Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1892-04-22
CHAPTER II.
10 sweet fancy Let her loosel
Everything is spoilt by me-"
"There is a garden in her face"

and thirty-two years, but looking con-
siderably older. Not n handsome man
not even a commonly good-looking
one. A more decidedly plain man in a
a well-bred way than Ralph Anketell
it would be difficult to find. That his
large mouth is kindly and his small
eyes earnest does little to redeem his
face. But one thing ut least he has: a
magnificent figure. A better set up
man than he, or one more strong or
more vigorous, is hardly to be found
in the Irish county to which he be-
longs.
Miss McDermot's last words have
been quite clear to him, and being en-
gagged to her he may be pardoned for
not finding them exactly palatable.
Beyond n swift glance at the girl, how
ever, he takes no notice OF them; and
the glance goes astray, as she is look
ing at tho PROSTATE figure on the
chairs rather than ut him, Il fact that
comes home to Anlletell with u little
chill.
He had entered the big hall (beauti-
full even in its decay and dsorder) by
the lower door that leads to the
garden. followed by Dulcinea's father.
The latter-The McDermot-isa spare,
tall, gaunt man, with dull eyes covered
by overhanging brows, and a most
logged mouth. Perhaps FROM him the
girl has taken her obstinacy and
hatred Of control, if from her dead
mother she has inherited the great
love of truth and honor and the well
OF hidden affection that lives almost
unsupported within her breast.
what is this? what is thisP" de-
mands her father, hurrying forward to
where. in the dim growing OF the
autumn twilight, the silent figure
lies.
Dulcinea, in low tone, and with
slender hand uplifted, as If TO insure
quiet for the wounded man, tells her
tale.
The whole scene makes II picture,
hardly to be forgotten if once seen-as
once seen it wasm
The soft, gray, dying light, that
scarcely lights up the grand old hall;
the central figure prone, inanimate;
the old woman there, with her white
hair and cap and scornful air; the
bending figure of the man-servant;
and here, where the lights from the
eastern window fall full upon her. the
proud, slight figure of the girl, drawn
to its fullest height, and with the
lovely face uplilted. The rays from
the departing sun fall with wintry
rapture on her nut-brown hair, light
ing it in part 20 gold. She is looking
stirred, anxious; she is leaning little
toward her father; and her eyes-such
eyes! blue. deep, heavenly blue; blue.
| like the ocean when it dreams of
storm-are turned expectantly to his.
Her lips airs parted. And in the back
ground the two still fgures-the
fathers and the lover's-both silent,
wondering.
ale is i'll. father; he will die If
moved" says the girl, in soft tones
fraught with fear.
"He? who is hep" asks The McDer-
mot suspiciously.
"'Ah! of that we know nothing"
Her hand is still uplifted. but
Bridget says he is to rest there -
therew with p swift gesture towards
the comfortless lounge. until the
doctor comes"
Certainly notws says The McDermot,
taking IL step forward. There! Here,
Patsy. what are you about? Carry
this stranger to-where, Dulciep'
The north room is the warmest.
1t has been prepared for Andy: but he
may not come" says Miss McDermot
"And even if he does Take care,
Patsy. Father! his arm is broken"
She runs to the body they are lift
ing, and thrusts her own young, firm
arm under it, where the broken limb
hangs helpless.
This is II mans work, not a
woman's," says Sir Ralph CURLY, if
courteously. You must try TO for
give me Il you find me in the way"
"Who is he, do you think. Bridgeto"
asks Miss McDermot half an hour later
of her henchwoman, when she has
soothed down that angry despot to II
proper frame of mind.
GLOW can l tell. hinneyp He may
be the divil himself for aught | know;
an fey, | wouldn't wondher. Who but
the Guild boy could come through that
bog alive? What did he name at all,
wondher, by comm this wayp Was
there no one to warn him? or hadn't
he an eye in his own hendp But
what's the good of an eye wild then
English? Why. they haven't grain
o. sinse between Thin"
you think he's English p"--eagerly.
"Conldn't We see that much in the
cock o. his nose? Faix, ye're near as
blind as he is himself if We couldn't
note that much; and the strange
twist o. his tongue. Och! English,
surer'
Il don't think he looks English! He
is so dark. Did you notice thatp
And from where is hep What is hep"
Zone o. thin young gintlemen up
at Ballybeg. Pm thinlSin'. Two of ZEN
come last night, as Pm towld by Larry
Murphy, the cab driver. You know
him, missp"
"No-no," dreamily. "Not at ALL
"What! Not Larry the thieft
Array, what ails We at all, me dearp"
"Oh, Larryp Oh! OF course, blush.
ing furiously. II thought you we're
talking of-of-"
well, wasn't" says the ole
woman dryly. II wouldn't presume
to let me tongue run race about
them English folk"