the scenes in which she
was roaming so happily in dreamland. Had
she not told him of them again and again?
Were not those dreams the happiness OF
her life?
She is standing at a easement window 10
the early morning light. She has just
Jumped up from the little wooden bedstead
standing in corner of the room behind
her, and opened the window, that the
sweet, pure air may fill the little room, As
she turns to the oak bureau and dresses
herself On the wide window-ledge are
pots of sweet-smelling plants scented ge-
ranium, tlemon" plant, and musk, and
round the window climbs a rose, whose
buds peep in On her as she throws back the
easement. As she stands there looking out
she sees directly underneath quaint farm
/ house garden, its trim, close cut grass, its
roses-red, white, and pink-its old-fash-
ioned sweet-wiiams, stocks, and sweet
peas, all fresh and dripping with the morn
ing dew. Further away, dim and iudis-
tinct in the mist, which the sun has not
yet had time to disperse, she sees green
corn, and fields, where haymaking is already
going on, as the scent of the hay and the
song of a rising lark come to her through
the cool, sweet, morning air, she hears her
mothers voice cry, dorothy, Dorothy y
This is the low, oak -beamed room where
she learned her lessons and sat at her
mothers feet to learn the mysteries of plain
needle-work. There are her little stool
and her book; the leg Of the table still
bears the marks made long ago by little
kicking feet How often she has watched
the pictures in the fire, sitting there in the
old oak settle Into the wide, low entrance
hall now There is the large oak chest in
which she used to hide; and mp and down
those shallow stairs she has passed day by
day for eighteen years. All, here at their
head is her own little room. Here, and
ander the willow down by the brook which
flows through the farm, she has looked all
her Joy and sorrows in the face since first
she had any sense of joy or sorrow. The
position of the furniture, the pattern of The
paper here, the sound of the rustling willow
leaves, the look of the clear blue sky as it
shines through-these are woven into her
very life, for they have associated them
selves with her deepest mental experiences
1t was in this little room that she shed the
first bitter tears Of her life-tears for her
dead mother 1t was under the willow two
years later that she heard the words
Dorothy, love you. Will you be my
wife ?"
1t was in this little room again
The figure on the sofa stirred and moaned
n little, and the man bent forward and
watched it anxiously as the distressed ex
preston returned to the pale face.
Never to come back again Never tc
see any home any morel Oh, my home
my home! 0hw
The moan became cry, the thin features
were eonvulsed with pain, and the mar
knelt down by the sofa and said softly:
dorothy, Dorothy p
She woke with start, and opening hel
large blue eyes, which shone with wild
hungry light, she stretched out her thir
hands toward him and cried
! "Philip, Philip, has it come? Has b,