Middletown transcript., 1903-11-21

LIlc OtIlCi CiAu VI IhC tnDiO iCuiihuSA hi"'
that it was no dream, but stern reality,
! and that for the present his duty was to
open the door!
lie tried, as Gladys passed, to meet her
eyes; hut she was busy fastening one of
her bracelets, and did not look up. Gerard
turned back to the table feeling thor
onghly miserable, angry with himself,
and more hopelessly in love with Gladys
than ever. Happily the gentlemen did
not detain him very long; yet, when they
reached the drawing groom, he could by
no chance contrive to get near Miss Iiaw-
thorndean. By Mrs. Mcdonald however
he did find refuge, and he sat down be-
side her with very long sigh.
All, Mrs. Mcdonald, lie said reproach-
fully, it was unkind of you!
Now, my dear boy, you must not blame
me! she returned. If you had only had
the sense not to offend Gladys, it would
have been all right.
Yes, indeed!-with another sigh.
And remember that we went to San
dune without ever dreaming that we
should meet you there.
What made you 60 iacog.! he asked
suddenly.
1t was just this. Every one did not
know of Mr.. Hawthorndean's will; and
many thought this place belonged ex-
clusively to Gladys, in addition to her
mothers fortune; and really the poor
child was nearly torn in pieces. So she
determined to 60 away for the summer
where no one would know anything
about her, and where she would have
some peace. Well, after she became ac-
quainted with you in that romantic man
ner, l tried to persuade her to tell you
who we were; but she would not. Oh,
she was very firm about it! l told her no
good would come of it; but she said: |
shall get to know him better, auntie.
And perhaps I may find that he really
cares for me for myself.
Good Heaven! Gerard calculated. As
if any man could possibly help himself!
Oh, Gladys is not conceited girl at
all! And she has always had dread OF
being married for her fortune. It was
unfortunate that you offended her.
1t was, he replied readily enough; for
that was what he had been telling himself
almost hourly since that last morning at
Sandune.
Well. it is Of no use bewailing it; you
must go and do the best you can for your
self, she said kindly. You have three
months grace, you know. Fetch me
cup Of tea, there's good boy.
Thus hidden, Gerard made his way to
the little table where Gladys was making
the tea.
Will you take auntie's cup? she cried
pleasantly-so pleasantly that he sum-
moned up his courage again.
Yes, he answered, wishing the two men
who thought themselves necessary to Miss
Hawthorndean's comfort would take them
selves off
Will you have cup yourself? she asked
as she handed the one for Mrs. Mcdonald
to him.
Yes, thanks. I'll come back for it, lie
answered.
So he did. Mrs. Mcdonald accepted
the cup with an indulgent smile, and
bade him God-speed in an undertone;
but, though the two men had disap-
peared, he might just as we'll have stayed
by Mrs. Mcdonald. who, kind, indulgent
soul as she was, would have petted and
made much of him. However he saw,
as lie thought, chance Of a little private
conve rsation with Gladys; SO he hurried
back, having his cup for excuse.
May sit here? he asked, indicating
chair close to her elbow.
Oh, yes. of course, she answered-any-
where you please! l am going to the
piano now.
She rose as she spoke, and, without
looking at him, moved away slowly in
the direction of the piano-leaving Gerard
as lie put it in his dignation-looking
like all utter fool beside the little tea
table. He was too angry to take refuge
with Mrs. Mcdonald, for he did not wish
to offend her as well as Gladys; and really
in his present frame OF mind, he felt there
was no knowing what disagreeable things
he might not permit himself to say; and
he was in no mood to listen to any one
else's chatter, or make an effort himself
to produce small talk for another's delec-
tation. So he sat in his glory alone, look
ing very handsome, and feeling very
wroth and miserable. Gladys began TO
sing-a quaint little song it was, with
ripping accompaniment, like the bab-
bling of brooklet over pebbly ground.
Gerard's first impulse was to wish that
she would not sing SO loud and so clearly.
He feared that the words would convey
the same meaning to all her listeners that
they conveyed to him: lost my happy
childhood. All, how the words thrilled
through and through his heart! Had she
really lost it, and through him? He
wished he could give her draught OF the
waters Of Lethe, that the remembrance
OF that dreadful morning at Sandune
might be blotted out for ever from her
memory. He did not desire to forget
it himself. No; he would keep it alwavs
in his mind, that he had once been
utterly, mercilessly cruel to her; lie would
keep it there as the Egyptians kept
skeleton at their feasts, continual hor-
ror-to warn him against future trans
gressions. But it was all very well to
build upfair castles in the future-a fu-
ture with Gladys too-but where was he
to find those waters of Lethe which would
make her forget? 1t was all very well in
theory, as he was fain to admit with
something like despair, while Gladys's
silver clear voice rang out
II would not know those hours again.
To feel the waking sting of pain.
would not, If could, restore
The joys that end in neyer.n,ore.n