Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1903-08-06
CHAPTER VII.

NtStOH bTdHSey suHCleuL time ndQ
been devoted, they thought, to mourn
ing, so the dark dresses were laid
aside, sumptuous toilets ordered from
London and Paris, and the Misses
Harcourt prepared to astonish the
neighborhood.
One of the first gentlemen to call
upon the new squire was Sir Leonard
Falconer, of Falcons Court-a hand
some, genial, high-spirited nobleman-
a thoroughly honest English gentle
man; chivalrous, earnest, noble, with
a certain kind of simplicity, for which
every one loved him. He was very
handsome, with a frank, high-bred
Saxon face, and beautiful eyes; beauti-
full lips, too, that never smiled or
pleaded in vain.
He liked visiting at Weston Grange
For his benefit, Richard Harcourt put
on airs of cordially and genial hos
pitality quite foreign to his nature;
for him, Mrs. Harcourt smiled kind,
bright smiles; for his especial benefit
and advantage MabePs fine figure was
displayed to the utmost advantage;
and for him Jane sung her sweetest
songs.
They professed such cordial, Kindly
liking for him, they made him so well
come, that Sir Leonard was blinded as
to their real character; he visited
them oftener. Poor Florence had
cause to remember his name; the sis
ters were ordinarily tiresome enough
but when he was coming she was in
despair.
Jane would change her flowers, her
ornaments, her jewels dozen times
over; and no dress could be devised
that showed Mabel's figure to sufficient
perfection. When Florence had pa
tiently brought out six or seven Mabel
would lose her temper.
you know Sir Leonard is coming,
say. you are too stupid to live,"
and then the hard hair-brush would be
raped on the soft, white fingers.
| Sir Leonard is coming!" soon be-
came formula that poor Florence
detested. She, herself, was never al
lowed to come near any of the rooms
when visitors were present; she had
never seen Sir Leonard. She heard
plenty of him; at night the sisters
quarreled most terribly about him,
each repeating every word he had said
Nothing of the kind" snapped
Jane, "Sir Leonard loves music--he
will never marry any one who does not
sing WELL"
He will never marry you, my DEAR
says Mabel, serenely
Nor you, my love- retorts Jane
And then, having quarreled with
each other, they would both unite in
abusing Florence.
soul and mind; weary unto death;
but there seemed no escape from her
slavery-none but death.
One day it happened that the whole
family-father, mother, and daughters
had gone out. and Mrs. Morgan,
going up into the anteroom, insisted
upon Florence taking a run in the
grounds.
Il will finish that dress for you,'
she said; lit is lovely, clear, bright
cold morning, and you must 60"
By that time the girl had grown
apathetic. She did not care whether
she went out or not. She was fast
reaching that state when nothing
either panied or pleased her.
More to please the housekeeper than
herself. she went; and that morning
was the turning point Of her life.
| 1t was bright, clear, and cold;
beautiful October morning, and the
gorgeous autumn flowers were all In
bloom; the leaves-red, golden, and
brown-lay on the paths; the woods
looked inviting, and she had not seen
them since the old squire died.
She was a poet by nature, this IN
loved. neglected girl. and the poets
soul was strong within her. The dead
leaves. the bare branches, the clear
blue sky, the wind half singing. half
moaning-rising and falling like the
music of some grand chant-filled her
soul with sense of beauty for which
she could not find words. 1t was so
great a luxury to be alone-to be away
from the sound of those shrill, scold-
ing voices-away from the cold faces,
away grom the wearisome tasks-out
here in the sweet. wild woods alone
1t was luxury enough to find seat on
one of the fallen trees, and sit with
clasped hands watching the swaying
branches, the blue sky. the long wood
land misunderstanding to the grand
anthems of the mind--content. So
we'll content to sit there alone.
She little dreamed how fair picture
she represented. nor who was watch
ing her as she sat there. The ill-ft-
ting dress she wore-one of Mabel's,
a sad-colored silk that had done duty
for many years-dii not and could not
disguise the grace of that perfect
figure; the beautiful. girlish face. so
sweet. so sad, so wistful. perhaps all
the lovlier for its traces of delicate
health, was inexpressibly touching;
there was something so resigned, so