The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1905-12-06

Nothing, my dear MISS Granu. ally
other particulars that you may wish tc
learn Miss Lynch will, no doubt, tel
you at some future time. ! am sure
you have heard as much as you cal
bear, together with the fatigue Of your
journey, upon one day"
VERY well, sir" she answered, me-
chanically. Il I'M much obliged to you
for all the trouble you have taken for
me; and l think now, if you please,
will get on my road again. Ibave some
thing to do for Miss Lynch before l GO
back to P~addington."
She rose to her feet, and knew that
it caused her a strange, unwonted eff,
fort to move. She was not faint, nor
| trembling, only her limbs felt heavy
inert, cold-as her brain, her heart fell
as it seemed to her all her future life
would be until she died.
Mr.. Clithero, at parting, lapsed once
more into professional commonplace,
speaking still Of her engagement to
Mohun as a matter of course, u al
luding to what had formed the sub
iect of their interview, just as he would
have done to any other serious family
communication. that he had~thought IT
necessary totmake. And Jane took
leave of the, old man with a feeling of
relief that,lie ,prQfered. no deeper SYM
pathy and sought to offer her no con
doience. She stood in need of support
that no words spoken by lips of flesh
and blood could give her. be-
1t was some hours before the time
| which Miss Lynch had fixed for her to
return; and at Mr.. Clittiero's wish,
DOOR Jane allowed herself to be taken
upstairs by the housekeeper, and
promised, passively. to rest and take
some refreshments before starting on
her journey home. She waited, She
swallowed a few mouthfuls of the food
that was set before her-but the merest
attempt at rest, OF quiet thought, made
her heartsick. Now that she was alone
and unconstrained, al irresistible few
erish desire to do something, if only
to get upon her feet and pace rcstlessly
up and down, fell upon her.
|. The.room into which she had been
| shown was the one which Miss Lynch
| and she had always occupied when
| they visited Mr.. Clithero, and every
| object it contained was like q familiar
face staring strangely at her in her
pain. The old print of Hogarth's above
the chimney-piece. 1.-The Anticipated
| Lovers" who, when she was a child,
| she used to think were very like Mr..
| Clithero and Miss Lynch-the very
| grim, painted monsters upon the Chi
nese screen-the curves and twistings
An each old-fashioned piece of furni-
| ture, seemed to look at her, and tWlt
her with the past-the happy, uncon-
| scious past-when from these windows
| she had used to look out and think
| of London. (eyep such q London as the
| ttpper floor in Russell Square COM
mands) as 4 kind Of enchanted city,
ready to:yield up wonders, and pleas
ure, and intoxicating delights to all
such happy people as had passed the
| barriers of manhood and womanhood
and might walk abroad, free and un-
| fettered, beyond the rubicon to Totem
ham Court road-a point at which Miss
| Lynch always forced James unwilling
| feet to turf when they walked out
uneScorted.
She looked through these windows
| now. and she saw London as it is-a
| countless mass of streets and houses,
| holding a countless mass of human be-
| ings-hundreds and thousands Of them,
| 10 doubt, sick and bruised, and wear
led Of life like herself, and all callous
to each others misery ard to hers. In
| this great Babylon who cared that she
was to lose Clifford ?-that her whole
life was dishonored?-all the sweet and
innocent fountains of her former happi-
ness poisoned?
Already the carriages Of Mr.. Gil
| thcro's clients were standing before
the house door; Mr.. Clithero himself
would be already deep in other busl-
| ness. in other family histories, other
| miserable, degrading histories like hers,
| perhaps; and would have ceased to
think of her. Scarce another person in
all the rest Of London knew her name,
| even, much less would carr to hear
| whether she was in misery or in hap
piness.
And vet il seemed to her OWL con-
| seriousness as though her grief must
| be greater than all other griefs; as
| though it were mopstrous, almost I'M
| possible, that the rest of the world
could go on, quiet. and glib, and un-
concerned, when she in IN hour had
lost everything that made life worth
living for. What a mockery was the
summer sunshine streaming clear and
golden on the crowded streetsi What
| Z mockery were those children's voices
rising happy from their play upon the
| grass within the square! The familiar
furniture Of the silent room; the sum
slime; the children's voices-all be-
loEged to something gone; and fevered
her. while they possessed not the exact
| degree of pathos that could melt her
into tears.
She felt as though her brain must
turn if she remained longer inert. She
must get into the streets; must feel, at
least, the stimulus of bodily exertion;
must go to do Miss Lynch's shopping;
drive 10 the station; walk about the
| platform; murder time and conscious
ness by strong physical effort, until
until the hour when she should be
back at home. and could rest her head
for once--for the first and last time in