The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1899-04-16


She sat still. and buried her head in hex
hands for time, While he, too, strangely
cold and calm. looked quietly round at the
scene of beauty about him.
Then, in toneless whisper, she spoke
again You know who did it?''
Yes. he answered, gravely 81 know. I
knew from the first. I knew from the first
She rose, and uncovered her face The
count felt pang Of pity as he saw the havoc
that the news had made in her appearance.
He held out his ARM and the poor girl put
her hand on it, sobbing without tears
Take me-take me to the house." she said
II think am dying-I am dying!"
CHAPTER XII.
AS they reached the hall, Mrs. Bellairs was
crossing towards the library. She started
forward at the sight of Angela, look of
concern on her face.
MY dear, are you ill?' she asked
Il think the heat has been too much for
her., said the count, in a feeling voice.
Come with me, DEAR and Mrs. Bellairs
| took the girls hand, and drew it through her
arm, and took her upstairs.
AS she reached her own room, she began to
sway to and fro dizzily, and Mrs. Bellairs
called to her maid who with Miss Kim
card al the time, and, with her help, carried
her and laid her he bed, for the girl had
tainted.
They applied restoratives, and soon they
were rewarded by seeing her return to con-
sciousness but the girl was strangely weak.
She was unstrung and run down, was the
doctors verdict, when he arrived. but there
was nothing serious the matter with her,
nothing that few days rest would not set
right-a report which gave much satisfaction
to Miss Kincaird and Mrs. Beairs, to say
nothing of Alured, VINO had been very greatly
troubled to hear of Angela'S illness, when he
returned from visiting his factor about the
Harvest Home, which was to take place in
week.
"She must stay quiet and not go out in the
sum- the doctor advised; land not worry or
trouble about anything''-advice which, alas,
poor Angela was unable to take.
Miss Kincard and Mrs. Bellairs assured the
worry the girl, for, indeed, what could there
be? She was and always had been, light
hearted, merry, and happy. 1t was the ex-
trmee heat Of course; it was very trying to
everyone.
All the rest Of the day, and all the night
through, she lay bodily weak and too Ian
guild to move, but mentally tossing and turn
ing about in a torment of pain. What
dreadful thing it was that had come upon
her. Her father dead-murdered-and by the
hand of the man she had grown to love. Ah,
cruel! How crushingly had Fate struck her
to earth! She could not escape from the
sledge-hammer blows pain was dealing
her poor young heart. No. No, it could not
be! A1ured was good man. If it were true.
she know? How could she learn the truth?
She had given her word-a promise she could
rot break. And the count, too, knew-it must
ingly cried, for, even in thought and the ST.
lence and peace of her own chamber, she
could not bear the word murderer in connec-
ton with him. great rush Of tenderness
towards him blinded and overpowered recol-
lection for time, then the thought Of her
poor father brutally murdered flashed again
into her mind. anG a paroxysm Of fearless
sobs shook her, for she was unable to cry:
all her tears had collected in a frozen burden
at her aching heart She had to sob in Sd
lence, burying her head in the pillow. lest
her aunt and hostess might hear her and be
distressed.
At last thoroughly exhausted in mind and
body, she dropped asleep as the morning sun
rising, golden-rayed, over the purple
heather moorland il the east, and slept until
noon. When she woke she lay for a minute
or two wondering what dull agony lay over
her like cloud, and then the awful recollec-
ton came back to her with cruel force de-
priving her for the moment of all strength
But reinforced by her nights rest, her
courage was more able to bear up against her
grief, and in little while she rose and
dressed, and went downstairs into the morn
ing-room.
Mrs Bellairs sat little time with her, and
then, when several Of the other ladies came
in to make visits OF inquiry, left her in order
to take the afternoon sleep to which she al
ways declared she owed much of her health.
At last Angela was left alone. She was
lying back in a large old oaken chair, and her
figure looked pathetica11y small as she sat
there; it was the aethereal air her sudden
grief had given her, for she was not really
small by nature, but little over the middle
height, and having beautiful willowly, dg-
colored silk with daffodil silk Innings. Her
hair was loosely knotted at the back Of her
head, and it's dusky tendris curled lovingly
round her broad white forehead, and outlined
her pale sad face with pretty frame A.
She made a romantic picture in the room,
for the furniture was somewhat sOmbret in