The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1893-02-17

The woman, who had been sitting on
the messy cattle trough, slowly lifted
her heal here and pushed back her wor
s~unbonnet.
where are we, Isora? Whittier have
we come? l knew a man named Pendex-
ter once, who
eyes" said the squire, who mad given
a little start at the first sound Of that
low contralto voice. at was I, Clara
Caprivi. To think that fate should have
brought us together again after all these
years."
The pale woman struggled to her feet
and clutched at her daughters slim,
strong arm.
"Let us go. Isora," said she. we
we have made a mistake. Give me my
shawl. Quick! Let us go!'
"But, mother, why?' soothed the girl,
who scarcely as yet comprehended all
this byplay. Don't you hear what the
gentleman says? We al have work here
and food and shelter. Mother, sit down
again! You are trembling all over!'
Il tell you, child, you don't knowv'
said impatient Clara, possessed with a
sort of wild, unreasoning terror. We
we must go!'
"Clara," said the squire, he himself as
Stunning the direction Of affairs, 'the
child is right. Let bygones be bygones.
You don't suppose l would turn you from
my door,
Clara looked into his face.
Have you forgiven me, then?' said she.
Forgiven you? Yes, years and years
ago. Let US be friends again, Clara"
For his heart ached to see how pale
and wan she was-how haggard were
her chee..s. and how like smouldering
fires the light burned in the sunken eyes.
She told him all that afternoon, while
pretty Isora was stripping the clustered
hops from the vines with a dozen girls as
pretty and as blooming as herself, how
her life had been an aimless wreck; how
Carlo Caprivi had been NJ count after
all, but a nameless pretender, with nei-
Their honesty nor money; how he had left
her with the baby Isora on her hands to
shift as best she might for herself, and
was killed in a gambling brawl; how she
had struggled on for years constantly
feeling herself less able to wage unequal
warfare with the world.
"Clara," said the squire, when she had
finished. "why didn't you come to me?'
Because I had wronged you so deep
ly," she faltered.
"You might have known l would have
been kind, even to Caprivi's child. Well,
it doesn't matter now. You are here,
and you must stay here. Do you hear
me, Clara? Must! Bless my heart. You'll
grow strong in these country breezes,
and that pale girl of yours will get color
in her face"
So they staid at the Pendexter farm,
and beautiful Isora Caprivi grew fairer
to look upon with every passing day.
"Clara," said the blunt squire one day,
''that girl of yours is p~rettier than ever
you We're"
81 know it," said Nine. Caprivi.
And as she spoke the words a pang Of
jealousy struck sharply through her
heart. Yet was it not natural enough
that Squire Pendexter should take note
of Isora's opening loneliness?
And in her room that night Clara
wrestled with her own heart and con-
quered it.
"He will marry %Isora," she told her
self. 'Isora is beautiful, and he is in
the prime Of hfe-it is as it should be
while II am only a wreck, waiting on
the shore Of time for the usual billow t.
come and sweep me away. God bless his
noble heart! God bless my sweet souled
girl! And God grant that they may be
happy together for many, many long and
happy years."
The squire came to Nine. Caprivi the
nextday with rather an embarrassed face.
SIT is coming" thought Clara; 81 knew
it would"
"Clara," said he, I've a question to
ask you"
She held out her hand with a smile.
"Ask it, then, freely" she said gra-
ciously.
"Should I be making a fool of myself
if, at my age, I were to marry?"
"You would be doing the most proper
and natural thing in the world" Clara
answered, still smiling, although her
heart seemed to stand still within her.
"Then. by Jove, I'll risk it," said the
squire jubilantly. "Clara, will you have
me? Shall we begin our disjointed lives
over again, my girl?'
Nine. Caprivi grew pale, then red.
"Halloor said Squire Pendexter, "have
I spoken too abruptly? Have you.
"No," said Clara family. "But-but
I thought it was Isora that you loved"
"Then you thought wrong" said the
squire briskly. 81 have never loved any
woman but you, c. "A, and I never
shall"
So they were married quietly, and the
autumn of life shines softly over them
as the yelled sunlight hangs its golden
haze over the picked hopfields of Pen
dexter farm.
And poor Clara is content at last
True Flag.
Jay Gould In Iceland.
Marie Jonreau writes me that when
she was travelling in Iceland she found