The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1896-08-26
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ana going out into the world to forget
his SORROWS or win fortune, died with
the secret Of my identity locked in his
own bosom?"
And now?" murmured Raymond, his
loyal heart beating with renewed sympa..
thy for the friendless girl who seemed
10 deserve all the love and care he had
vowed to her.
Now, Miss Chandler Gays we must
wait. am virtually her ward. she dare
not sanction our union. Any day my
father, or whoever my mysterious rela-
tive may be-, might appear to claim me.
What would he say if he found me mar
ried to a painter who won't paint, an
artist who talks mere love than srt?"--
Wait" calculated Raymond, i'm
patiently. For how long2 The ten
vears have two to run yet"
Yes, but l am eighteen to-day-of
legal age. Miss Chandler says she
verify believes that some word or direc-
ton will come soon."
1t was an old story gone over now for
the hundredth time, but there was new
interest in discussing it. They talked
of their plans, OF their hopes, Of the
golden future life seemed to presage.
Il must 60 now" spoke Edna at last.
why! have been here nearly half an
hour. WANTED to tell you about the
reception tomorrow evening. Mr..
Brinsley is to take me. He is Miss
Chandler's cousin, and I want to please
her,"
Raymond's 8 eyes showed rising token
Of jealousy, but he was prudently silent.
IF he does not 60 I shall write you,
and you must be my knight errant. I
hope he does not. Good-by. No! Be-
atrice is looking this way. Be patient,
Raymond, and above all, do make some
progress on that tiresome, never-to- be
finished picture"
She was gone as she had come, like
q flashing, dainty sprite. Raymond
Marshall followed her with his eyes,
until the bushes shut out the remotest
view Of her pretty, nodding cap.
"Picture!" he murmured, with sigh,
as be packed UP stool and easel. who
could paint with such a face haunting
every glance and thought? And she
bids me wait! Wait, to be tortured
every time l see her in the company Of
that fellow Brinsley, or making a con-
fdante Of Beatrice Mercer. How I dis
trust her!"
Yes, Miss Beatrice Mercer was q
thorn in the artists side. Why, he
could scarcely explain. She was pretty,
young, apparently, devoted to,his fiancee,
but more than once he had caught her
eyes fixed on Edna with latent, bale
full light, upon himself with passion
ate, pleading expression that mystified,
repulsed him, he knew not why.
But all this would soon end; ah, yes!
it must soon end. The mystery OF his
fancee must some time cease to be q
mystery. 1t was not an unusual case.
1t would probably have very prosaic
conclusion, with the long-lost father
returning, and explaining that he had
placed his daughter in Miss Chandler s
charge because she was motherless.
Then they would marry, and life
would be worth living, and all the dis
tressing trifles Of the present would
vanish. 1t must be so. Edna had pre-
dicted that word must soon come from
her mysterious relative.
Her faith as hopeful as his own, Edna
locked her arm through that Of her COM
panion, and did most Of the chattering
the way back to the seminary.
Miss Mercer went straight to her own
room. If Edna had seen her as she
threw herself on her bed and lay con-
vulsed in paroxysm of tears, rage, and
emotion for over an hour, she might not
vainly have guessed at the cause of the
varying moods Of this strange creature
AS to Edna, she studied for an hour
and started to find her friend again
thinking Of Raymond's handsome face
despite herself, and Raymond's anxious
wish that the obstacles to their unior
were removed-that word would come,
and the suspense of waiting be a!levi'
ated.
"Oh, Edna! Miss Chandler wishes tc
see you at once, spoke FELLOWSHIP
dent, as Edna crossed the hall.
Particularly" murmured Edna, witt
smile.
Very much so. She sent me for you
and seemed greatly excited. Something
has happened; I don't know what, bu
she acted very much agitated."
Yes. something" had happened. AM
Edna Deane knew what, a few minutes
| later.
Something had happened in way di.
rectly in accordance with her thought:
and Raymond Marshalls impatient de-
sires.
Word" had come!