Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1892-10-06


. nod she disappeared, the light faning
softly In parting CLEAN on the smooth
coils Of her hair. Barnard noted II with
a sort Of pain. He had wished to ask
her when he could call the following day,
but she had offered him no chance for
speech.
There was just enough of the canker
OF doubt in him the next day TO make
him irritably impatient to sec her again.
He went to the large brick house on
Washington Square rather early in the
afternoon for a call. Her coupe was
standing at the door as he approached,
and when he reached the stoop Mrs.
Amidon was descending the steps. She
bowed, smiled, paused for a moment when
she reached the sidewalk and made some
remark on the lovely day as she arranged
the last button of her glove. This was
all she could have been expected to do;
yet Barnard felt he had been relegated
some rods to the rear of the position
which he thought he had won for him
self.
Il am unfortunate, 4" he said. at had
hoped for some little time with you"
II have got to make a dozen calls, :"
she returned airily, as if this were the
nearest approach to sympathetic re-
mark which she could volunteer.
won't you name some day when
you will be at home to see mel" he
asked, as the footman opened the car
rage door.
"Iam always at home Sunday after
noons," she said, suavely.
Eyes; but you have a mob of callers
then" he retorted.
"They are all nice people," and Mrs.
Amidon arched her brows.
''Oh, of course But would like so
much if you would allow me to come
some time when you will be
alone" he urged, with a pleading look
in his eye.
She hesitatcd a moment.
"Come Monday afternoon at five" she
said, and stepped into the coupe.
repaired to Washington Square at the
designated time, feeling that he might, or
might not, put the question fraught with
such intense interest for him. 1t should
depend on how he found her. He would
not attempt to settle the point independ-
emily of that. His determination to
speech should be the outcome of the cir
cumstances.
AS he entered the room where she was
sitting, warming sense of satisfaction
made him think he would speak before
he left her. The whole made such a
charming picture. Mrs. Amidon was
sitting in low, broad chair of pale blue
velvet. The exquisite lines of her figure
had never seemed more perfect Her
dress was heavy silk of lusterfess black
with which some white fabric was COM
bined, the severity of the gown softened
by profusion of lace.
She gave him her hand and motioned
him TO a seat. What a perfectly pos
sessed woman she was, he thoughts every
turn, every movement, suggesting
qucenly serenity. All, if he could call
this glorious creature his
''Do you know what a comfortable
picture you make, you and your sur
roundingsl' he exclaimed, with the pas
sion of IN artist.
''Comfortable That is very moderate
compliment. am poor rival to the cat
there as picture of comfort"
She smiled slightly, as with a move
ment of her foot she indicated yellow
plush basket in which was coiled an An
CORA whose soft sides pulsated to the most
blissful con tent.
~ should have said soothing" he has
tened to amend. ''rhat is what meant.
You breathe such sense of repose and
completeness. l cannot help thinking
what home would be with such sur
roundings and such a mistress. Could
man ask for morel"
Zone would have to consider the man,
of course" she made reply, slightly arch
ing her brows.
His gaze was bent upon her burningly,
his features set to seriousness. He bent
slightly toward her as he said, earnestly:
II would ask no more and would feel
that had won heaven more blessed
than / could ever deserve. Mrs.
Amidon, have you not seen what have
felt so longl am not worthy of you,
butt
"Do. you know" Mrs. Amidon. inter-
rupted, quietly, raising her hand little,
IL should like to tell you little story.
Do you think you care to hear itl"
II shall be charmed" said Barnard,
assuming an attitude of attention.
Ten years ago." Mrs. Amidon began,
after moments pause, in softly modu-
lated but perfectly distinct tones, and
with her eyes fixed on the great log burn
ing in the fireplace, "a girl of seventeen
married boy of twenty. They loved
each other in the most simply ardent
fashion. The girl was poor, the young
fellow had expectations from a wealthy
grandfather. Seven months of perfect
happiness followed this union, although
the grandfather saw good to frown upon
it severely. Then" Mrs. Amidon went
on, folding her hands upon her lap, "the
husband, who. was stiH the lover, died.
One month later the grandfather died
also. When his will was read it was
found that he had bequeathed his proper
ty to the issue of his grandson, leaving
to him only modest income. The death
preston of ill-will.
Mrs. Amidon paused again, every
soon after the grandfather's death a
posthumous child, a son, was born to the
young widow. He inherited the large
estate bequeathed him by this will The
mother saw for one dim moment the little
boys violet eyes before she relapsed into
state of weakness in which her life was
despaired of But she rallied, and when
she recovered sense of her surroundings
asked for her child that she might look
for comfort in his fathers eyes. They
told her as gently as they could that he
was lying by his fathers side in the
graveyard of the little church.
Through the death of this short-lived
child the mother came into full posses
sion of the large fortune which lie seemed