The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1893-09-23

ever a storm drew near; nothing more
commonplace and unromantic could well
have been devised, and yet, to this tray
eled, educated, experienced man, it was
strangely dear.
As he reached the gate this evening,
bright young face glanced down at him
from the long window over the porch, a
light step ran down the stairs, the door
flew open and two blue eyes looked shyly
but gladly up at him as he entered.
His small upstairs parlor was neat and
clean as capable hands could make it. A
large bunch of gorse in jug of fresh
water filled the empty CRATE, small boquet
of wild flowers, tastefully grouped, stood
in a china vase behind his desk. His
books and papers had been busted, but not
disarranged, his slippers were ready on
the hearth, his favorite pipe and the mag
azine he had been reading were on the
small table beside his easy chair.
A tempting little dinner-soup, steak
nicely cooked, vegetables, and pudding
was speedily served. Daisy brought up
the tray She wore servants cap and
apron-how sweetly pretty she looked in
them
Few words were exchanged, for Daisy
was intent on her loving service, and Mr..
Heriot was unusually silent.
After she had gone down with the tray,
he pushed his book aside, and sought coun-
sci from his pipe.
No need for Charles Chelford's words
of warning? Was there need ? 1t was
one thing to speak Of it lightly to his
friend, but quite another to put the ques-
ton to his own heart, here in the solitude
of his room, after reading Isabels letter,
after seeing the light of welcome dawn in
Daisys sweet blue eyes.
Il am not treating either Of them fairly
or honorably," was the conclusion forced
upon him. at is very pleasant here-far
too pleasant for my own good, and perhaps
for Daisy's / could never give up the
world and all it will give me for Daisy's
sake, therefore Daisy and | must part
And it is my duty to go at once, if there's
the least danger that the dear little thing
will grow fond of me, as Chelford thinks.
That thought also was pleasant. So
pleasant that it held him enthralled beside
the open window till the sound of house
hold duties-always subdued out Of re-
spect to his writing-had entirely died
away for the night.
"Mind you leave Mr.. Heriot's supper
tray ready before you go out, Daisy, said
Mrs. Clement, in the lower hall.
''It is ready now, mother. As if |
should forget y answered the girls voice.
The smoke of John Clements evening
pipe ascended from the front porch, where
he was sitting with his pretty, old wife.
The rear windows of the cottage looked
out on wide, gorse-eovered moor, or
heath, stretching away toward the flag
crowned heights near Aldershot, where the
ball practice of large garrison was car
ried on during the early hours of the day.
Leaning from his own window, Heriot
could see the slight figure of Daisy in the
kitchen doorway,
A splendid Summer was about to shine.
Vegetation was taking rapid start after a
cold and arid Spring, and for once, in a
way, the farmers forgot to grumble as they
watched their rapidly greening fields,
The sparrows undaunted chirp, the
blackbird's mellow whistle, the startling 5
gossip and the cuckoo's call had sounded,
with the lark's wild song of freedom, over
the moor for weeks; and now, as Paul
Heriot watched the new moon rising in
the dark blue sky above the rectory woods,
he heard the song of the nightingale. For
the first and last time he and Daisy would
listen to the bird of night together. He
would ask her mothers leave, and they
would stroll over the heath to the chestnut
copse. Beyond the copse stretched the
bare plain, swept by the cannon-balls of
the garrison at times-forbidden ground
to the civilians whenever the red flag
waved from the staff upon the heights.
Heriot had an odd fancy for that spot.
After midday there was no danger. But
the knowledge of danger existent at other
times made it, he thought, the fttest place
in that tame, everyday neighborhood for
the interview he sought. He fingered a
few moments to put aside 1sabeFs letter
and extinguished the lamp.
When he went down the doorway was
vacant The nightingale was pouring forth
perfect flood of melody, and in the dis
tance, walking toward the rectory wood,
he saw Daisy, leaning on George Milbank's s
arm He had known before the rector
talked with him that Daisy was as firmly
bound as himself.
On the day of his arrival Mrs. Clement
had related, with ill-concealed triumph, the
story of their only child's Sgreat match,
rejoicing because the girl, after her mar
riage, "could drive to church in her own
chaise, and hold her head up with the
best."
Heriot had thought it a sacrifice even
then, though Daisy listened quietly enough.
OF late, she had avoided the subject;
had remained in her own room on a plea
of headache on Sunday evening when
George Milbank came; had burst into tears
when her father joked about her approach
Ing wedding, when the barrister was by.
Only country youth and maiden walk
ing by moonlight along country road, to
hear the nightingale sing A common
sight in any rural neighborhood. Yet it
drew Paul Heriot on in hot pursuit. He
had never truly known his own heart and
the strength of its wayward impulse till he
found himself standing behind the hedge,
on the common near the wood, his ear
strained to catch every word uttered in the
road. Listening? Yes, he came there to
listen He was past considering whether
it was an honorable proceeding on his part
or not Life had suddenly condensed its
limiis-the universe had suddenly narrow
ed to a point; the one thing of vital i'm
portance to him was to know beyond a
doubt to whom the heart Of that simple
country girl belonged !
The poor little nightingale sang her best,
utterly unheeded by the three.
Out in the road we're angry words of re-
elimination. low. pleading for foroiyness