The times., 1894-02-09

solitude and silence should bring her face
to face with her own heart.
But bedtime arrived with relentless pune
tuality, and consideration for the comfort
of others compelled her to lay aside her
music and close the piano. Shut into her
own room, all and worse than poor Flor
ence had feared overcame her-tears, mis-
givings and finally something very like re-
pentance of her willfully hasty decision.
She had made up her mind long ago not to
marry, but that was before she met John
Durham. And supposing her most ambi-
tious dreams came true and she climbed
the heights of fame in triumph, perhaps
that lofty situation might be found barren
and uncomforting on near view, especially
if ones heart had been left in the valley be-
low.
Was the prospect of receiving the praises
of strangers who cared nothing for her per-
sonally sufficiently satisfying to be worth
the sacrifice she had madef For it was
sacrifice to throw aside all thought of
home of her very own, shared with some
body who loved her unselfishly and whom
she-yes, whom she loved. But it was fol-
ly to dwell on what might have been had
she answered his letter differently The
matter was settled irrevocably by that
cruel, curt note now on it's way to him.
How she longed to recall It'll But it was al
ready involved in the relentless machinery
of the postoffice, and Florence sobbed her
self to sleep at last over the sober certainty
of her future musical career
Life had never appeared so stale, fat and
Improbable as it did next day. The light
household duties that fell to her share
seemed onerous tasks; her scales and ar
peggios dragged heavily, and her voice
sounded hopelessly harsh in her own ears.
1t was in truth not as clear as usual, for a
nights crying is not the best medicine for
a vocalist. The children came home from
school uproarious and insisted Oh an appre-
ciative examination of the batch of valen~
tines that they had acquired during the
day; the tiresome routine of existence had
to be gone through with just as if no wretch
ed, lifelong mistake had ever been made.
II wonder if he hates me now!' she mus
ed, as she sat with the rest of the family
after dinner that evening, apparently read
ing. 81 don't believe he does. He is too
free from vanity to be ungenerous. But of
course he will keep as far from me as possi-
BILE after this Perhaps shall never meet
him again He is not a man to be any
woman's commonplace friend when he has
wished to be so much more. How miser-
able / ami l deserve it, for had no right
to let him begin to care for me If meant
to snub him at last. But never let my
self think about it, and now have spoiled
his life and my own"
Just then there was ring at the door
bell, a colloquy in the hall, and somebody
was ushered into the drawing room. Made
line, who had been fdgeting all the evening,
suddenly became very quiet and fixed con-
scious eyes upon the history lesson she was
pretending to study. In a moment the
servant appeared and announced:
Its Mr.. Dunham; wants to see Miss
Ford"
'Who did you say, Nary" cried Made
line, starting up.
"Mr Dunham 'as asked for Miss Flor
ence most particular" repeated Mary, ia
voring the latter young woman with
sympathetic grin as she closed the door.
Madeline sank back into her history again,
with sense that all her struggles to emerge
from the slough Of little girlhood were hope
less. Thankful for the shelter of her school
books, behind them she chewed the cud of
sweet and better fancy and possibly learned
lesson not printed on their well worn pages.
To Florence the arrival of her guest came
az a bewildering surprise. She rose mechan-
ically and went into the drawing room,
with her heart beating very fast and her
head in whirl. Did he intend to denounce
her unfeeling conduct, or was il possible
that he had come in spite of the cool dis
missal she had sent him to beg her to re
consider her decision? II he would only
give her the opportunity
Mr. Dunham's course was not calculated
to clear her mind, for as she entered he
crossed the room and deliberately closed
the sliding doors behind her, in the face of
the family. Then he turned to her. his
face aglow with happiness, and seized her
hands.
"How could you play me such a trick"
he said. 1T was not like you at all to be
so willfully cruel Did you pretend to say
No so that might feel the greater happi.
ness when you said 'Yes3'"
But ] haven't said yes yet" returned
Florence, reused to feeble self assertion by
his masterful ignoring of her positive re-
lection. A helpless sort of joy filed her
that the refusal had gone for nothing, but
1t was certainly surprising assurance on his
part to assume that she cared so much for
him that her dismissal could be regarded
only in the light of a joke.
mot the very word" he answered, "but
you will say it to please me, won't your
Not that words matter much, since you
really do care for me after all. Tell me you
do. Tell me again that nothing can ever
separate u.s."
"Againf' murmured Florence.
Again and again." be replied. II shall