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

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ed by her.
81 don't know. 1t drives me wild to
hear that bird singing yonder, as We used
to listen to it last year, when ye.l loved
me, and we were happy. can't answer
for myself away-go away, Daisy, at
once p he said passionately And as Daisy
turned away, crying, he added The poor
bird is true to its mate Oh, Daisy how
could you serve me so?" and threw himself
on the green bank, weeping and sobbing
| like a child
Daisy did not return. Paul Heriot kept
her in sight as he slowly crossed the heath.
He saw nothing of her when he entered
the cottage.
Pretty Mrs. Clement came forward
with her old-fashioned courtesy, to give him
his bed-candle, and ask him to be pleased
to excuse her daughters absence. Evil
IDENTIFY she knew nothing Of what had oc-
Cured. Paul Heriot slept little that night.
The next evening he walked with Daisy,
to hear the nightingale and read Isabels
letter to her by moonlight And then they
said farewell
CHAPTER IL.
Mrs. Clement grumbled little, private
Fly, to her daughter and her husband, on
hearing that she was to lose her very pro-
fitable lodger so suddenly.
Gail through some bothering letter, as
come for him last night, she observed,
snappishly. "I'm sure l wish all letters
furtherl' I've only had one this year, and
that told me as my old uncle was dead,
and hadn't felt me farthing out of his
great fortune. And | had twopence to
pay on it, too. And here's another come
to take the bread out of our mouths, as
one may say, for doubt if the rooms get
let again for weeks.
Daisy listened in silence. She had far
more reason than her mother to deplore
the arrival of that fatal letter, which had
called Paul Heriot back to his duty, and
to honor, fame and wealth as well.
Those good gifts would in due time con-
sole him for the pain of parting. But
what could atone to Daisy for the light
I.and bloom of her young life, which must
vanish with him, leaving the days like
weary tasks stretching out before her, to
be performed joylessly, without hope of
comfort or reward ?"
She was very quiet on that last morning,
busyiug herself in ministrations for the
travellers comfort till the fly from Chelford
Station drove to the door
Then she disappeared, and Heriot, after
shaking hands with John Clement and his
| wife, ran up stairs, and found Daisy stand
ing at the porch-window from whence she
had so often watched for his coming
The pretty pink color was out of her
cheeks now White, fixed and wofui was
the face turned upon him-that face so
childlike amidst all its grief She did not
weep, she did not speak. But there was
something in those sad eyes that he never
again forgot-one of those 'last looks" that
haunt us, that sting us suddenly with tor
ture in the midst of prosperity and success,
that take the glory from the sunset and the
perfume from the flower, that filled with
bitterness the sweetest cup that Fame or
Love or Fortune can ever offer, when the
offer comes ''too late.
The cold, studied words of adieu died
instantly upon the lips of Paul Heriot.
"Daisy, Daisy, forgive me" he faltered,
''though | shall never forgive myself"
Last evening he had been-calm aud cold,
though kind, and their farewell had been
only a friendly one, at which Miss Mostyp
herself could have taken no exception.
But now his heart spoke loudly. He took
Daisy in his arms; he kissed her cheeks,
her eyes, her lips, and his own eyes were
dim.
"Forgive me" he said again, "My own
heart aches like yours. Forget me, Daisy
1t is the only way"
He held her an instant in a last embrace
and was gone.
Leaning against the open easement,
Daisy watched the fly. As it turned the
corner into the long, straight road between
the pine plantations that led to the station
she saw him lean out, look up at her and
wave his hand Then the fly rolled on
the straight lines of pines inclosed it.
The barrister's vacation was over, and
the romance of Daisy Clements life was
drawing near its end.
The slow, hot weeks dragged on and on
George Milbank came regularly to the
moor cottage once more. No allusion was
made on either side to their temporary
estrangement. 1t was tacitly understood
between them that the engagement held
good, and that the wedding was to take
place at the appointed time in Autumn,
Daisy grew thin and pale that summer.
She shrank from the anxious questioning
of her mother and her friends, but most OF
all from the observant eyes of the young
rector, who called often at the cottage, but
never mentioned his friends name.
She was glad when George Milbank' s
married sister proposed that Daisy should
visit her at Wimbledon "for change,
and avail herself of the great bargains in
London shops to purchase the things need
ed for the bridal outfit.
Daisy's future kindred welcomed her
joyously. They were stout, sturdy, we'll
lo.da farmers and graziers, and a round of
visits and feastings began, which they en-
joyed hugely, but which were as the very
weariuess of desolation to her.
i George wrote every week from Hamp-
shire, and was to come up during the last
of her stay and escort her home. Before
his arrival she determined to accomplish
the one secret purpose Of her visit, and to
look upon Paul Heriot's face once more.
! She knew from him that he had cham
bers in town, that for the sake Of country
air he lodged at Putney during the Sum
mer months, and that, when not otherwise
engaged, he went down by the five o'clock
boat from Chelsea Pier.
Ignorant of town as she was, Daisy
never ask herself why a voyager from
Putney to city chambers should take a
boat at Chelsea.
One golden, sunny afternoon she made
some excuse to go shopping by herself. and
spent the time wandering about the Park
and Gardens until five o'clock should darrive.
Growing tired of the Gardens, she found