Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1897-03-04
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6r a. CONAN DOYLE


back from the steps which led up to the
French windows. she saw two darl
figures moving across toward tht
house. AS they came nearer she could
distinguish that they were Harold Den
yer and her sister Ida. The murmul
of their voices rose up to her ears, and
then the musical little childlike laugh
which she knew so we'll. Il am so de
lighted" she heard her sister say. CSC
pleased and proud. had no idea of 1t
Your words were such surprise and 8
10y to me- Oh, am so glad"
us that you. Ida?"
"Oh, there is Clara. l must go in, Mr.
Denver Good night
There were few whispered words
| laugh from Ida, and Good night
Miss Walker" out of the darkness
Clara took her sisters hand. and they
passed together through the long fold.
Ing window. The doctor had gone into
| his study. and the dining-room was
empty. A single small red lamp upon
the sideboard was reflected tenfold by
| the plate about 1t and the mahogany
beneath it. though its single wick cast
but feeble light into the large. dimly
| Swallowed room. Ida danced off to the
big central lamp, but Clara put her
hand upon her arm. II rather like this
quiet light" said she. why should we
not have chat?" She sat in the doc
tors large red plush chair, and her
sister cuddled down upon the footstool
at her feet. glancing up at her elder
with smile upon her lips and a mis-
chievous CLEAN in her eyes. There was
a shade of anxiety in Clara's face,
l s11 o110 ola
her sisters frank blue eyes.
Have you anything to tell me. dearoo"
| she asked.
Ida gave little pout and shrug to
her shoulder. 1.-The solicitor-general
then opened the case for the prosecu-
tion," said she. You are going to cross
examine me. Clara, so don't deny it.
I do wish you would have that gray
satin foulard of yours done up. With
little trimming and new white vest
1t would look as good as new, and it is
! really very dowdy."
You We're quite late upon the lawn
| said the memorable Clara.
"Yes, l was rather. So were you
| Have you anything to tell me-" She
broke away into her merry musical
laugh.
II was chatting with Mr.. Westma-
colt"
"And I was chatting with Mr.. Dem
yer. BY the way, Clara, now tell me
truly, what do you think of Mr.. Den
Yer? Do you like him? Honestly now"
Il like him very much indeed. think
that he is one Of the most gentlemanly,
! modest. manly young men that have
ever known. So now, dear, have you
| nothing to tell me?" Clara smoothed
| down her sisters golden hair with a
| motherly gesture, and stopped her face
! to catch the expected confidence. She
| could wish nothing better than that
Ida should be the wife of Harold Dem
yer, and from the words which she had
| overheard as they left the lawn that
evening, she could not doubt that there
was some understanding between them.
But there came no confession from
Ida. Only the same mischievous smile
and amused CLEAN in her deep blue
eyes
"That gray foulard dress" she
| began.
"Oh, you little tease. Come now, I
will ask you what you have just asked
me. Do you like Harold Denver?"
"Oh, he's a darling!"
Ida"
| We'll, you asked me. That's what I
| think of him. And now, you dear old
lnqulsitive, you will get nothing more
out OF me; SO you must wait and not
be too curious. I'm going off to see
what papa is doing" She sprang to
her feet, threw her arnis round her sis
ters neck, gave her a final squeeze, and
was gone. A chorus from Olivette, sung
in her clear contralto, grew fainter and
fainter until it ended in the slam of
a distant door,
| But Clara Walker still sat in the dim
lit room with her chin upon her hands.
and her dreamy eyes looking out into
the gathering gloom. It was the duty
OF her, a maiden, to play the part of a
mother-to guide another in paths
which her own steps had not yet trod-
den. Since her mother died not a
thought had been given to herself, all
was for her father and her sister. In
her own eyes she was herself very
plain. and she knew that her manner
was often ungracious when she would
most wish to be gracious She saw
her face as the glass reflected it, but
she did not see the changing play Of
expression which gave it it's charm
the infinite pity, the sympathy. the
sweet Womanliness which drew toward
her all who were in doubt and in
trouble, even as poor slow-moving
Charles Westmacott had been drawn
to her that night. She was herself, she
thought, outside the pale Of love. But
1t was very different with Ida, merry.
little, quick-witted. bright-faced Ida
She was born for love. It was her in
heritance. But she was young and in
nocent. She must not be allowed to
venture too far without help in those
dangerous waters. Some understand
Ing there was between her and Harold
Denver. In her heart of hearts Clara,
like every good woman, was a match
maker, and already she had chosen
Denver Of all men as the one to whom
she could most safely confide Ida. He
had talked to her more than once on
the serious topics Of life, on his aspira-
tons, on what a man could do to leave
the world better for his presence. She
knew that he was a man Of noble ma
ture, high-minded and earnest. And
yet she did not like this secrecy, this
disinclination upon the part Of one 80
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