The morning news., 1897-04-18

I'd liefer hear. but 1 be bent on hearin'
one"
She ceased. and Milly mechanically
noted other things around her. Candles
nared on the mantelpiece, and between
them an old clock ticked noisily A fire
foared in the chimney, and a kettle with
long, thin spout, belched steam into the
room Widow Macklehose who breathed
hard, and uttered her speech with diff
Guilty now turned from the girl to her
son, who stood at the other side of the
bed. He was waiting in a trembe for the
word that must make his future life or
mar it.
Even in the shadow of death the utter
ance from Milly dwarfed all other CON
slderations. And the girl found herself
IN position which is always distasteful
to women of her caIibre; forced to make
up her mind upon a question none could
decide for her.
weigh the words afore thee speaks
EN-, child,' said the old woman. Take
time though the Lord He knows theeve
done that already. 'Tis a wrong thing to
keep two lads on thorns as thou hast.
Better women than thees got left maids
for ever along of such foolishness afore
now. Fix thy mind, and speak for my
John, if so it must be, for the fisherman
if so it must be-"
Milly wanted to say she could not de-
eide yet, but under those terrible bright
eyes no word of evasion would come to
her lips. She looked at the Beast, but
his dark head was bent over his mother,
and he was moistening her lips Then
suddenly he turned to her and spoke;
Mothers right, Milly, and you know it.
Speak, and mind this. 'tis a sacred word
you'll say, and a word that must be true.
'Tis solemn time, Milly, an God'll tell
you what to say, 1 guess"
Still the girl was silent, and the old
woman moaned in her impatience.
Lord Lord, maidens baint what they
was So many of 'em in the world-so
many, too many; and yet here's one who
sets herself up to ruin the lives of two
good lads. Speak, l tell zee, Milly Pritch-
ard. If thee loves John, for that love thee
has to him do what his dying mother bids,
and if thee don't love him, say it and have
done. Afore God, girl, speak truth. Mind
Michael Hardman as told a lie to his dy-
ing brother. The Lord overlook him afore
the grass was green on his brother
grave. Him or her as lies to the dying,
them the Lord curses now and ever. So
speak truth for thy immortal SOULS sake"
rs it so hard, Milly-so very hard?"
pleaded John.
Then a sudden freak of thought helped
the girl towards decision. She saw the
comfort of the old room. There were
wooden panels round the walls, and solid
furniture and the bed on which Mother
Macklehose lay dying had a splendid cam
opy and mighty posts of carved
black oak. Milly pictured herself in the
bed as the owner thereof. She was hot
wholly heartless, either. She admired the
Beast in a measure. He promised to make
a humble, dog-like husband who would
let her have her own way-a thing she
regarded as essential. Dick Richards
grew faint just then-faint and fainter.
Presently he vanished from her mind Is
she spoke.
Il loves John with all my heart and
soul, Mother Macklehose, and him III
marry, and no other"
so help you Cod said the man in
shaking voice.
80 help me God" she repeated after
him.
whats said's said then. The Lord of
Life make thee worthy of the best son
ever mother had. A good son do deserve
blessing in his home. Look to it, Milly.
look to it and mind what he've been to me
these many years. And forgive a mighty
old woman if she's said less than the
truth of thee. Kiss me, maiden, and the
Lord make the worthy of my SON.
Milly soon departed and John saw her
to the door. When they had left the room,
Widow Macklehose whined in her ply
sical suffering and cried feeble tears,
her tears were not for herself.
Empty, empty, empty as the dolls at
Mother Tempny's," she kept saying over
and over again. 1.-THE dying see so clear,
and the emptiness of her heart looks
through her eyes,
Presently her son came back to her.
II be that tore in alf. mother, that tore
In 'alf twixt you and Milly God he
good and spare you, mother, to see US
mated yet"
'fDoan't be praying that. Rather pray
that when l be gone the Lordll reward
thee, John Macklehose, and give thee
good wife for thy love to thy old mother"
she said.
Then the man wiped his mothers tears
away and kissed her and sat silent be-
side her, praying to the Lord to lessen her
pain.
CHAPTER III.--RECKONING WITH
DICK.
The vision of Dick Richards, albeit it
vanished beside the sick bed of Mrs.
Macklehose, pretty quickly revived when
Mfly went home; for it happened that
Dick was waiting for her. lie and her
uncle were sitting on either side of the
big wood fire, and as though some bad
angel was bent on making things unpleas-
ant for Milly that evening, she found her
second string had come upon important
business.
As a matter Of fact, the fisherman had
heard that his rivals mother was at
deaths door. and he much feared the cir
cumstance might hasten decision un-
favorable to him.
81 bin talkin' TO Mr.. Pritchard, Milly,
bout our courtin.' Seems like you've had
a brace OF lovers long enough. 'Tain't
possible to go on 50. and Mr.. Pritchard is
of the same mind; which he's your uncle
and did ought 70 be card.
Mr.. Pritchard knew Milly, and felt ex-
tremeJy nervous al being suddenly thrust
into a position OF such importance.
"'Tain't for me 70 speak, nor any other;
only It's time you made up your mind,
Miily. j will say that" he ventured.
"And rye news" continued Dick. THE
mackarers of the Settles early, and !
was amongst 'em the first yesterday. Our
lugger's brought home near three thou
sand, an that's a tidy little BIT OF money
a'ead as will 'elp. Now. there's forty-hve
psun' IN the POsfOflce Savings Bank. and
Them earrings ] gived you. which IL worth
twenty-five ahilhnRs. There's them TOO,
as wouldn't forget a gift " the day was
0Ned Why dOan't Zee say the word,
Miliy, and have done with it3