The pioneer press. (Miller, Hand County, S.D.) 1893-190?, 1895-11-21

thing. 4 dumb state, scarcely hurtful
at the moment, but rich i'll promise of
misery to cOmp The silence is a long
one, and gives To Dalrymplc sui
ficicnt time to wonder if his speech
has been all il ought to be. She is
not usually 50 quiet when angered
and angered she must most certainly
have been. Has he hurt her: \ GU
riOuS sense of satisfaction. of delight
in this thought. is mingled with a sin
cere regret. Fear indeed is taking
hold Of him. under the uncomfortable
charm If this deadly calm. when at
last Miss Fairfax breaks it.
THAT simpliieS everything" she
says, in an ordinary way, if a little
sternly. After all. he tells himself. he
had had no power to hurt her, He is
now, as he has never been, nothing To
her. Less than nothing, as she her
self had said a minute OF two ago.
The fear and regret die, and judicial
anger once more takes their place.
when one comes To think of it,"
says she. speaking again, as II might
who has been summing up a case. and
has come to Il safe conclusion on 1t. II
have done you Il good turn: you should
be grateful. You did not wish to
quarrel with grandpala, and he wish
ed You 10 marry me-. AS you threaten
ed me Il while since, YOU viii tG-lnor-
row tell him all the terrible things
you know about Lord hartford. and
of my-What did you call it:-improp-
er conduct will do very we'll, At all
events, and exactly suits the eXigen-
cies Of the case. Well, there you are.
Grandpapa is useful, and he will not
quarrel with you: he will only quarrel
with me, and you will get Out of Il de
tested Semi-engagement without Of
Tending the SuggeSter Of it,
You can make me Il as great 4
sneak as you like" says Dalrymple,
but that will give you little Satisfac-
ton when your W mind bellies you.
You know | shall rot mention your
name to Lord Carbync. There, TOO.
n other error in your speech. That
semi-eugagemant was not deteStahle
To me. But | am not Il fool. So long
us you cared for no other man. | EN-
dured the thought that you did not
care for me. But when | saw you Ell
courage hartford as you did tonight
when | saw you"
BE silent" cries the girl tiercely.
checking him by the vehemenCe OF her
voice and gesture. Not another word.
You have said enough, IOO muCh!'
She stands back from him; her hands
pressed against her bosom. If he had
her she could not have looked
more rnIaged. Then suddenly her
lovely, naked arms fall 10 her sides,
she throws up her head. and without
another glance at him sweeps past
ami hurries To her w room. once
there she gives thought full sway.
And Ii especial thought, that for
weeks has been troubling. %delighting,
enticing her, Going to a drawer in
one OF her tables she opens it and
takes Out Il card. 1t had been given
to her by Barbour the night of Lady
SwandGwn's AT Home and had been
kept even since, she scarcely knew
why.
She had been drawn to the popular
actor. the born artist. in a strange
way. He had interested her. He had
complimented her. and there had been
that in his words 50 ~undeniably sin
cere and earnest that She. who shrank
from praise. had accepted his and felt
pleasure in it. He had appealed to
Liac hIliiI'h illlSL SbN II ieI, anu ldu
found his echo there; she had indeed
answered him back. He had limited
great things TO her and had been hon
estly and openly sorry that Fate had
not SO ordered her affairs that she
should lot have to work for her daily
bread. He had cried aloud to her the
glOrieS Of a universal cOnquest-the
gathering of many people at her feet.
He had assured her that she had but
to speak: that Is to let her violin
speak. and the renown OF which she
had read and dreamed and longed for.
would be hers. An enthusiast him
self, he had lit on another only ready
to be kindled at his touch, and had
set her soul atiame, Oh, to be among
the great ones Of this world. TO know
the great one of this world. To know,
to feel, to see the adulatiOn of the
crowd.
1t could scarcely be said that he had
put i'll her mind the desire to place her
talent before the public and TO live or
die by its decision. because eve since
her tiny child's fingers had drawn the
bow across the strings she had vague
ly longed for the moment when she
should. or at least might be, famous.
1t was her night dream as we'll as her
best waking thought through all her
earlier years, and Of ~latc-within the
last twelve m~onths-it had become a
passion with her. Feeling the genius
that undoubtedly stirred within her,
she pinned as all true artists must do,
to put it to the test; to hear the
worlds Judgment on her best-tO sink
beneath their Kisses or to swim to
shore amid the tumult of their APP
plause.
Yet Barbour had certainly been a
direct agent toward the course she had
how at last elected TO pursue. He had
opened the way for her. He had, in
his kindly, enthusiastic Bohemian
waN- assured her that Whom Eatn