The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1895-11-22

SlOn.
Ruth" he cries, Selling her hand in
his fiercely, sit was all horrible mistake
My cowardicc has brought you to this. My
darling, you love me?"
She does not move; sh1ver runs
through her--a shiver of mortal agony.
Ruth, speak Tell me you love mer'
"You hurt me-" she says family striv-
ing to free herself from his firm grasp.
She raises her agonized eyes to his, and
then she is clasped in his arms. For one
instant she lies passive, then frees herself
with q wrench.
'Leave me-" she says unsteadily. why
do you come, now that it is too late-too
late? You must &C. Goodby.' She holds
her hand in dismissal and farewell.
His passion completely overmasters him
as he looks upon her, pale and sorrow
stricken.
81 will not go,'' he cries vehemently.
truth, you do not, you cannot. mean 1T.
For your own sake''- He advances
quickly, but she repals him.
"For my own sake and yours, co.
And then he knows that all is ended.
With one farewell look he leaves her and
goes out of the room, while she sinks
YEARLY into her chair, dull, aching pain
tearing at her heart strings.
Time slips by insensibly. A new beauty
has usurped Lady Bennington S position in
society," from which she has now with
drawn herself Her husband is dead
killed himself in the hunting field-and
she is free to come and go as she will. The
great town is shattered and empty, and
she has flown to the restful quietude of
Pens Court, the home of her childhood,
which she has bought back as home for
herself in her lonely widowhood. Then
wild hopes fill her heart. Now that he
knows she is really free, Maurice will
surely come to her-he must know. These
hopes are strengthened when, at dinner
party she hears the familiar name men,
toned. He is coming to stay with some
distant neighbors! All, it is to be near her
he is coming at last. AS each day passes
she waits feverishly for his coming, and
still he comes not. AS each long summer
day wanes she whispers, Tomorrow he
will come" and tomorrow passes, and
still he comes not. Then, one evening, as
she sits peacefully under the cedar trees
on the green lawn, resting in the cool
evening air, full Of sweet, faint perfume
from the glowing f1owerbeds on the vel
vety turf, maid appears from the house.
ga gentleman in the drawing room, my
lady," she says; she gave no name"
Ruth, with wild hope, rises slowly and
walks over the lawn her black dress sweep
ing over the grass, her pale cheeks tinged
with a pink color as she mounts the shall
low steps and enters the cool, shadowy
room, full of flowers and delicious per-
fumes waited In on the evening air.
A man is standing with his back toward
her, but as her dress sweeps over the soft
carpet he turns and faces her. A CULVER
ing smile flashes into her sweet gray eyes,
and she holds out both hands with little
glad cry.
'tAh, Maurice! At last, at last''
Something in his unresponsive attitude
strikes cold chill to her heart. Has he
forgotten?
81 could not pass your neighborhood
without looking you up, Lady Boring
ton," he says easily. "How lovely this
place is! Are you living here altogether"
Ruth feels that her throat and lips are
parched and dry, but she answers him
with an effort
eyes; I could not endure that dreary
town house-after''-
eyes, yes, he says hastily; "after your
terrible bereavement. You are fortunate
to have been able to secure the old place
in time. am paying flying visit to the
Carews, at Marsh Hall. You know them,
of COURSE
every slightly. Then-you do not stay
long?'
"Not long. There are many prepare
lions to be made before April with a
80 hon ,rf
heard? Juliet Carew will be my wife in
few months time. May ask for your
congratulations for 'auld lang syne?'
The blood rushes with wild flood to
Ruth's heart, leaving her sick and cold
everything swims before her tired eyes.
She must speak. She makes an effort.
II hope-I sincerely trust-you may be
happy she says little unsteadily. 81
must call on Miss Carew"
"You are very kind" he says, with his
happy smile. 'How familiar this place
seems! Our days of Irritation are at an
end, Lady Bennington. All, one does fool
ish things in the heyday of youth but you
showed yourself to be wise woman"
Ruth smiles. Has he forgotten all
Eyes" she says, with bitterness. "We
look back with contemptuous pity on such
foliies in maturer years. "
When he is gone, she stands on the ter
race in the deepening twilight, the cool,
soft air tanning her hot, flushed cheeks.
The fern ow. in the distance, with its Gu
rious whir-r-r, alone breaks the Stiffness a
bat flaps heavily overhead, belated bee
booms past, hurrying homeward. Then
she goes slowly, YEARLY, into the old ia
miliar room. A sharp, sudden pain clutches
her heart she catches blindly at the man
telpiece, an ashen grayness overspreading
the lovely face. With little gasping Cry
she falls prone to the ground, blood rushes
to her lips and stains the delicate lace on
her bosom. A chill moaning
wind sweeps round the house, dying away
in the distance with wild sobbing wall,
as of soul in mortal agony passing
through the fiery furnace of affection.
The doctor says failure of the hearts
action and hemorrhage," but does science
always fathom such mysteries? Does 1t
take into account broken heartsf Perhaps
moist. Pauls.
His Request.
-. ~ lox,