The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1896-03-26

VI VIZ 'AhNp Ah AAS
Wells corner.
cheeks as she came face to face with
Cyril Ardener.
Wont you ladies come out?' he
said. I've found a real fire."
But they refused, preferring the ills
they had to suffer to trudging over the
rails in the keen, outside air. Miss
Wells, however, had not spoken.
You will come, won't you, Con-
stance?' said he, in a lower voice.
A shiver ran through her, not caused
since Cyril had called her by he1
Christian name.
She hesitated, and then said YES"
Cyril helped her out, and led her
across the lines back to the platform.
Then she asked, suddenly:
where's Miss Fairbrother?'
"She's gone off with Glynn,' said
Cyril, smiling, after quarreling with
me-"
'Ah!" said Constance.
Cyril could detect jealousy, pique,
pride, in the simple utterance. They
walked along the platform in silence to
the office of the station master, where q
bright IRE was DlaZlng.
With a cry of delight Constance went
down on her knees before it, and
spread out her stiff fingers in the well
come warmth. Cyril stood near, look
ing down at her delicate, worn face, in
khich the blue veins seemed preternat-
urally large. After a long silence he
said, suddenly:
you think l asked you to come out
here because l had quarreled with that
little tiirt? You are wrong"
Constance flushed slightly, but did
not glance up.
Il asked you because the little goose
let out something which was the last
thing she should have let me know if
she wanted me to forget you. You have
been fretting, it seems?"
BrOugh to task so suddenly, Con
stance could not keep the tears out of
her eyes.
NO." she said, rather feebly.
ooh, but you have. Now, tell me, is
it true that you are not so hard as you
pretend to be? Is it true, for instance
and he came nearer to her, that you
are sorry you snubbed me so unmerci.
fully that day-you know when?'
There was q pause. Constance was
much agitated. But she gathered her
forces together and answered, with
some spirit:
mo, 1t Is not true. l am not sorry
But there was a tremor in her gentle
voice, a tenderness in her eyes, which
belied her words.
81 don't believe you," said Cyril, as
he knelt down on the floor beside her
ssT r,oan r don't ho1ioua yo,1r uyor5c I
believe your eyes. And l can read In
very unhappy, lonely, since you quar-
relied with me-"
Then she gave way, and a piteous lit
tie sob betrayed the feeling she had
been trying to hide. She stole one OF
her white hands, which not even the
frost had succeeded in making red and
ugly, and held it tenderly in his own
She cried in silence for a few minutes
and then turned upon him %fiercely:
why do you torment meT' she
asked, with something like terror in hel
voice.
Because l love you, Connie; because
I know you have had a hard life, which
is not growing any easier, and because
l want to give you some ease, som
rest, some Happiness, udTLnS.
But you can't. You know you can't
Oh, Cyril, don't begin 1t all owe again!
But he had both her hands now. HI
was holding them in a firm grip, look
ing into her face with an expression o
clinging tenderness which thrilled her
warmed her, in spite of herself.
MY darling, couldn't you trust me
Don't you think 1 would make you hap
py as long as you live?"
He could see in her eyes the struggl
which was going on between her fee.
ings and her instincts of duty and hoI
or.
Don't you think l would make you
kind husband, C~onstance"
With a sudden impulse, she snatche
her hands away.
"Ah, if you could! If you onl
could" she said, ~piteously. "But 70
know you can't, you can't, while IN
husband is alive!"
Cyril moved impatiently.
Now. isn't this nonsense. child?" sal
he. with an air of indulgent tolerance
Your husband treated you disgrace
fully: as badly as a msn could treat
woman. He deserted you for anOthC