The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1893-09-23
Select Storp.
A BARRISTER'S VACATION.
CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER l..
Evening service was over at Chelord
Church. The rector's mother. Il sweet,
sad-faced woman of fifty, crossed the rec
tory grounds, leaning on the arm of Miss
Burnleigh, wealthy lady, well known TO
every one in the parish for her active share
in all its charitable deeds.
Following the ladies came the rector,
talking to friend of his own.
Paul Heriot was London barrister-
an eager, proud, ambitious man-who,
having studied himself to the very verge
of brain fever in his anxiety to "get on
in his chosen profession, had been forced
to ''do penance"-as he said-by spending
month or two in the country air with
out attempting any work at all.
The change had done him world of
good. His tall, stalwart figure, embrown-
ed face, and air of thorough health and
strength, contrasted strongly with the
slight frame and worn, ascetic face of the
young clergyman walking at his side.
He wore "tourists suit of rough
heather-mixiure, felt hat and sported an
immense beard.
The rector was closely shaven, and in
the seclusion of his own grounds he always
wore a sweeping black cassock and an Ok
ford cap.
The two gentlemen were talking earn
estly as they crossed the lawn. Charles
Chelford looked anxious Paul Heriot
looked vexed.
"Such an absurd fancy for you to take
up" he said, tearing twig from cop
per-beech, Just leaved out, and holding it
up toward the setting sun to catch the
fading light upon its leaves.
II don't know aboul that replied the
rector. ''The girl is young and romantic,
and she has peculiar love for refinement
and luxury. My mother had her at the
rectory two years as parlor maid, till her
own mothers health made it proper for
her to return home [ think she has dis
liked her cottage life ever since"
"But there are many reGnements-even
luxuries their house which one seldom
finds in cottage and among that class Of
people" said Heriot, hoping to turn the
conversation.
HThey have all been introduced by
Daisy since she lived with us, replied the
rector; "and now that she has known you,
she will crave for others-she will not be
even so happy on the moor hereafter as
she has been. | have been very uneasy
about the girl, Paul. l have blamed my
self for sending you there. If your stay
! ii - ,,l,o 4 e1a,,lI
beg you to put up with bachelor house
keeping and come to me. | wish my
mother had been here when you first came
down"
$50 do not l., thought Heriot, listening
silently.
For if the rector's household had been
organized, instead of in its present state Of
chaos through certain domestic changes
and removals, Mrs. Chelford would have
been resident, and he, as their guest, would
have missed the happiest six weeks he had
ever known. He felt at peace and charity
with the present arrangements, whereby
Charles Chellord and his mother were the
guests of Miss Burnleigh till the rectory
repairs were completed, and he was lod-
ger ut the moor cottage, with pretty Daisy
Clement for his willing attendant.
"I'll say no more, Heriot, only pray be
careful" the rector continued, not liking
the subject by any means, yet not daring
to let it quite alone. "The girl is engaged
to be married TO George Milbank, the
young farmer who cares for my land.
aI've seen him." said the barrister,
shortly. at is great pity to sacrifice
her SO. But, of course, its no business Of
mine"
'sNo, Paul, it is MOTT must not be, >
said the rector, gravely. II am glad you
see it. A young girls heart is such a
delicate thing to meddle with. And when
| met you two last evening on the heath,
and saw how she leaned on your arm, and
looked up into your face, | was alarmed,
Paul. But know you are to be trusted,
my dear fellow, aud Daisy will be married
this Autumn. Yes, mother dear: what is
it2"
"The postman has just gone by, Charles,
He had a letter for Mr.. Heriot, and
saved him the long walk to the crossroads
I'm sure it will be welcome, Mr.. Heriot
for the postmark is Kensington," she said
smiling kindly on the yonng man, as he
took it and thanked her
''That is as it should be, said the rec
tor, in low tone tone to his friend, as they
parted. "Years hence you'll bring your
wife down from Kinsington, Paul, and we
will drive over to the rectory farm, and
call on Mrs Milbank and her husband
You'll forgive me for speaking now ?"
eyes, of course But you were all
wrong, Charles. There really was nc
need.
Paul Heriot read his letter as he walked
along the lonely country road, all green
lights and long shadows at this sunset hour.
and sweet with the mellow singing Of count
less birds.
The letter was from Isabel Mostyn, the
only daughter of wealthy banker, the
woman whose preference for him was TO
make his fortune, as the world goes. She
was young, graceful, severely beautiful,
ambitious, like himself; well calculated 10
second all his efforts toward success, well
fitted to grace the success when won. She
who, by reason of her wealth aud social
position, might have married a peer of the
realm, had chosen him, briefess barrister
though he was at the time, and had given
him such tokens of her favor as lent him
the courage to approach
Theirs had been stately, decorous
kind of love-making, much like what one
would fancy the wooiDg of young prin-
cess by an ambitious subject must be.
But Miss Mostyn seemed satisfied with
sach tokens of affection as she received,
and if Heriot sometimes dreamed of a
syeeter, warmer love than it was in her
power to bestow, he wisely remembered
the solid advantages to be gained by his
marriage. and buried such vague dreams
within his own breast.