The record-union. [volume] (Sacramento, Calif.) 1891-1903, 1898-01-09
THE SHAMROCK RING.

subtle little thought, lately kept in the
background of her mind, asserted itself
with persistent iteration on this mid
| October morning.
In love? She, whom folks were be-
| ginning to call an old maid; with not
| few gray hairs among the brown, and
| two upright lines on her forehead, tell
| ing true tales of time and worry. She
whose love story was over years be-
| fore; whose hold on earthly happiness
was loosened when she heard of Eric
Stanham's untimely death in those far
Australian wilds, She, who had meant
| to go TO her grave without giving Eric
Stanham a successor in her heart!
In love? Impossible, in any way,
but doubly, trebly impossible in the
| manner suggested by that little willy
thought. In love with a stranger,
| man only seen two months ago, whose
very name she knew not, to whom she
had never spoken? Impossible-oh, inn
possiblei
| So she had thought a week ago, but
! now her heart throbbed with strangely
blended anticipation and regret. To-
| day, for the last time, she was to take
her familiar journey in company with
| the unknown man who had-in spite
u NoiiiiAloA SCIlSt, DIS SIiG put lt-UCSoHiC
| silent part of her lonely life. For the
last time, she reflected sadly. as she
walked slowly up and down Richmond
| Station. Her train was not due to start
| for some time but she was early, fe-
verishly dreading to miss it on this par
ticular morning To-day her season
ticket expired, not to be renewed. To-
night she would sleeper wake-under
| a ct fo- bar ia
more lonely than ever, would begin in
a little flat at Kensington, a maid-of-
all-work her sole dependent and COM
| panion.
| For six years Helen Percival had
| travelled almost daily between Rich
mond and Ear's Court, in which local
ity lay her occupation as drawing mis-
tress. In all that time she had met
with no adventure, had noticed no one
person more than another among her
fellow passengers. until an August day
two months ago; yet now the world
seemed different to her.
For ten years her home had been
with an old lady cousin, who when
| they removed to Richmond on account
of her failing health, had gladly borne
| the cost of a season ticket so that
| Helen might keep her town connection
together, and yet devote a portion of
her life to the last remaining of her kin.
Now the old cousin was dead and as
her income died with her, Helen knew
the cost of daily going to town would
be beyond her own means, hence the
migration to residence in closer prox-
unity to her art schools and private pu
pills. She was sorry-who willingly
gives up the delights of semi country
life when it is possible to combine them
with town duties? She was sorry to
leave grave old Richmond, sorry to
part from broad-bosomed, cleaning
Thames, sorry to go no more up and
down the familiar iron road.
But that was not all. The shy little
thought had been shut up, nun-like, in
her maidenly heart-maidenly as when
she was l6-and she had not, knowing
ly, opened the smallest chink for It to
peep through; but the little thought
had crept out, and not meeting a de-
cided rebuff, it had gained courage and
strength; until, on the morning for her
parting journey over the District Line,
the shy little thought had grown to a
rampant and self-aSsertive statement
1t ceased all at once to whisper or sug-
gest, and said plainly to her futtering
old-maidfsh heart:
You are in Lowell And you are sorry
not to see him any morer'
Was that true? But If so, how ridicu-
Iousi
Two months ago she had first noticed
the stranger. He entered the compart-
| ment at Turnham Green, and his slight
movement of civilitv about closing a
window had caused their eyes to meet.
The frank, friendly glance arrested her
attention, and when he became absorbed
in the Financial News she looked shy
ly at him, they being the only occupants
Of the compartment.
He was not handsome, she felt sure of
that, remembering Eric Stanham's
| comeliness. and wistfully recalling the
features which she saw night and morn
| ing in the little locket at her watch
chain. No, he was not handsome: but
next day she admitted that he was man
ly. stylish, Distinguished looking and
thus to her art-trained eyes he was bet
ter than handsome.
Before week had passed she became
used to see him join the train each day,
always choosing her compartment BY
sly degrees she grew familiar with his
grave, sunbrowned face: the fine broad
>,
slightly aquilne nose, crossed by a gold
pince-nez; the straight, thinnish hair,
Iclose-cut, and sprinkled with silver His
dark-brown eyes she rarely saw, for he
devoted himself to the newspaper whe-
Their their compartment was full or
empty; but he bestowed two looks a day
upon the quiet gentlewoman in the cor
ner-one when he entered the train. one
| when Helen left it-and she soon began
to calculate upon and expect these looks:
at first from pure amusement, weaving
all sorts of fancies about the stranger,
his home. his family, his wife, even.
But, presently, she found that in a
vague, indefinite way it hurt her to pic
| ture him as the center of a home from
which she was shut out; giving and re-
| ceiving happiness, in which she had no
share. So she persistently tried to re-
gard him as one like herself a waif IN
the world of happy families, an odd unit
among the millions of matched and
mated humanity.
But-the thought would crop up-if
bachelor, he was marvelously well cared
for. and surely a woman's hand ar
ranged the buttonhole he always wore
She soon decided that he had a garden.
for his coat-bouquet was no wired make
up from florist or fower-girl, but fresh
pulled blossom and leaf, often with the
dew glistening on their petals He
showed tasteful variety; half opened
rose bud. a sprig of white jessamlne. a
shaded pansy, or spray of scented YER
bena. When September waned, and
garden blossoms faded, the flower was
sometimes of greenhouse growth alter