Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1897-06-19
PART II.
CHAPTER II (Continued).

CHAPTER II CContinued).
Mrs. d. halted In the middle Of a word,
as II she had been shot, mouth open, and
| the volume lifted; her surprise at the in
terruption SO great that she could not for
| while find words. But the stream Of her
indignation, thus checked, only gathered
| volume and in a few second broke forth.
mfr. DIP she cried, slamming the book
down on the table, you disgusting beast!
Do you know that the boys are here?
my wig is on fireT' he cried for answer.
He had taken. it off and now held 1t at
arms length, looking at it so ruefully that
the boys, though they knew the danger,
could scarcely restrain their laughter
And serve you right for weak kneed
that made us quake. IF you had not guz-
zled at dinner, sir. and swilled small beer
you would have remained awake instead
of spelling good wig, and staining your
soul! Ay, and causing these little ones"
Il never closed my eyes!' he declared,
| roughly.
RUBBISH she answered in tone that
would brook no denial. And then, "Give
the wig to Jennie. sir!' she continued, per-
| enptorily. And put your handkerchief on
ycur head. 1t Is well that good Mr.. Nesbit
| does not know what language has been
| used during his discourse. 1t would cut
that excellent man to the heart. Do you
hear, sir, give the wig to Jenniev she thun-
dered. "A handkerchief is good enough for
| too good! Too good. sir!'
He went reluctantly to obey, seeing moth
ing Tor 1t; but between his anger and Jen-
MES clumsiness the wig, in passing from
one to the other, fell under the table. This
caused Mrs D., who was at the end of her
patience. to spring in a rage, and down
| went candle. Nor was this the worst,
for the grease in it's fall cast a trail of hot
drops on her Sunday gown. and in flash
she was on the maid and had smacked
her face till the room rang.
Take that, and that, you clumsy bag
gage" she cried in fury, her face crimson.
And that! And the next time you offer to
| take gentleman's wig have better man.
ners. This will cost you years wages, my
| fine madam! And let me hear Of your step
ping over the doorstep until it is earned,
and l will have you jailed and whipped
Do you hear? And you," she continued,
turning ferociously on her husband. swear
fling. godforsaken tantivey! You are not
much better!'
1t stands In my memory now as merely
| coarse outburst of vixenish temper made
prominent by after events. But what felt
at the moment should vainly try to de-
| scribe. Suffice it that at one time I was
on the point of springing on the woman,
and at another all but caught the sobbing
| to touch her. Fortunately, Mr.. D., now
! fully awakened, ard the more inclined to
remember decency in proportion as his wife
forgot it, recalled me to myself by sternly
| bidding me see the boys to their beds.
Glad to escape, they needed no second Or
der, but focked to the door, and 1 with
| them In our retreat it was necessary to
pass close to the shrinking girl, whom Mrs.
| D. was still abusing with all the cruelty
| imaginable; and as 1 did so 1 heard, or
| dreamed that heard three words, breath
| ed in the faintest possible whisper. l say
| dreamed heard, for the girl neither looked
at me, nor removed the apron from her
! face, nor by abating her sobs or any other
( sign betrayed that she spoke that she
vJyo nf INV v,nfo hfnrh nn6
Yet the three words Garden, ten min
| utes''-so gently breathed, that 1 doubted
| while 1 heard. could only have come from
her; and assured of that it will be believed
| that found the ten minutes 1 spent. see
| ing the boys 10 bed by the light of one
| scanty rushlight, the longest and most tu-
spoken should have found 1t a sorry time
| indeed; since, even now the moment the
| door was closed behind me 1 discerned a
hundred reasons to be dissatisfied with my
| should have said and saw a hundred things
1 should have done, and stood a coward
| convicted. NOW, however. all was not over
| l was about to see her. to speak with her
| to pour out my Indignation and pity. per.
haps to touch her hand; and in the de-
ncious throb OF fear and excitement with
which these anticipations filled my breast
l speedily forgot to regret what was past.
| Chapter III.
| Doubtless there have been men able IN
boast, and with truth, that they carried
| to their first designation with a woman
an even pulse. But as 1 do not presume
to rank myself among these. who have been
commonly men of high station (whereoi
| my late Lord Rochester was, believe, the
chief In my time), neither the unhappy oc-
currence which am in the way to relate
notwithstanding, have I, II may say sc
without disrespect, SO little heart as to
1 crave the reDutatfOn- frrfh T
enced that evening, as I crept slowly out
OF the back door Of Mr.. D-'s house. and
stole into the gloom Of the whispering
| garden. q full share Of the guilty feeling
| That goes with secrecy, and more than my
| snare OF the agitation Of spirit natural In
| one who knows (and Is new to the
thoughD that under cover Of the darkness
woman stands trembling and waitina
Tor him. A few PAGES from the house
which could leave without difficulty,
though at the risk of detectionl glanced
back to assure myself that all was still;
| then shivering. as much with excitement az
at the chill greeting the night air gave
me, I FASTENED to the corner Of the fence,
| whei ce had before seen my mistress.
felt for the gap with my hand, and
peered through 1t, and called her name
| softly, Jennie! Jennie!' and listened: and
after an interval called again. Still hear
| ing nothing, discovered by the sinking at
my heart-which was such that for ali my
eighteen years, could have sat down
coming. And I called again and again;
| and still got no answer.
Yet did not despair. Mrs. D. might
have kept her, or one of hundred things
might have happened to delay her; from
one cause or another she might not have
been able to slip out as quickly as she had
thought. She might come yet, certainly
by and by; and SO. though the more pro-
longed my absence, the greater the risk
| ran or detection. ] composed myself to
| wait with what patience might. The town
was quiet. human noise at an end. but Mr..
Dis school stood in the outskirts with
1 Its back to the open country. ana between
the signing Of the wind among the pop
lars and the rippling Of q neighboring
brook, and those far-off noises that seem
inseparable from the night, had stood
minute or more before q sound, differing
from all these. and having Its origin at q
spot much nearer to me, caught my ear.
and set my heart beating. It was the noise
OF q woman weeping. and to this day do
not know precisely what did, on hearing
it-whsn made out what It was. mean
i or how found courage to do II; only that
| in an instant, a. It seemed to me- / was
on the other side Of the fence. and had
drawn the g3rl into my nrms, with her head
on my shoulder. md her wet ovas lookad