Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1898-02-05

you are indignantssTh have not crawled
over me, and ami certots."
But. sir. win YIN allow q man no dts
Interested moral efnotioHr'
LAS much as he Wdll and he shall be cool
at the end OF it, sinfleds the vicar. Now
II they took my benefcs from me again.
STOPPING down. heepicked up the creature
In his hand. and fell tosexamining it very
disgust. u II
You did not quit1the court without some
regret, Simon" he,remfnded me.
could make nothing Or him In this mood
and was about to leaves him when I per-
ceived my lord ana Barbara approaching
the house SprinEing up, I ran to meet
them; they received mes with grave air,
ana, IN the ready apprehension Of evil
born of happiness that seems too great,
l cried out to know IL there were bad It'd
ings. "
There's nothing that touches us nearly
said my lord, but very pitiful news is
The vicar had followed me and now stood
by me; I looked up and saw that the ugly
creature was still in his hand.
1t concerns madame, Simon,' said Bar
bara. "She is dead, and all the town de-
clares that she had poison given to her in a
cup of chicery water. Is 1t not pitiful?"
Indeed, the tidings came as a shock to
me. for remembered the winning grace
and wit of the unhappy lady,
Il don't know" said my lord. 'It Is set
down to her husband. rightly or wrongly,
who knowsT'
A silence ensued for few moments. The
vicar stopped and set his captive free to
crawl away on the path
COD has crushed one Of them, Simon"
said he. Are you content?'
Nay, try not to believe 1t Of her." said
In a graver mood we began to walk. and
presently, as the thing CHANGED, Barbara
and distanced the slow steps of our elders
and found ourselves at the manor gaZes
alone.
II am very sorry for madame" said she,
signing heavily. Yet presently, because by
the mercy OF Providence our own joy out
weighs others grief, and thus we can pass
through the world with unbroken hearts,
she looked up at me with a smile, and,
passing her arm through mine, drew her
self close to me.
AYE, be merry, tonight at least be
come through a forest of troubles, and are
here safe out on the other side"
SAFE and together" said she.
without the second, where would be the
f1rst?"
Yet" said Barbara, st fear you'll make
bad husband; for here at the very begin
ning-nay, I mean before the beginning
you have deceived me-
II protest. cried.
For 1t was from my father only that I
heard of a visit that you paid In London"
/ bent my head and looked at her.
Il would not trouble you with it," said L.
at was no more than due of civ1lity."
"Simon, I don't grudge it to her. For I
am here In the country with you and she
is there in London without you
And in truth" said I. It believe that
you are both best pleased"
For her." said Barbara, Il cannot
speak"
For a long while then we walked in
silence, while the afternoon grew full and
waned again. They mock at lovers talk
let them, say I with all my heart, SO that
they leave our sier ce sacred. But at last
Barbara turned to me and said with i lit
tie laugh:
art glad to have come home, Simon?''
Verify was glad In body had wander
ed some way, in mind and heart further,
through many dark ways, turning and
twisting here and, there, leading l knew
not whittier, seeming to leave no track by
which | might regain my starting point.
in my hand. the galden thread spun here in
Hatchstead when my days were young.
At length the hold, of 1t had frightened and
I, perceiving it, had turned and followed.
Thus it had brought me. home. no better In
purse or station than I went and poorer
by the loss of certain dreams that haunted
me, yet, as I hope, sound in heart and
soul. I looked and in the dark eyes that
were set on me as though there were their
refuge, joy and life; she chung to me as
though even still l might leave her. But
the last fear fed, the last doubt faded
away and smile came i'll radiant serenity
on the lips I loved as, bending down, l
whispered:
AYE, am glad to have come home"
But there was enc thing more that l
must say. Her head fen on my shoulder,
as she murmured: 3sa 81.
"And you have utterly forgotten herr"
Her eyes were safely hidden. I smiled
as I answered, utterly"
See how 1 stood! Wilt thou forgive me,
Nelly? ..,,.-
For man may be very happy as he is
and still not forget the things which have
been. What are you thinking of, Simon?''
my wife asks sometimes when I lean back
in my chair and smile. "Of nothing,
sweet" say ]. And in truth l am net
thinking; it Is only that low laugh echoes
distantly in my ear. Faithful and loyal
am 1, but-should such as Nell leave naught
behind her?
THE END.