The Press., 1894-05-31

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 "He is aoreckt,g himsclf because he thinks
 she lOUes yOM."
 with constrained smile. II hardly believe your son would approve.
 ''No, TO-" replied the woman in a frightened whisper; he would be fit to kill, he is that wild about her. But I'm his mother, sir. rocked him in his little cradle, and l can't sit quiet and see him dying by inches. He loves her'-in the extremity of her agitation she ventured to lay one shaking hand upon the young mans arm-'far dear CT than he ever loved his own mother that brought him into the world: he does indeed, sir, and he is wrecking himself, body and soul. because he thinks she loves you.
 And suppose that he is right, he said, with a cold smile; ''you ask mo to go away and give up my one chance of lifelong happiness for the sake of a man who has always shown himself my bit ter and uncompromising enemy?'
 "He is my son., she replied. as if that were an all sufficient answer. She fixed her pale, watery eyes upon him appealingly. Matthew is handsome and young; he has talent and will make his way in the world. You should see his drawings, and as for reading -she strengthened her slight figure proudly the largest books are noth- ing to Matthew. Sir, if you were to go away, she would forget you in time. and my son''--
 Enough of this, :" interrupted Monck ton almost roughly. Then, seeing how the poor creature covered and shivered under his glance, he added, ''So far as I ain concerned, you may set your mind at rest. The only relations subsisting between the young lady and myself are those of a very cool friendship. Like all jealous people, your son is torturing with an illusion, for l certainly have no such good fortune as he attrib- utes to me. As for his health, which worries you, doubtless you could find in one of those same big books you men, tion this sentence: Men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love-. Comforting, isn't it? For the rest, if your son has the good sense to return to regular hours and steady hab- it's, he may, as you say, make his way in the world-even to becoming presi- dent of this great republic-or of a bank. All things considered, l advise the latter. There is more money in it. ,
 '"Thank you, my good young gentle man; you are very kind. ," The with cred face was aglow with satisfaction. "And, sir," she added in wheedling, confidential tone, "you think it may be Matthew she cares for, after all?''
 Why not indeed? But," he said, changing his tone abruptly, i've have discussed the subject sufficiently. Now 1 must ask you to excuse me. He went to his horse and remounted it. Wait here few minutes, and 1 will send carriage to take you home.''
 CHAPTER XIX.
 II SHALL NEVER CONQUER MY LOVE. :"
 There had been nearly week of in- cessant rain. A dark pail of cloud, gloomy and changeless, overhung the earth like vault of solid lead but tressed upon the mountains whose peaks were hidden from view. Cold, gray mists crawled along the heights, tan gling themselves among the pines or lying low down in the valleys, level and motionless, presenting to the deluded eye the appearance of wide, calm lakes refecting the hue of the sky above. The soil was sodden; the unwary foot treading upon the solid seeming turf sank deep in lurking pools of mud thickened water. The meadows were inundated, every hollow pond, every trench and ditch a frothing brook. The single street of the village was a narrow river covered with refuse, among which paddled the ducks and geese of the con- munity, snuffed at enviously by shiver- ing dogs and moaned over by bedrag- gled, houseless cats.
 Down all the hillsides roared foaming torrents. Gentle, dripping cascades, from whose messy brinks the small birds learned to drink, were transformed into destructive floods bearing down from the fastnesses above splintered logs and uprooted trees. Those who had lived all their lives in that region con- fessed with ominous shakings of the head never to have seen such a storm before.
 Up at the Monckton mansion the young proprietor sat at his library win dow, listening to the vail of the wind and the ceaseiess sound of the rain, in a sorrowful mood, deepened and darkened by the funereal aspect of the weather. Never had life seemed so fruitless and favorless as now. Never in his sternest self arraignment had he felt himself so unnecessary in the world, so objectless. During his residence in the French cap- ital he had acquired the fashionable pseudo cynicism, but that philosophy comfortably allows you to despise all mankind excepting yourself. You are the solitary spectator of masque of fools, and your privilege of sneering rests upon your own conscious enamel patton from all shams, follies and faiths. It is a sort of sublimated con ceit, affected by young people because it looks like experience, and natural to old people with bad tempers and worse digestions. With Ralph Monckton it had never been genuine, but donned first to conceal his boyish provincialism and the honesty and sincerity which he saw doubted or disdained by all about him it had become second nature. hardened by his real loneliness in the midst of his gay associates, the light, the glitter and the hollow laughter, his enforced idleness and his father s igno- rant pride.
 Now as he sat gazing out at the driv- ing storm it was simply savage self dis gust that he felt, loathing of the past, weariness of the present and hopelessness of the future. It was state of mind that had fallen upon him first on that wretched afternoon when he had offered himself to Imogene Duke and had spread and widened within him ever since. As he thought of his careless, foppish pro- posal--and he was always thinking of it now-he shuddered and felt sick. And beneath the shame of it was a hard, rending pain-a dry, cold agony-for he loved haY ao ba had kuoyvn ha lcvad ha1.