Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1892-08-06

antly happy. They didn't feel their
dignity impaired, as Jack did, because
the money happened TO be left to me,
and when saw my perplexity
she wisely undertook to help her bur-
dened daughter.
But another thing troubled me great
ly. Philip vas SO changed. The first
time he called after the funeral | was
alone in the parlor and ran to him at
once. expecting help and sympathy al
usual, but the moment / met his eyes
full knowledge of the change in him
and its cause flashed upon me. An
other knowledge came as quickly
knowledge that gave me exquisite
pleasure and quick, keen pain, that
tied my tongue and made me for the
first time in my life shy and con-
strained with him. All at once | knew
the true meaning Of our friendship; he
was not my friend, but my lover, and
now this wretched money was to come
between US. When / was poor he had
meant to win me; now that | was rich
he would not take advantage of my
girlish liking, but would leave me
free.
And what could do! Nothing; only
wait in silence while every day we
drifted further apart.
| grew nervous and irritable with
the long strain; it told upon my health,
too, and just before Christmas a severe
cold. combined with the nervous anx-
iety of the last few months, made me
really i'll. For a day or two / dragged
myself about, refusing my mothers
entreaties to see the doctor; all the
time | hoped he would come without
being summoned.
One afternoon | was lying on a sofa
in the library, wrapped in shawls, with
my aching head buried in the pillow.
when some one opened the door and
came in. All the color left my face in
the intense JOY of seeing him. l knew
my eyes were shining and the revela-
ton my face was making-knew this
because | saw the reflection Of it in his.
j saw his ~momentary struggle with
himself, with his pride, and then my
conquest.
"Poor Dorothy" he said gently.
"Poor little girl! We can not have
you ILL.,"
W. were jsst the old friends again
after this, the old friendship with per-
haps a shade Of difference, but Of that
j would not think. The happiness of
the present was enough for me; the
future could wait. This afternoon |
felt so strong that | had ventured to
go out for the first time since my i'll
ness.
Wrapped in thought, / had been
quite oblivious of the two on the other
side of the fire, but now with a guilty
start | remembered Philip. i WON
dered il he had noticed my strange si-
len.e. Evidently not. for he and
Cecil seemed engrossed in each other.
"And so Dorothy does not think me
a brave man?" Philip was saying.
"And why?"
My heart gave a quick throb of dis
may and shame. / started forward 10
check the child's answer; but it was
too late.
"She says you are fighting a camera"
said Cecil. what is q camera, DIR.
Harcourt?"
at is something that runs away with
the happiness of silly people," said
Philip, after a short pause, and then
there was a long, long silence.
AT last / stole a glance at Philip.
Cecil was fast asleep, his head on the
doctors shoulder. his yellow curls
shining like gold, in the freight. But
he was not looking at the child; his
eyes were fixed on my face with a look
hat thrilled me, it was SO different
from any l had every received from
him before, triumphant and tender,
strong and masterful.
Avoiding his eyes, | hurriedly took
the child from his arms. My hands
were trembling, but / carried him to
n sofa. This certainty of Philips love
had completely unnerved me, aud /
could not encounter his glance again.
"Dorothy!" He came over L the
sofa and stood before me, but | did
not lift my eyes. Dorothy" he said
again, and this time he moved a step
nearer.
With a half sob of gladness | stretch
ed out my hands blindly and he drew
me into his arms.
my darling!" he whispered, thank
fully. "My wife, drerly Magazine.