The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1903-01-08

mas. when she would tell him definitely
that she could never be more to him than
q friend, and, after that, there would be
no more talk of love making or marrying.
Im November, Mrs. Rivers caught Sc
we're cold, which settled on her lungs. She
was obliged to remain in one room, and
suffered from a harassing cough. Tom
came each day to inquire after the in
valid, and to bring her every delicacy that
was procurable, and the choicest flowers.
One day Mrs. Rivers felt so alarmed
about herself that she resolved to speak.
She wrote and fixed a time for Tom to
come to her, and made an excuse to send
June out. And, when he came, she said
all to him that was in her heart-between
tears and signs and gasping sobs wrung
from her by the thought of her darlings
sufferings and of the futunre which she
would not be there to know or guide.
And Tom, the tears coursing down his
kind face, his manly breast rent with
signs and groans, promised all and more
than fondest mother could ask, Tiff only
June would let him be the shield and
buckler of her life. All! what more on
earth did he ask than to do everything
for, be everything to, sacrifice all he had
in the world for her?
"My darling" Mrs. Rivers said to June
that night, "come and sit by me; want
to talk to you. And try not to cry and
agitate yourself, because it will make 1t
so hard for me, and l ought to keep as
quiet as possible. Tom is so good, SO true,
so devoted to you-oh, my darling, think
| could die happy if / knew he was going
to care for your future, that you were go
ing to be his wife,"
In June's heart for the last month all
thoughts of love, of passion, of romance,
have Observation-Disclosures as though
they were dead. She has no passion for
Dallas, no repugnance for Tom; nay, to
him all her feelings are changed; she
feels trust in, an affection for him that
makes him dearer to her than any one
but that adored mother. Why put them
in breath? She feels comparatively
nothing for any other being than her
mother.
81 will marry Tom, if you wish it,
darling mother"
Mrs. Rivers died on Christmas morning
the morning of the day when June was
to have given her answer to Tom.
That evening Tom spoke to his mother
on a subject which had occupied him for
several days past.
Mother" he abruptly began, II have
favor to ask of YOU"
Mrs. Ellesmere knitted a little faster,
kept her eyes on her work and did not
reply. She was waiting, Of course, for
her son to make his request known.
II want you," Tom proceeded, having
given his mother an opportunity, of which
she did not avail herself, to express her
readiness to serve him, 81 want to ask
June to come here after the funeral.
They wish her to go to the rectory; but
-but-in her dreadful affection l think
Jack and Madge would be too much for
her, however kindly they meant; and
ere-here-she could have her own
rooms and do just as she liked"
And Tom looked eagerly at his mother,
hanging upon her answer with the deep
est anxiety.
Mrs. Ellesmere was woman who, in
society, had immense tact, and generally
said and did the right thing by instinct.
She was in reality thoroughly selfish, abb
horred being put out of her way, and had
very little sympathy to bestow even on
those who stood most in need of it.
81 do not quite see how such an ar
rangement is possible" she answered in
a cold, strained manner.
Toms heart, so ready to expand, froze
up and contracted. He felt bitter against
his mother.
"Why not?" he asked, in so altered a
voice that it ought to have warned her.
Because" (still speaking in the same
collected, unsympathetic voice. "if she
were to come here now it would be tanta-
mount to publishing to the world that you
are going to marry her."
"And l am going to marry her." re-
turned Tom, stung out of his resolution
not to say word to any one which could
commit June's future. 'It was Mrs Riv-
ers' dying wish, and June promised her.
Though" already repenting his rash con-
fession, 81 do not wish it to be known
yet, for her sake"
And so, on the afternoon of the funeral,
Mrs. Ellesmere came down to the cottage
in her brougham and fetched June. She
kissed the girl with great kindness, held
her hand in silence all the way home, and
led her at once to the rooms which had
been prepared for her, and which were
as pretty and cheerful as good taste could
make them.
1T was infinitely to June's benefit that
she took up her abode for the time at the
Hall; here there was nothing to jar upon
her sensitive feelings. Her aunt and
cousins came to see her, she could be
with Mrs. Ellesmere when she pleased,
and, best of all, she could be alone when
she desired the solitude which grieved
hearts always court. But, strange to say
land yet not strange, for, in trouble, he
who sorrows with us comforts us most,
IL WAS In TOMS comnanv that she took