Waterbury Democrat., 1901-02-04

: D the story from some one outside Of his family.
 Ronald passed into the house and went up to his room. His heart, de spite his recent triumph, was beginning to feel heavy again. No soonerwas he assured of freedom than dire thoughts of Evelyn came docking to his wearied brain. He was free, it was true, but she had, no doubt, brought her fathers wrath down upon her head. He stood at window watching the sunlight climb up the side of rugged cliff mile toward the east. He heard the shrill voice of Ann Josephine out near the corn house.
 ''Oh, nal" she was calling, "Ron's come cleer-Ronss come cleer!'
 Our hero could see his mothers TO- tund figure as she emerged from the corn house and waddled towards the hog-pen, her apron filled with apples.
 '.Ain't you jokin'. Josie?" she asked, and her son wondered at her express sionless face.
 No, the sheriff has jest now fetched. i'm home.''
 ''Well, l feel easier," sighed the old = to be no hangin' amongst us. The Lord knows we've had mighty nigh ever'- thing else to happen to us. Ever since yore gran'pa was put in jail, I have looked for yore pa or one O the boys, to-"
 Ronald turned from the window; his heart was very heavy. He was thinking of Evelyn again, and the gulf between him and her. An, how he loved her! He crossed the room and stood at an- other window from which be could see the roof of Carnleigh.
 T am to blame." he sighed, sadly to blame; what right had to allow her first to pity, then to love me, when I have nothing to offer-n othing, abso- lutely nothing, and she everything to give?"
 The colonel reached home later than Ronald. Night was beginning to fall, and the big lamp at the top of the car riage-drive threw its rays far down the tree-bordered avenue as he drove through the big> rought-iron gate. The lamps in the hall and Grawing-room. under their yari-colored shades, cast beautiful glow on the veranda. As he CAlc1Co luS udfl 1G IauC 1oO ne saw Evelyn fit out at the door at the end which opened into The conservatory. He was assured of this when he had gone into the library, where there was no other light than was made by the huge wood fire, which famed and cracked or the brazen dos-irons, for she came from the conservato ory by an other door, bringing his smokin g-jack- It and slippers; be knew that she had had them ready, for she had not had , time to go to his room for them. His heart sorely smote him as he kissed her white face and noted the dark hollows under her yes-eyes which abs sorbed the red freight like diamonds. At any rate he had goodrnews for her. but the thought pierced him like dagger to think of it as such. Despite himself. q frown gathered on his brow. She misunderstood it, and he saw her catch her breath as she held his coat for him. Neither of them spoke, though when she had lsnelt at his feet and her white tapering fingers trem- bled over their task of unlacing his shoes he felt an almost uncon- trollable impulse to snatch her to his breast and sob out the awful re- bellion within him. When she had taken off his shoes she smoothed out the wrinkles in his stockings and put on his slippers, finishing her task with little sad pat as she rose to her feet 'Ah, you vixen,' he said, tremulous. 1y-''Evelynp you are my baby!" He looked towards the door. 'I have al. ways given you more of my heart than have to your sister, perhaps because you have given me more of yours, poor dear child!"
 The tears sprang into her eyes, and she turned away quickly to a table where she had put a cigar and a match for him.
 T have rolled it and cut the end.' There was catch in her voice as she | scratched the match and held it to the cigar.
 Thank you, baby,'' he said, as he puffed.
 For a moment she stood searching his face and then, as he did not speak, she said: "I have waited as long as can, papa | It seems to me that l shall die if dt not know the news. Is there any hope?" He pushed out his knee and drew he1 down on it. He felt that her body wa: rigid with expectancy.
 Evelyn, you are my most helples: child. must do my duty towards yol
 in spite of what you feel to be right She slid her arm round his neck, bu | he knew that it did not clasp him witt l her usual tenderness. [ '.We can talk about that later," shs 1 said, '.but l must know now what the, l did to him. Tell me, papa!" 1 He averted his eyes; a seowl was or his face.
 Don't torture me, papa; remember am only a woman"
 He raised his hand till it touched ne
 head; he essayed to draw it dowl
 against his own, but she held hersel
 firmly erect.
 Don't torture me,'' she repeated, al \