The National tribune., 1894-11-08

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=Gszs BY E,NeSsITr
The Rector of OFlestbne sat in his study,
| gazing into the fire. He was alone; he was
! always alone, for though he loved his sheep
and tended them, they were not companion
! able. He had lived alone now these many
! years-how many he sighed 10 remember.
| Once upon time-oh! but before the flood
| he had been young and strong and hope
! full, ana had loved woman passionately:
so passonately that houor and his plighed
word bad become as nothing to him, and he
had broken faith with the gentle girl he
was engaged to marry. Aud then he had
| found out that his passions queen had no
| least intention of marrying him. As he
| looked in the fire this October evening, he
| remembered so well how she had told him
/ that that on which he had staked his whole
| life's treasure could never be.
81 must marry a rich man." she had said,
| "for my poor fathers sake"; with tears and
many kisses she had said it, and he, with
| kisses and the tears the heart bieeds in soli
| tude, had believed her.
1t was many years now since he had left
| behind him the world that held her, and
had accepted the rectory of Orlestone, with
its miserable $50 year And still o.
nights, when the curtains were drawn. and
| the wind outside was wild IN the laurels
and expresses, when the bare, tholny rose
sprays tapped at the window like bony fin
gers, he sat by his fire, and thought of the
woman he had loved, and loved still. He
had her portrait in the secret drawer of his
shabby old writing -desk-the one that had
been his fathers. And sometimes he would
take out the portrait-the bright girlish
face-and look at 1t, sigh, and yet with u
half-gladness that the knife was still sharp
in the old wound.
Celia r ngwood, the woman who loved
him, whom he should have married, had
told him that time would dull the pain.
But time had not dulled it, and he was
| glad. He had given up ambition and
friends and dreams, the old life and the old
life's hopes, to shut himself up alone with
the plain daily duty-and this love-mem-
ory. And if the memory had failed him,
had grown dim, what would have been left
to him? Celia Rngwood in her little
| lonely house in the market town, thought
there might be much.
He came to see her once week, and
talked about the parish. Once he had
been used to talk of the other woman; he
did not mean TO be cruel; she had taken
his confession of his unfaithfulness SO
| calmly, and so gently begged to be his
| friend, that he at once believed she had
never cared for him.. But such talk was
over now. He had not spoken of her now
for years. Celia began to think almost to
hope Then she looked in the glass at her
faded face, her pale hair, from which all
youths colors had gone; and she sighed
sigh that was half asshudder, put on her
demure bonnet and cloak, and went ont
through the rain to see child who was
i'll, because that was the only ease for her
heaTtache. - ~
Miss Celia Ringwoodf was washing up the
break fast things5not, as all genteel people
in stories seem I'd do, in the parlor, but in
workmanlike manner in the back kitchen.
She had just hung up the tea-cloth to dry,
when her heart stood STILL and then began
to beat violently. At thirty-eight ones
heart can beat just as quickly as it can at
eighteen, and much more painfully. If one
hears certain f6otstep Oh the threshold or
certain hand on the door-knocker.
"Good-morning, James," she said se
dately. "This is an unusual and pleasant
surprise" Some of the light still fingered
on her face, but the Rector did not observe
it his own thin face was slightly flushed,
and his gray eyes were shining.
May 1 come n?" he said. a want to
talk to you"
She led him into the little parlor-spot-
lessly neat Miss Celia instinctively turned
the blind SO that the sunshine should not
fade the carpet, and said" Well 2"
You've always been such true friend
to me-" he said nervously. "Pve always told
you everything"
Yes" she said and her heart knew his
erfand even before he spoke
Celia her husband is dead, and she has
taken the Hall at Orlestone."
Celia Ringwood held out her hand to
him. The light went out suddenly in her
face, but it left the kindly mouth and eyes
as he had always seen them and only one
who had loved her would have noticed the
change.
"Only last night" he said, "it seemed to
me that there was nothing left in life but
duty and the blessed faith in the life to
come. But now-ob, Celia II feel young
again."
Shall you ask her again to marry you?"
There was harsh note in her voice which
she herself noted with dismay. But he did
not perceive it.
Yes, of course" he said simply.
Miss Ringwood bit her lip.
You are very poor" she said, and Lady
Mountdew is very rich. People Will say
lyon don't know Eva Mountdew," he
said proudly.
Celia was ashamed of her words before
he had answered them.
She held his thin hand q moment between
her soft palms, and looked at him wistfully.
Whatever happens" she said, II know
you will not forget old friends" Her voice
trembled a little as she said it.
Dear Celia" he answered-and some
faint sub-conscions stirring of remorse
made his voice very gentle and tender
{" Dear Celia, / am very selfish. You have
been too patient with me: you have spoiled
me-"
She laughed little, and took her hands
away.
An old maid must have something to
| spoil" she said. If it had not been you, it
would have been cat or q canary bird.
| When shall you see her?"
This afternoon. She has asked me to
| come up to tea. She has let the Ashford
| people furnish a few rooms, and she is
| camping out. as she calls it, till he rest of
| her furniture comes from London"
There was a pause. Then he got up sud-
denly and began to walk up and down the
narrow space between the door and the
window, with knitted brows and hands
! clasDed be hind him.