The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1892-01-27

make neements for the marriage,
I called on the vicar of the parish, OBJ
tanned the license, and appointed half
| past 10 the following morning for
the ceremony, stating that : wished
it to be conducted with the greatest prl-
vacv.
It was between 8 and 9 o'clock when
I returned to Glendale House and, as l
entered the portico the first snow OF the
season was beginning to fall heavily.
Invent upstairs to the room l had al
ways occupied. 1t was one Of those
! called in the Glendale establishment q
French room," because it served the
double purpose OF sitting and bed room:
apartment into two.
A cheerful fire was burning in the CRATE.
I turned up the gas, lit a cigarette, and
sat down contemplatively in my easy
chair.
A bachelor to-day, q married man to
morrowl I was not sorry to have these
few hours to myself. Events seemed to
have been rushing me on 80 fast 1 had
had literally no time for sober thought.
Nv mind felt calmer, clearer, than ii
had done of late. I reviewed my past
life.
It had been by no means that of o saint,
but I saw little in the retrospect with
which to repreaeh myself. In the midst
of my self-communing I began to think
of Edna. Her image rose vividly-so
Observation-Disclosures my minds eye that J
resented it. I got up impatiently, flung
away my cigarette and went to the table
on which stood my writing desk. Iopened
it and took from a secret drawer-where
I had placed it six years ago-the one
only letter I received from Edna Lynton.
It consisted of but q few lines renouncine
me and my love forever, assuring me hei
decision was interchangeable and asking,
as the only favor 7 could render, that ]
would refrain from writing or making
any attempt to gee her. 1 answered hel
letter, but that reply came back unopened.
I made several attempts to see her, but In
vain.
At last, bitterly wounded in my love
and pride. I did my best to forget her.
How had I succeeded? All, how indeed!
Even now, with that cruel letter before
my eyes, I owned to myself that, deep
and passionate as was my love fol
George, there was none of the tenderness
in it I had felt for Edna. I started, al
most guiltily. as knock came at the door.
Come in" I cried, and crushed the
l6GU6I u Luy huAus -
A slight, girlish figure stood quite still
for a moment within the door, then ad-
vanced slowly to the center Of the room.
I WAS too much surprised, I think, to
speak. The appearance seemed almost
supernatural, so in harmony was it with
nv thoughts. She came close to me be.
fore I could utter a word, and, taking Oh
her hat and veil, Edna herself looked up
at me with her sweet, shy smile. The
light fell full on her upturned face and
on her rufled auburn hair.
Jack" she said, TREMENDOUSLY.
You are wet with snow. You are
half frozen, child" I exclaimed, and,
taking her unresisting hand, led her to
the easy-chair in front Of the fire.
She leaned back YEARLY.
I knelt down, ~unfastened her cloak,
pulled off the wet gloves and chafed the
cold little hands in mine, Presently,
with a sigh she raised her eyes, while a
faint tint of color returned to her wan
face.
1T is for your sake, jack" she said,
but in tones so low and sweet the words
were scarcely audible.
What, dear? What have you done
for nv sake?" I asked, still kneeling
there and chatting soothingly the small
fragile hands.
All! this was the Edna 7 had once
known, whom only to know had been to
love. She was her own sweet self again.
But-what did it mean?
II will tell you. I came here now to
tell you; for l knew you would keep your
promise, Jack. I was quite sure you
would Keep your promise! / went away
on Tuesday. I I'm on my road back to
the Grange now, but walked here from
the station to see-to speak with you
You have been away?"
yes. Did you not know? But per-
haps you have not seen-Miss Hargreave
since Monday night?" she asked, a CLEAN
Of gladness illuminating all her face.
Il did not know you had gone. I have
been very much engaged" answered,
vaguely.
She drew one hand away, and, stopping,
picked up a crumpled letter from the
foor. THAT is my writing" she said, as
she smoothed it out. How strange that
YOU should have been reading that-that
-that-cruel letter now, tonight"
why so?"
.Because-oh. don't get up, Jack! ]
love to have you kneeling there. It is
like the happy days of long ago. You
don't hate me, Jsck-I see it in your
eyes-although I behaved 30 badly to
your"
Nothing could make me hate you, Ed
ma. But tell me, what is it you have been
doing for my sake?"
"A6, presently, but not this very mo-
ment. I want to make a confession to
you nrst. II have always loved you
loved you better than my life. 1t was
YOUR own father who made me- write that
letter renouncing you. That was in your
prosperous days. But pow-now all is
quite changed. We are both poor-both
dependent. We are equals. Tell me, tell
me that you love me still"
She leaned forward, looking into my
eyes. What she read there I can only
you do, Jack?" she whispered, thus
forcing me to answer her.
God pity and forgive me-yes!'
It seemed to me in those few moments
that all moral sense must have forsaken
me.
my God!" I cried, starting away from
her a minute later, Il am a v%illainl"
aYou-my Jack-a villain!" She
smiled, then rose and stood before me.
NO, no, no! You are the dearest fellow
in the world. You firted with me just q
little. Yes? Well, that is all over now.
She will not mind q great deal, for ]
I think, dear, she was flirting, too. All,
she cannot care for you as I do, Jack! II
was because I wished to see you happy
that I made an excuse and asked for two
days holiday and went colchester.
shire. I wanted to be sure, in case you
really loved her, that she was worthy OF