The daily morning journal and courier., 1894-07-21

| from point or arch 10 swhru peheath there is a pulsing. palpable, transeeh- dent glow. when my foot touched some tiny dark object beside the font.
 stopped and picked 1t up. Days of dreams and miracles. thought I. here was the anxiously sought prayer-book' l tremblingly scanned it's yellow pages. Inside the first cover l saw the inscription.
 K. D. to Dorothy Newton.
 At the back. bound in next the Table of Kindred and Affinity" were blank leaves for diary. Only one page had been written upon. In red ink. near the bottom. opposite the date. May 2t. 1851, was the legend:
 | Our engagement day
 D. N. and K. D.
 Just beneath this was the one word. | Miseria
 This was all, but the entire miserable and pitiful tragedy was revealed and sank deeply Into my heart.
 do not remember just how 1t all came about, but that evening l found myself walking arm and arm within the tranquil cloisters with portly John Newton, verger of Gloucester cathe- dral. oddly. too. his daughter. Grace Newton, was beside him, looking, with the same qulzzical. merry smile had first seen glowing from her hazel eyes, now in her fathers face and then into mine with a shade of anxiety, flash of interest, or a deeper glow of enthu- siasm, occasionally heightening its beauty into greater winsomeness for me.
 Stranger still, I had become their pledged guest and arch conspirator, for we were already conspirators three. We had got Dorothy Newton. the yer gers sister, daughter of another yer ger Newton-for the Newtons had been yergers here since the days of abbot Newton away back in the sixteenth century, and Grace and her aunt Dor othy were affectionately known as "the vergers' daughters"-away to Chelten- ham for few days visit, mercifully unconscious of my identity or the pres ence of the man from Ballarat, that very afternoon.
 The whole story of my uncle's splen- did architectural labors under Canon Jeune in the restorations his betrothal to Dorothy, the lovers foolish quarrel, the young and hot-headed architects sudden disappearance with the suc- ceeding cruel, unbroken silence, had been recounted; and now, every imag- inable plan for possible reconciliation of the long suffering lovers was being discussed with the mutual enthusiasm of friends of many years.
 Nearly a week of double life passed by; idyllic days they were with Grace and her father at their rose embowered home; idyllic days in my dreamful loi- ancient cathedral town; but they were days and nights of anxiety and unrest as I sought by every art to win over the unyielding spirit within the New Inn.
 My uncle had extended his prison bounds to the limits of the inn court. Not for all the mines of Ballarat would he budge foot farther, not he!
 Stay as long as you like, hunt 'toth- CT ones till the end of time if you will, Robert Dorlslin," he would say with ex- asperating resignation whenever touched upon the subject of the city or the cathedral, "but don't you dare to leave this inn till you're ready to take me as come-by night and in a closed carriage that can o!-Bah"
 And Kirby Dorklin would have fair ly contentedly sat about that pleasant old inn until this day, innocently dis turbing it's discipline of service with his i'll considered and grotesque generost- ties, had not again resorted to heroic measures.
 One afternoon, after making secret arrangements with Grace Newton re- garding her aunt, upon her arrival from Cheltenham the same day, I re turned to the New Inn, and, finding Kirby Dorklin dozing in corner of the churchyard, I awakened him with,
 Dorothy Newton has passed away!' I fully expected him to storm and rave furiously. But he only looked at me fixedly, feebly and pitifully for a time, as though he had suddenly lost the power of speech.
 "The young architect who tilted her, or whom she tilted, has no more to fear from her gentle, suffering presence. Hers was a saints life, until it was stiiled, lanstold;" carelessly added.
 Hot tears trickled from the old wo- man -hatersa quivering face.
 'f wish you would go with me to see and know and remember where she is at rest" urged quietly but with em- phatic finality in my tones.
 Poor old soul! So long as he could marshal his offended pride, stubborn ness and sslf-inflicted hurts against the Iliving phantasm of his disordered mind, mo human power could touch his stern and fiinty blindness.
 Even the fancied irrevocability of death had never before set its awful and impassive relentlessness against his own. A storm-burst of remorse swept over him for time; when he staggered to his feet, and, clutching my arm for support, said feebly but deter minedly:
 T we will go. We will go at once. Robert!'
 As we entered the cathedral the ves- per-chanting of the Magnificent had just begun. The uplifting notes of My soul doth magnify the Lord" swept giori- ously among the massive arches With bowed and uncovered heads we softly crossed the nave into the north tran sept, The verger, standing beside the north door, gently opened 1t and in 8 moment we were within the tranquil cloisters, moving slowly beneath the marvellous fan-shaped arches of the South Walk.
 The figures of two women were ap-