Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1892-04-29
CHAPTER III.


And the weather blows cold
Well fare fire and furried gowne;
But when lie is young
And his blood new sprung,
His sweetheart is worth half the tovnel"
1t is month later, and now very
close to Christmas.
Soft wreaths of snow hang upon
every Dough. Nature has spread
herself u mantle SO white, so chill,
that scarce one dares to dream of life
beneath it. In the old house, if moth
ing else is plentiful, fires are. To The
McDermot warmth is gold-and so
much gold he grants himself if in
other ways he is compelled 10 study
strict economy. Something. in the
brilliant glare of the huge pine logs
lying on the massive Jumps OF glow
ing coal remind him in II measure OF
the days gone by, when he could hold
up his head with the best, and keep
open house for all his friends.
A whole month! Thirty full days,
and still the young man who had been
brought in fainting to the old castle
of the McDermots is the McDermots'
guest. The doctor. summoned in
haste, had pronounced him in highly
feverish state, and unit for removal.
He had broken his arm out shooting,
in some unaccountable fashion; and
the walking for miles afterward. try
ing in vain to find a short cut to Bally-
beg, the residence of Lord Begmore,
with whom he was staying, and the
subsequent immersion in the castle
bog, and his exertions TO escape from
it, all had combined to render him us
weak a creature as nature ever kept
life in. To remove him had been i'm
possible.
The McDermot. to whose sins in
! hospitality certainly never could be
laid, had made his guest us welcome
as possible. Lord Begmore, too, whose
guest the young man was, had been
| assiduous In his attentions, calling
every other day at first. and to the
present moment sending flowers, fruits
and game. These last were q god
send to Bridget and Dulcinea, who,
with the short purse they held for
housekeeping expenses, would hardly
have known how to keep their guest
in the little delicacies needful for an
invalid thout this help.
And after all he has not proved an
artist He has never "wandherd" in
the sense Bridget hal suggested; and
certainly he has always had Il grand
father and roof over his head. In
effect, he is young man of family.
and next heir to "a title, his father be-
ing dead. and he an only son, aud his
grandfather Lord Branscombe. So
there certainly is no doubt about the
grandfather.
His namo is Lucien Eyre, and his
appearance beyond argument A
better featured man it would be per-
haps difficult to find. Miss McDer-
mot came TO this conclusion early in
his stay with her; and even now, when
he is mending, and one need not feel
so altogether sentimental about him
AS when he lay stretched upon his
bed, lowering between beautiful life
and hideous death, she sees no cause
to alter her decision. AS a fact, no il
distinctly handsome--of tho dars.
Italian type one sometimes sees in
English people. And ut all events
his free laughing mouth, and the tall
muscular figure he possesses are
essentially English.
Yesterday he was we'll enough 60 be
moved down to one OF tho lower
rooms--a rather gaunt impossible
room, that had once been school,
room to judge by the general break
UP OF the furniture. Miss McDermot
had wished him to be brought to the
drawing-room, the one decently il
poorly kept up room in the house; but
he had begged to he taken to some
other place, where the advent oil
visitors need not disturb him. So the
old schoolroom had been reGuisitioned.
and comfortable chair put into il
next to roaring fire.
"Well, how do you feelp' asked
Dulcinea, coming into tho room like q
young spring breeze, all life and
freshness "Tired-eh?"
She used to be afraid OF him at first,
when she learned he was so near TO a
title--afraid OF the poverty of her
own surroundings. that must be felt
by him so long as lie was her fathers
guest; but he had proved so bright
and SO gay, and go grateful for even
the smallest mercies, that her heart
had gone out to him. Even the diff
cult Bridget had been conquered-in q
measure.
She has stepped into the light Of the
jovial fire, and is looking down a,
him with a little smile. He. from the
depths OF the ancient arm chair,
smiles back at her.
I'm swindler' says no. II feel
as well as any fellow, ouly'-
"Only what?"
"Only don't want to CO." says he,
in low tone, but boldly.
"How good Of you that is. says she,
slipping into o chair at the other
side Of the glowing hearth, and
spreading out her pretty white fingers
to the blaze. "Just pretending, to
please me, that we have made you
comfortable. Well" with sigh,
Twelve done our best, father add /;
but It hasn't been much. know that"
The freight has fallen on her face;
she is lea1ing toward 1t, and the rays,
catching her blue eyes. light them
up until they CLEAN like sapph:res.
at nm nof protandipUN cavc fh N