The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1892-06-01

Il came the usual way answers ne
vile and his voice sounds harsh and dis.
tinct through the buzzing in my ears 81
have been away, Frank, seven years all
but one month, and come back to find
YOU exactly where left you, in the corner
of Lady Somebody's drawing room, talk
ing to Mrs. Goldingham."
Both shadows laugh.
"Are you home for goodp"
For good2" Neville seems to ponder.
81 don't think anything is for good. |
have come home for a change"
"Tired of Australia, hewlett"
"Tired of life"
Then the buzzing sound becomes louder;
seem to hear through a mist as it were
in another life, sit is Dulcel" and then !
remember no more till | find myself in Il
small boudoir behind the back drawing
room with Neville by my side.
Ibid | faint2 Is it your" asked stupid
ly, for thought | must be dreaming.
THAT man called you Crofton; are you
really the Neville Surtees - used to
know"
mo, not the Neville you cast aside, but
bad imitation of him labeled Crofton.
An old man in Australia died three years
ago and left me his fortune and his name.
| wanted neither but | took both and
| have nothing to do with trade
now, Dulce. | beg your pardon, should
have said Miss Malcolm. BY the by. how
is Mr. Malcolm?"
"He died three years ago, and live alone
at the old place"
am surprised to find how calmly can
speak; perhaps the repression of the last
seven years has taught me self control.
81 never knew" he answers, with a
named look in his brown ewes
Suddenly figure appears at the door-a
small woman dressed in the extremity of
the fashion, with her fair golden curls
piled lightly into the last new shape
Are you not coming, Nevillep 1t is
time to 90 on to Mrs. Hawkes."
"Ahp' Neville seems about to say some
thing, then he turns to me and bites his
lips
Are you better, Miss Malcolm9 Can
leave your"
Yes, thank you. But are you going'
Shall not see you again soon?"
II think not. Yes, Lydia, | am coming"
for the small person in the doorway is get
ting impatient. "Goodby," he says alb
ruptly, holding my cold hand in his strong,
warm grasp; II am going back to Austria
liza directly"
They are gone, and my cousin comes
bustling in. She is stout and pale hum
drum sort of woman, very matter of fact
and without the smallest spice of humor,
quite incapable of taking in more than one
idea at time, and unsympathetic to any
one or anything that is not absolutely con
nected with her own health or her position
in society
They tell me you tainted, Dulce-the
room is very hot; but Lady Etheldreda is
so nice her parties are always crammed
Such a number of nice people here. By the
by, saw that tall man you used to know
Neville Something or other-he has
brought home Il new name and wife"
"A wife, Cousin Elizabeth was that his
wifeP"
Somehow it had never occurred to me.
| My head is still stupid and confused, or
must have known that was his wife.
Eyes, a granddaughter of Lord b. s, my
| dear, and a great catch He always was a
| lucky man, and he never stuck much in
one groove, but moved about and made
fresh friends wherever he went. He al
ways got on well with really nice people,
although believe his father was only an
ironmaster. Come, Dulce, it is getting
late, and if you look so white shall not
take you to the Colmans tomorrow"
Not another at home, Cousin Eliza
beth" pleaded II will never go to one
again. The-the rooms are SO hot"- My
voice breaks into tears.
Cousin Elizabeth stares. She calls every
mood she cannot understand at once 'hys-
terical."
you are hysterical, Dulce. At your
age you should know better. Come home
at once"
| follow her meekly down stairs, give up
my crumpled cloak ticket in exchange for
my equally crumpled cloak, and we drive
silently home through the dark, cool night
That page of my life's history is closed
forever. tell Cousin Elizabeth that Lon
don and late hours do not agree with me
and | spend the quiet days in my country
home each hour laden with small duties
my little store of withered memories wa
tered by silent tears.
And Neville9 had this one letter from
him.
DEAR DULCE-You sad little face haunt'
me, and can blame no one but myself
Had been patient land yet could | wait
for your fathers death to free youO anC
lived my life on in England, all might
have been different. Now the spirit of un
rest grows within me, must exercise hin
by change of scene. My wife will not e
back to Australia, so think of me alone, a
you are Yours (as in old tines,
NEVILLE"
have never seen him since we met-ant
parted-at Lady Etheldreda's lat home.
Temple Bar.