Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1894-07-28

it<ss<%t times, ana ~ was at these times thar
she felt the wretchedness OF her position.
Nhai--did she -carei-.Why, at such times,
did she long to be back in her own home
and not in this false and mental position?
What did IL all mean? She paced up and
down. antH worn in mind and body, she
threw herself on her-bed.
IL was quite late when Marie knocked al
hSk sd21T. and. receiving no answer. came in.
La pahore enfant' she murmured LAYING
her hand gently on MereaFet's forehead. AT
the first touch the girl opened her ewes
Mrss bnahe -nsaesene~fo her. She arose
WIN premenition Of coming evil: yet ~
va " sih<a feeling OF calrnness and strength
| that she entered the boudoir You sent for
me-, believe Then the mistress turned.
III Phn he1dlngton had luxurated his artist
| &c .sout ana strewn his note book with
sketches Of an eastern beauty reclining on a
diven against background Of pale yellow.
and fair. saint like madonna in black,
with bunch Of pri.nroses cIasped 10 her
| breast. he would have gone mad with
artistic fervor could he have seen these two
women stspding face TO face. Beatrice Du.
ane, In her trailing gown of yellow satin
cut low 10 show her perfect arms and neck
her dark hair disordered. her eyes flashing
as she hurled abuse at the slender girl who
stood before her. white as marble in her
severe black gown. her hair shining like a
halo about her head and on her face an ex-
preston indescribabie in its loftiness, its
GOODNESS. its sweetness and dignity.
Her clear eyes were fixed upon her mis-
| tress but she did not speak a word. Final
ly. her strength spent Beatrice pointed TO
the table and said in the naughty tone that
her secretary knew so well:
There is your ticket to Dusseldorf You
have what little money will be necessary 20
/ take you there. You will not, of course
/ after this disgraceful performance expect
70 receive the part Of your salary due you.
You will leave the house immediately"
| Back TO Dusseldorf As well there as
anywhere else. for she had no friends but
II was here that her mother had died. and
| here that she had met the English clergy
m an and his wife who had become her fast
| friends. and who, when her little store of
money was exhausted. had procured for her
| a position as Mrs. Duane's secretary These
two were the only friends she had She
could go TO them for tonight at least and
they would advise her what to do next
| With trembling hands she packed her
meager wardrobe, and telling Marie she
would send for il I'm the morning she drew
her long, dark cloak around her and left the
house .f.>f .'' p
The wind had risen. and before she haa
gene many steps the rain began TO fall in
torrents. But a wild fear had taken posses-
sion or the girl. and she ran on with throb-
| blng brain and trembling limbs. Past the
lawns and villas; down into the more thick
ly settled part OF the town. until she reach
ed the qufet street on which the English
rectory stood. The. cathedral clock was
Ginning j.. but the light in the minister's
study was sim burning. She struggled I'D
| the stepsT but her strength was exhausted
She reached out Tor the kneeker, but the
| door was opened from within aud she ftll
unconscious al the feetsof Philip Redding-
| ton.
When Phu,p woke next morning and be-
| gan TO review the events of the preceding
day he began TO think frst- he had been
| dreaming. But no, IL was an real for here
v as the note that the minister's wife had
promised 10 send him. saying that Margaret
seemed stronger. but ives not fully con-
| scious yet. He tried TO think the matter
| out clearly and to determine on his future
course Of action, but gave IL up as a hope
| less task in his present state Of mind OF
| @nnt full
| measure Of his wrath and indignation was
| kindled against Beatrice Duane and that
Margaret Halford had taken possession of
| his heart He found himself saying over
| and over again that he would never give
| her up, never. '..,. .,,-...lr--
His sister was in the pretty breakfast
| room, waiting 70 pour his coffee for him,
| and to her he made his confession. How
| be had felt strongly attached to the girl
| the first time he had seen her in the market
place; how the sketch he had made Of Old
| Maria had been only an excuse TO see her.
Each time re saw her at market or I'm Mrs.
| Duane's drawing room she had seemed
more and more lovely. He had asked his
| hostess Tor an Introduction and had been
| refused almost brusquely. Then he had
! heard some one sing Promise Me-" and
| had longed TO hear her sing il. and so had
| brought IL to Mrs Duane. When he heard
her voice he had forgotten everything else,
and before he left that evening he had
| openly declared to Mrs. Duane that he was
| peculiarly interested in her secretary She
| had fatty refused 10 introduce him, for
| once had lost control of herself and showed
| plainly her extreme irritation. IL was quite
late when he left the villa and went TO see
| the rector on some imperative business.
| Here he had learned Margaret's history
| Her father was the youngest son of q
| distinguished New England family, and
| while studying music abroad had married
a Swedish giri-an orphan. dependent on
| the parish, and well nigh friendless. When
his family heard OF this they cast him or
| For some Years he, with his wife and child,
/ l.ad rirur
| eked out by help of his musical talent.
| They made no friends. but lived TO Them
selves: the wife too happy in the love of
| her husband and little daughter to care for
| other companionship: the husband proud
| and reticent. One day, when his daughter
| was nineteen years old. the musician was
brought home dead. killed by a runaway
| team. ...
The widow dropped from that day. and
| finally persuaded by her daughter. who
hoped that she would revive I'm her native
AR, went to little town an the south Of
| Sweden. Here she died. 1t was shortly
| after her death that Mr.. and Mrs. Stanly
| met Margaret. and later had obtained for
her position as secretary, TO Mrs. Duane.
| The idea OF her serving Mrs. Duane was
| unbearabie, and before Ire left the rectory
Phil had made Mrs. Stanly promise that
| he should be introduced to Miss Halford as
soon as possible. but this. she added. would
| be difficult TO manage as she was kept
hard at work, and rarely. had any leisure.
He had sat with the rector and his wife
| talking OF Margaret until the bell rang
| twelve. When he mad opened the street
| door a great gust OF wind and rain had
rushed in, and Margaret herself had fallen
insensible at his feet. her hong hair loosened
| and drenched by the rain. her face pale and
haggard. Here Phil stopped. and there was
| o set, determined expression on his face.
Mrs. Raymond had heard his story with
| mingled CONSERVATION and sympathy, and
| now, wise little woman that she was, she
| advised her brother TO possess his soul in
| Patience. and she herself stepped into her
carriage aud drove straight TO the English
| rectory.
From Mrs. Stanly Phils sister heard Mar
| garets history again. Ii lost nothing in
the telling. for the rector's young wife was
enthusiastic in her admiration of Margaret
and her face flushed and paled and tears
stood in her eyes as she told the story of
| the girls sad life.
When Mrs. Raymond met her brother on
| her return home it was with outstretched
| hands, smiling lips and fearful eyes.
| The Raymonds spent the summer in
| Sweden and the Stanlys were their guests
| There was another member of the house,
hold, in the person of Mrs. Raymond's Sec
rotary, and it was whispered about that
she was the same person who had served
in like capacity for Mrs. Duane. But
those who bad seen her in both places