The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1893-06-03

The drawing-room, where all chat was
left of Ames Fairbanks lay in state
upon velvet-draped couch.
Mechanically she gave him all the
/! dreary particulars of those last days.
They stood on opposite sides of the
still form, scarcely less responsive now
than it had been all these years.
'But oh, Sib,'' she burst forth, Sob
| bingly. sit is awful not to be able to
! miss him more! l feel as if he had been
dead all these years, lying here waiting
for sepulture. am SO tired, Sibley, so
tired Of my loneliness, of my horrible
feeling of responsibility for everything,
so tired of having no one but Dido and
Cato to consult with. Sometimes, but
that was before Ninette came, have
wondered how managed to keep sane.
have envied the negroes in the cabins,
because they worked in gangs and sat
about their cabin-doors of evenings, in
groups, friendly groups, who helped
each other to talk and to sing and to
laugh"
my poor, poor little Ida!'' Ife came
| around to where she stood and folded
her tenderly in his arms.
Her eyes grew luminous. 1t was so
| sweet to be caressed, to be cared for, to
be pitied even by ones very own.
'But it will be difficult now-now
that you have come back to live. Oh,
Sib. I have wanted you SO, all these
! years! feel as if mountain were lift
ed from my breast. Poor, poor father!"
She turned toward the sheeted face
with passionate gesture of self-re-
proach. 'slt sounds as if were finding
fault with him, Sibley; but it's not
that--not that; it is the great joy of
| having you back once more, of know
ing that you are here to stay-that
Fairbanks is once more at the helm
''Let us 90 into the old school-room
and talk, Ida," he said, with sudden
brusqueness. cit will be easier there
than here" He drew her away with
him in the sunny little room in the
wing where he and she had spent so
/; many hours of their home school life
Ida smiled as she opened the door.
SIT is Ninette's room now. But you
do not need to be told that. She per-
vades the atmosphere"
Through litter of childish belong
ings, scattered toys, pictured puzzles,
dolls in every stage of dilapidation,
they picked their way to a sofa against
the wall. -
ct is of NinetteaI want to talk said
Fairbanks, dropping among the faded
cretonne cushions with heavy sigh;
''of Ninette, and of something else"
Dennis Loriner, owing to a slight
mishap to the boat he and Rafe had
taken, reached White Cliffs the day
after Ames Fairbanks funeral.
His first evening was given to his
mother. The next, all impatience, he
started for Glenburnie. There was no
one there but old Cato. To his volley of
surprised questions the old man gave
one answer:
.sThis note will make it clear, eff any
thing kim
The note did not make it clear. It.
was full of love and full of mystery. It
was from Ida, who called him her 'dear
Dennis and begged him to forgive her.
the blow she was compelled to deal
: him. ssFate,'' she wrote, s'sti1l seems
to pursue us with malicious intent.
Sibley is in trouble great trouble. He
needs me every moment l have gone
back to New Orleans with him. Until
the awful cloud that hangs over him is
dissipated, there is no room in my heart,
even for you. Oh, Dennis, my love, you
will hear it all soon enough. The news
paper vultures are already lowering in
sight. They have scented fresh dis
grace to the. name of Fairbanks.
ut is all so horribly incomprehensi-
Bile that / cannot be any clearer. am
cropping, myself. The one clear idea
that has taken full possession OF me Is
that You will thank God th2t this blow