Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1894-09-27

AS they approached March urook Mr.
Wyatt began to talk about the Bene-
dictines and their vanished monastery.
He had found out all about it in the
county history-its founder, the extent
of its lands, the character OF its archi-
lecture.
THAT avenue must be 600 years old,
he said, Us he came in sight OF the tall
ems,
"By Jovo, that's queer" cried Sir
Thomas, pulling out his race glass
"a fellow jumIed out of that balcony,
like Romeo in The play.
Except that Romeo never scaled
the balcony" said Mr. Wyatt.
THAT summer-house belongs to Day.
enant, doesn't it, Gilbert? Our friends
IN dc Of exit suggests Irritation be-
tween one of your guests and somebody
at Marchbrook.
"There's nobody at Marchbrook but
old Clanyarde and Sir Cyprian Dav-
enant, said Sir Thomas, "and I'll lay
any odds you like it wasn't Lord Clan
yarde jumped off that balcony"
Gilbert took the glass from his
friends hand without a word. The
man who had Jumped off the balcony
was still in sight, walking at leisure
ly pace across the wide alley OF turf
between the two rows of trees. The
glass brought him near enough for rec
ognition, and Mr.. Sinclair had no
doubt as to his identity.
If you lay onto those leaders like
that, you'll have this blessed machine
in the ditch" cried Sir Thomas
Houndslow. What is the matter with
you? The horses are stepping like
clock-work.
Juno was breaking into canter,
said Gilbert, coloring. STEADY, old
lady; steady, steady.
"She's steady enough" said Sir
Thomas; al think it's you that are
wild. Mem orandum, don't drink
kirschen was5or after champagne when
you're going to drive team of young
horses"
MI. Sinclair took the curve by the
park gates in excellent style, despite
this insinuation, and pulled up before
the old Gothic porch with workman
like precision.
There's a pretty bit of feather-edg-
ing, " said Sir Thomas, approvingly.
Gilbert did not wait to see his FRIEND
alight, but flung the letns TO one of the
grComs and walked oil without word
to any one.
He was at the summer-houso ten
minutes afterward, flushed ard breath
less, having un all the way. A flight
of tore steps, moss-grown and broken,
led up to the door Of the temple.
Gilbert Sinclair tried the door and
found it locked
as there any one in there" he
asked, shaking the crazy old door saw
agely
who is that" inquired Constance.
"Your husband.
He heard her light footsteps coming
toward the door. She opened it, and
faced him on the threshold, with
neither surprise nor fear in her calm,
questioning face,
is there anything the matter, Gil
bert? Am | wanted?"
There is not much the matter and
| don't know that you are wanted in
my house." answered her husband,
savagely. at seems to me that your
vocation is elsewhere"
His flushed face, the angry light in
his red-brown eyes, to her that IL. ere
was meaning in his reply, iucompre-
hensible as it seemed.
a. don't understand you, Gilbert.
What has happened to make you an
gry?"
Not much, perhaps. It's bad form
to make q fuss about it. But am yul-
gar en- ugh to think that when my
wife plays Juliet to som body else's
Romeo, it is time she should call her
self by some other name than mine,
which she disgraoes. idmire the In
nocence of that astonished look. I'm
fortunately that piece of finished act
ing is thrown away upon me. l saw
your lover leave you.
"Mr Sinclair" with a look of un-
speakable Indignation.
Eyes your gentle Romeo forgot that
this summer-house is seen from the
high-road. | saw him, | tell YOU,
woman-I saw him leap down from the
balcony-identified him with my field
glass-not that had any doubt who
your visitor was.
u am sorry that you should he so
angry at my seeing an cid friend for a
few minutes, Gilbert, and that you
should make so very innocent an act an
excuse for insulting me-.
An old friend-a friend whom you
meet cladestinely-in an out-ot-the-
way corner of the rark-with locked
DOORS"
Il have spent all my mornings here
Of late. | lock my door in order to be
undisturbed, 80 that anybody happen
ing to come this way may believe the
summer-house empty.
Anyone except Sir Cyprian Daven-
ant. He would know better"
Sir Cyprian's presence here to-day
was the merest accident. He heard
me singing, and climbed up to the bal
cony to say few kind words about my
bereavement, which he knows to be
the one absorbing thought Of my mind
Just now No friend, no brother, could
have come with kinder or purer mean
ing. He gave me good advice; he
warned me that there was selfishness
and folly in giving way to sorrow. Not
one word was spoken which you might
not have freely heard, Gilbert, which
you would not have approved"
Gould any woman in your position
say less? You all sing the same song