The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1893-06-10

after Meg had done, being short-sighted;
but | saw her hoist her colors, and OWNED
that he was coming. She looked particu-
larly lovely that night, and he gave curl
Gus, startled glance at her. My heart be-
gan to beat faster; perhaps he was really
in love after all, and would give up his
dream of bishopric for Meg's sake. As
for her, she was unusually sweet and
gentle.
He wanted music, so she took him into
the little drawing room and sang to him.
| went up into my room and professed to
work; but through my work | heard the
songs, and between them the murmur of
voices. By-and-by the music stopped
altogether, and the voices went on. Megs,
usually loud and clear enough voice, was
hushed tonight 1t sounded reverent, |
fancied. At last l heard Mr.. Thirlwalf
open the drawing room door, and I went
down stairs.
"What, no lights?" he was saying in
his Kind, patient voice, for, indeed, it
could only be termed twilight now by
courtesy.
II like singing in the dusk best, father,
said Meg.
She did the honors of the supper table
that night-for Mr. Weston stayed to sup
per-with shy grace that was new TO me;
and l did not wonder that he found it ir-
resistible. He looked like a man who was
letting himself drift.
He spoke little to Meg, however. They
had done enough talking before the lamps
were lit. He talked enthusiastically to Mr..
Thirlwall about the true mission of the
Church, and Meg listened with glowing
eyes. One could almost watch those inf
mite possibilities growing as one looked at
her. What a hero the man seemed to her;
what saint Poor Meg poor Marcus
After he had gone Meg wandered out
into the garden, and l followed her.
Jack" she said suddenly, aud l knew
she was trembling, "do you think | could
ever grow good-if tried, prayed, ever 50
hard? Not so good as other people, but
good for me?"
She was so terribly in earnest-it was
strange for Meg to be so much in earnest
that l believe 1 was glad it was pretty
dark, so that she could not see my face,
nor | hers.
a think you are good as people CO." I
said.
"That's nonsense, Jack" Meg replied
with prompt return of the old temper.
"You know quite well that am worse
than other girls, and when l would do
good evil is present with me. And there
are girls, like Celia Doone, who never do
wrong; full Of good works and almsgivings,
and an heiress. And oh, what a COM
plexion |" cried Meg, as if there the sting
came in.
sYes, I said, sincerely enough, "but she's
not half as nice as you are, after all. She's
so wooden"
"That's because you're wicked you like
me best,' said Meg drearily. "But no one
good could ever really, really like any one
bad"
There was question in her voice, and
l answered it rather fiercely.
''You are thinking of a particular per-
son. | said. "And that person does care
for you, Meg, and not for Celia Doone.
All the same | shouldn't be surprised to
hear of his being engaged to Celia one of
these fine days"
| should not have spoken so strongly,
but lately l had heard rumors that |
fancied had not reached Megs ears, and |
wanted to put her An her guard. But she
fred again, which was certainly natural.
Chow dare you say such things, Jack ?
| won't listen to you. If he does-it will
be because he loves her. II think it
would be better, only-O me
She turned and ran into the house. |
heard one sob as she went. Still, | was
glad l had spoken out. Meg wasn't a
girl to imagine things, and knew that
matters must have gone pretty far that
night. OF course, if he meant to ask her
to marry him, well and good, But |
hardly thought he did.
CHAPTER II.
Things were in this position when, for
family reasons which need not here ex-
plain, my going to college was slightly
postponed, and l was called home for
some months. Then | returned to Mr..
Thirlwall's to complete my coaching.
Meg and I had pot corresponded regu-
larly, | had heard from her once or
twice, indeed, but her letters had been
mere business letters-almost curt, and not
in the least like Meg. | fancied that If
she had felt bright she would have put in
a page or two of merry nonsense, but 1t
was impossible to find out till | saw her; 50
l waited.
Meg met me at the station, which was
two miles from the vicarage, in the shabby
little pony carriage. Ny first glance at
her seemed to sanction the vague dread |
had felt. Her face had grown thinner,
and even paler, than ever; her eyes looked
very large aud lusirOus. Certainly, as
soon as we got into the carriage she began
to talk in the old gay, random way, but it
hardly seemed quite natural,