Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1896-07-26

down some boys on slide, skating
through them, spelling their slide and
leaving them bowling.
a" I beg your pardon, Miss Forde,' he
added. Why do you beg my pardon?
l asked. He is cad and l wish was
big enough to knock him down Then
somehow it came out that he supposed
me to be engaged to Vereker. Imagine
nv indigantion!-and that Vereker was
his authority. And In the surprise Of
finding me free, his own feelings came
out-and l suppose, mine too. And
well! 1t was heaven. We skated no
more, but wandered in the wood.
Then he blamed himself for his sell
fihsness and presumption; he was so
utterly unworthy, had been q bad fell
low, scamp; l did not know how low
he had fallen. Had he ever thought l
could have cared for him, he would have
been different-even now hoped to
mend and live better, and become per-
hapS a decent fellow for my sake. But
was not to be bound to him, only to let
him hope that he might win me, hope
would make a man of him. Poor bOyi
He looked so manly, so winning; his
voice was deep and musical. Oh! En-
ME, l was happy, happy. But it was
too late One little month earlier
would have made all the difference. In
the midst of all this happiness and poe
try, we somehow found ourselves at
home. a full moon had risen and shone
the darkness of real night away. On!
l can see Robin now, springing light
" up the steps at my uncle's and open
ing the door for me with a sort of ten
der priGo IN me. | passed in, looking
ND into his beautiful eyes-hOw happy
he looked, poor, poor fellow!-Only
Think his sister married and left home
when he was but baby, / was the first
woman who had ever really cared tor
him. He came in and shut the door.
We stood by the table, talking. Then,
when least expected, the bolt fell.
"The hall was brightly lighted; he
laid nv skates and his own on the table,
and was turning to me with some ten
der lest. when Uncle Jackson came out
of the library, and there was that in his
face that made my heart sicken. Is
that YOU. AshwOrth? he said, in hard,
harsh voice. Step this way, will YOU"
Robin looked once at me-oh my
dear. the agony and despair in those
poor. beautiful eyes, The expression Of a
dumb. hunted creature. He turned
white. so white ! thought he was going
to fail. but he followed my grim uncle
irs.o the library. The door closed UPON
him; I never saw him again. | stood
dumb and sill with unspeakable terror,
alone in the centre Of the nall. The
skates lay there as he left them for
weeks.
When he entered the library, where
Uncle Roger and others sat, ne was
asked 10 turn out his pockets; he did
so; they contained marked coin, easily
identified. Ny uncles promised not to
prosecute. Ny Uncles acted unmorct-
fully. That is why 1 lei, them. ihor
stipulated. cruel and wicked s,ipula-
ton, that he should Leave the place. lie
left that night. 'de has never been
heard Of since
Ruby. l never guessed It's. But
to leave You without word
"NO; not withOu, word. Next morn
ing | had q letter with q local post
mark: | was to forget him, and he hap
py. he said. lie Ough, not to have spO-
ken. irretrieyably disgraced as he was
buc his feelings carried him away. The
memory OF that afternoon would save
MIN from despair and help him to lead
a clean life. Ta.s town would know
him no more. Nothing could excuse
aim. but perhaps did not know what
rr,r. in - - n ~
entirely wi-hOu. money. He mad Dor
rOw5d and be, and PLAYED in The hope
Of being able 20 repay; watch was a
short cut 10 bottomless pit. Then
ne had done worse. still buoyed up by
that devils hope Of luck. Then he had
stolen down to The quay at nigh. and
helped unload ships coming in with the
tide. he had blacked his face and sung
I'm public houses to be able to replace
what was taken. and sold the watch he
had pretended to lose. As for asking
his father. Well, YOU know there is no
mercy in that quarter. The letter end
ed with a farewell that broke my heart.
Emmie. | went straight to his father
with the letter went in hot Indignation.
This is your work" l cried to his
face. | don't know what | said, | was
mad with the misery and pity Of it and
I was only nineteen. | called him
Pharisee and devil wOrshipper, and
told him of the ruin of that young life
lay at his door And he-inSead Of
cursing me-he said no word till had
sDea. my wrath and saw that he was
shedding slow and bitter tears: then he
7 oh, q, i'm,
as bitterly as he repTOaChed himself
And yet he added God knows that
loved the lad the best of them all
At that I burst out crying and threw
my arms round his neck and kissed his
bard old face. suppose nobody had
kissed MIN for years That is the secret
of our great frieuShip-Our common
love and sorrow and gratitude 70 me
for abusing him And he has been an
other and gontler man since. And in
all his seeking and hoping for Robin.
he tells mo that he is quite quite sure
he shall SEQ him once more before he
dies. ] am not so hopeful: but I never
sing in public wiJhOu. thinking that
my poor Robin may he one of the au-
dience. Something tells ME he is still
NllNt, tllcl ne Ntit1l N4F WllAOuL III.
knowing it-and-Ch, Emmie.-your
husband is at the door! | must fly"
All through her dreams, Emmie, like
The man who paced the pavement oppo-
site till the Westland lights were out,
heard the clear voice singing,
"Oh. I can ne'er forget
Robin Adairw
The wind had fallen when they woke
on the Sunday morning: the autumn