The Banner-Democrat. [volume] (Lake Providence, East Carroll Parish, La.) 1892-current, 1897-06-19
CHAPTER XII.

| inence of the principals, created no lit
tie sensation in the society of s..
The interest communicated itself to
all classes, and the fortunate few who
were present on the occasion were Sc
cretly envied by the less privileged out
siders.
The latter contented themselves with
speculat.ons and prophecies; and the we'd
ding journey was accomplished and the
| two young matrons had settled down to
their new duties, before they ceased to
air their opinions.
Margaret had laid aside her mourn
ing, and for the first time since her I'M
cle's death Elmwood was the scene of
festivities. But otherwise her life was
much the same as it had been for the
last twelve months.
Her attitude toward Brian was I'M
changed. She was kind and consider
ate, but no warmer feeling marked their
intercourse. Any demonstration of af-
fection on his part called forth anger on
hers. She might scold herself in the
secrecy of her own heart; she might
atone for it by hundred extra atten-
tions, but the feeling was there, wait
ing but the occasion to show itself.
And Brian saw it. AS time went on he
learned 10 repress his natural desire and
approach Margaret with only friendly
warmth.
1t was all wrong. Margaret was forced
to admit, in her moments of self re-
| preach. Yet who was to blame, Brian
or she? Marriage had wrought greater
change in her life than even she had
anticipated. With Miss Hilton's de-
parture went the helpful companionship
and cheerful influence which meant so
much to her.
Even Brian seemed to miss their COM
mon friend. He certainly missed some
thing; though what was not very clear
to his own mind. He felt ii in grow
| ing dissatisfaction. The restlessness
which constituted such large portion
OF his makeup began to assert itself
with unresisting force. He found his
days monotonous, and the ennui, which
he laid to the dullness of country life,
! Margaret ascribed to lack of definite
purpose and settled employment.
1T is nothing in the world but lazi-
ness" she asserted for her own con-
viction. HE knows it. too; so 1 sha'n't
| tell him. I'm tired of everlasting
preaching, and I dare say he'll soon
grow to think married him for nothing
| in. the world but to play the shrew. I
| hate it. Nevertheless, he sha'n't keep
on this way. That I'm determined on.
In spite of this resolution, Brian did
not display any fresh industry, unless it
was in going to the city, where he was
fond of spending his time.
At first he returned home every even
| ing, like many of his neighbors who were
regular commuters, and went to BUSH
ness every day; but in time he failed to
recognize even this duty, and his visits
to New York heightened themselves into
days, and occasionally whole week
passed without Margaret seeing him.
He always had an excuse-the thea
] ter, his club, the opportunities of a
friend.
! Margaret received all in silence.
whether I go or stay matters little to
her, decided Brian. But he was mis-
| taken.
His indifference panied his young wife
more than she would have admitted per-
haps. She had really started out with
the determined purpose to make up in
earnest endeavor what she lacked in
warmth of feeling, and her sense of
failure was very keen. She could not
bring herself to reproach him because
she doubted her right to do so.
But the right to feel was certainly
hers.
She was learning some bitter lessons
during these early days of her married
life; and not least among them was the
contrast which Alice's life offered to
hers.
She would return from her visits to
The Cedars. from the atmosphere of per-
feet happiness which seemed to reign
there, to feel her heart overcome by
rush of feeling and filled with vague
and indefinable inconsistencies.
Unusually haavy-hearted she came
one evening from day spent with Alice
and the Colonel. 1t was growing late,
and the Colonel had wanted to come
with her as far as Elmwood, hut this
Margaret had opposed. declaring that
she would not be either lonely or afraid.
Yet, after she had started, she did feel
lonely, and she began to wish for
companion in her long, cold walk. The
winter twilight was beginning to fall,
and through the indescribable melan-
choly of the darkening scene, the trees
waved their bare branches like spectral
arms. The wind soughed dismally
among the dead leaves, and even the
faint red in the sky had chill effect
! against the low line of gray hills. It
was all unutterably dreary, and Mar
garet gave sigh of relief when she
reached her cheerful sitting-room, with
its glowing fire and comfortable, luxur-
ious furnishing.
She was somewhat surprised to see
Brian standing before the mantel. He
had been in New York for several days
] and she did not know OF his return.
Il am glad you have come at last" he
said, looking up at her entrance. Il got
here about four O'Clock to find you gone
and the place as lonely as the deuce.
Did you enjoy your rider"
Il didn't ride, returned Margaret,
extending her hands over the rosy Goals,
i've been walking
"Walkingi At this timel Not. alone,
Margaret"
why, certainly. Who would / have
with me. The Colonel did insist on
coming, but / wouldn't allow it, of
course. l was not afraid. Only the
least bit lonely, and-I believe | am
tired.
Brian did not notice the almost imper-
ceptible break in her voice, hut he did
notice her pale face and wearied air.
Without word he drew chair to the
fire, and seated her in it. Then bend
ing over her, he said with much anxiety:
wish you wouldn't try your strength
SO far, Margaret. The walk was too
long for you
L don't think so, Brian. / am not