The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1894-12-14

was brought round. 1t was such morn
ing as does not come dozen times a
year in England. The sweet moist air
blew from the meadows and up through
the lime trees with warm insinuating
gladness. The lawn sloped delightfully."-
away to the lowered embrasures of the
park, and fragrant abundance of
flowers met the eye and cheered the
senses. While Richard loitered on the
steps with the child and it's nurse, more
excited than he knew, Lali came out
and stood beside him. At the moment
Richard was looking into the distance.
He did not hear her when she came.
She stood near him for moment and
did not speak. Her eyes followed the
direction of his look and idled tenderly
with the prospect before her. She did
not even notice the child. The same
thought was in the mind of both-with
a difference. Richard was wondering
how any one could choose to change the
sweet dignity of that rural life for the
flaring, hurried delights of London and
the season. He had thought this a thou
sand times, and yet, though he would
have been little willing to acknowledge
it, his conviction was not so impregna-
BILE as it had been.
Mrs. Francis Armour was stepping
from the known to the unknown. She
was leaving the precincts of life in
which, socially, she had been born again.
Its sweetness and benign quietness had
all worked upon her nature and origin to
change her. In that it was an outdoor
life, full of freshness and open air Wig
or, it was not antagonistic to her past.
Upon this sympathetic basis had been
imposed the conditions of a fine social
decorum. The conditions must still ex-
ist But how would it be when she was
withdrawn from this peaceful activity
IF nature and set down among "those
sarish lights" in Cavendish square and
Piccadilly? She hardly knew to what
she was going as yet. There had been a
few social functions at Greyhope since
she had come, but that could give her,
after all, but little idea of the swing
and pressure of London life.
Ab G1ItS BIG MdS 1luStI1uR
over the scene before her. She was
wondering with the naive wonder of an
awakened mind She had intended
many times of late saying to Richard
all the native gratitude she felt, yet
somehow she had never been able to say
it. The moment of parting had come.
"What are you thinking of, Rich
ard?" she said now.
He started and turned toward her.
ST hardly know" he answered. my
thoughts were drifting"
Richard" she said abruptly, 81
want to thank you"
"Thank me for what, Lali?' he ques-
toned.
'To thank you, Richard, for every
thing since I came, over three years
ago."
He broke out into a soft little laugh
then, with his old good natured man
ner, caught her hand as he did the first
night she came to Greyhope, patted it
i'll fatherly fashion and said: SIT is
the wrong way about, Lali. ought to
OO t4lflhh1lS JOd1 uOO JOu w LJ
look, what stupid old fogy was then,
toddling about the place with too much
time on my hands, reading lot and
forgetting everything, and here you
came in, gave me something to do, made
the little I know OF any use and ran a
pretty gold wire down the rusty fiddle
of life. If there are any speeches of
gratitude to be made, they are mine
they are mine. "
Richard" she said very quietly and
gravely, 81 owe you more than can
ever say-in English. You have taught
me to speak in your tongue enough for
all the usual things of life, but one can
only speak from the depths of ones
heart in ones native tongue. And see, I"
she added, with a painful little smile,
chow strange it would sound if / were
to tell you all I thought in the language
of my people-of my people whom 1
shall never see again. Richard, can you
understand what it must be to have a
father whom one is never likely to see
again-whom if one did see again some
thing painful would happen? We grow
away from people against our will; we
feel the same toward them, but they
cannot feel the same toward us, for
their world is in another hemisphere.
We want to love them, and we love,
remember and are glad to meet them
again, but they feel that we are unfa-
miliar, and because we have grown diff
ferent outwardly they seem to miss
some chord that used to ring. Richard,
EI"- She paused.
eyes, Lali," he assented, Eyes, I'M
derstand you so far, but speak out.
81 am not happy" she said. "Inever
shall be happy. I have my child, and
that is all l have. 1 cannot go back to
the life in which / was born. / must go
on as I am, stranger among strange
people, pitied, suffered, cared for lit
tle-and that is all. -"
The nurse had drawn away little
distance with the child. The rest of the
family were making their preparations
inside the house. There was no one
near to watch the singular little drama.
"You should not say that" he add
ed. 1--WE all feel you to be one of us. "
"But all your world does not feel me
to be one of them, she rejoined.
1--WE shall see about that when you
go up to town. You are a bit morbid,
Lah. / don't wonder at your feeling a
little shy, but then you will simply car
ny things before You. Now you take my
word for it, for know London pretty
we'll"
She held out her ungloved hands.
"Do they compare with the white hands
of the ladies you known she said.