Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1896-07-01

as if all the sunshine were going out of
the world for me.
The roses mounted up into her cheeks
as she wondered within herself whether
Dir. Evering cared for her.
81 wish l knew she uttered aloud.
''Knew what?' demanded a calm
voice, and Gilbert Eyering coolly seated
himself beside her-a straight, handsome
man. with brilliant dark eyes, rather If
regular features and deep color glow
ing through his olive skin.
Blanche demurely looked UP at him.
whether it would rain tomorrow for
our picnic
"Oh-the picnic: had forgotten that
when | spoke Of leaving tomorrow. Of
course, though, my presence or absence
viii make no great difference.
Blanche was silent.
''Blanche-shall l go or stay"
''Just as you please. Err. Evering, of
course
mo; just as somebody else pleases.
Yes or no! And the yes means a great
deal"
How much does it mean?''
''Everything."
''Then you may stay!'
''My Blancher' he whispered, bending
over the slender hand that lay on the
autumn leaves.
She was very, very happy, and all that
day she seemed to be walking through
the bright mysteries of a dream. But
with the morning came other feelings
Alas! that shadow should always follow
sunshine in this world of ours.
I'm not disposed to be unreasonable,
Blanche" said Gilbert, IN a whisper, as
he arranged her white lace for her, amid
the turmoil of the picnic ground, but l
j. l. 70 of
enough with that fellow Birmingham
'Jealous?' tainted the girl, flushed
and rosy.
"Of course you'll do as you please,
Blanche; only it's a choice between
Birmingham and me"
She drew herself up haughtily.
''You are beginning to dictate early,
sir
''Have I not the right?''
Nothing of the sort, Mr.. Evering."
''Be it so. Blanche" he said. L give
I'D the right now and henceforward."
Blanche was startled. She would have
said more but Walter Birmingham was
advancing toward her and when next she
had leisure to look around Gilbert was
gone from her side.
''Such charming day as we have had,
Mrs. Traine" said Blanche. as she came
up the steps of the hotel piazza, smiling
and radiant
THAT, Of course said the blooming
matron in an easy chair under the shad-
ow of the vines. But what sent Mr..
Eyering away in such a hurry
''Sent him away?
''Yes-by the evening train he came
home, packed his things and drove away
as if there was not moment to lose
Blanche went slowly upstairs and sat
down by her window, looking out at the
purple glow of the evening landscape as
If il were 4 fPatureleSS blank.
''And l can not even write to him, for
I do not know his address, she thought,
with clasped hands and fearless eyes.
So Blanche PenrOy went nome from
the gay summer lounging-place q sadder
and 4 wiser woman: and the November
mistS dropping DER the brickand-mOrtar
wilderness Of her New York home had
never seemed half so dreary to her as
they seemed now!
She rang the bell with an impatient
jerk.
''Are there any letters. Sanderson?''
Zone, a'am; it came by the evening
post"
Blanche sat down by the fire and
opened the letter.
"Black-edged-and black-sealed SO
poor Mrs. Marchmont is gone at last!'
1t was from the executors of Miss Pen
roy's distant cousin, formally and briefly
announcing her death, which had taken
place in one of the West India islands
some months since.
Leaving one child, a son. slowly re-
peated Blanche, leaning her cheek on her
hand and looking down at the hery quly-
er of white-hot Goals. Poor little fel-
lowi He must feel nearly as desolate
and alone as | do
"Why should [ not adopt the stray
waif and make it the business of my life
to cherish and comfort him? l have no
object in existence; here is one that
Providence itself seems to point out to
me-"
Once more she rang the bell
Bring in my writing desk, Sander
SON.
The old servant bowed, wondering at
his mistress unwonted energy, and yet
well pleased to see some of her old ami
nation returning.
1t was Il very simple and unconscious
letter than Blanche Penroy wrote to her
<'far-away Cousins executors.
Il shall never marry now she wrote,
E'and it seems to become my plainly in
dicatcd duty to undertake the care Of
this orphan child of Mrs. Marchmont's.
With your approval, therefore, propose
to adopt him, and endeavor, as far as
is in my power, to supply the place of his
lost mother. You may deem me rather
young to undertake SO grave and serious
a responsibility. but l am very, very
much older in thought and feeling than
my years.
Just week subsequently a prim legal
note was received from Messrs. Alas and
Corpus, the deceased lady's executors,
stating that they saw no valid objec-
ton to Miss Penroy's very laudable pro-
jects, and that, in accordance thereto,
the child of the late Mrs. Marchmont
would arrive at Miss Penroy's residence
on the following Saturday night"
Saturday highland this is Friday"
calculated Blanche. 80. how glad [
shall be! Sanderson, tell Mrs. Brown to
have the blue room fitted up Immediately
for Master Marchmont, and you had bet
ter go yourself to the depot with the
carriage, az ) tomorrow afternoon, to
meet him.
Yes, ma'am," said Sanderson stolidIy.
The apparition of an unruly boy tramp
ing with muddy boots on the carpets and
haunting the house with ball and mar
bes. did not possess the charm to San
derson's eyes that it seemed to for his
mistress.
Saturday was a day of hail and tenn
pest, and softly falling snow. and by 3
O'Clock the drawing rooms were lighted
and the crimson silk curtains closely
drawn, to exclude the stormy darkness
without Six times within the last fif-