Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1905-12-05
CHAPTER Ky


arm-in-arm, as usual on the morning
after the picnic; Sigismund stayed at
home to sketch The day was very fine
"a real summer day, with a blazing sun
and a cloudless blue sky. The sunshine
seemed like a good omen, Mrs. Gilbert
thought, as she dressed herself in the
white musf2 roOe that she was to wear
at Mordred.
She was thinking of the wonderful hap
piness that lay before her-an evening
among pictures and dollhouse flowers and
marble busts and trailing silken curtains,
and with gimpses Of a moonlit expanse
OF lawn and shrubbery glancing through
every open window, when a bell rang
loud and shrill in her ear, and looking
round suddenly, she saw a man in liy-
cry standing outside the garden gate.
The doctors wife turned the key in the
lock and opened the gate; but the man
only wanted to deliver a letter.
From Mr.. Lansdell ma'am," he said.
She read it very hurredly twice. and
then all at once comprehended that Ro-
land was going away for some years
forever-it was all the same thing; and
that she would never, never, never. never
the word seemed to repeat itself in
her brain like the dreadful Changing of
bell-never see him again!
She knew that Sigismund was looking
at her, and asking her some question
about the contents of the letter. what
did Lansdell say? was it a put-off, or
whatp MIR. Smith demanded; but Isabel
did not answer him. She handed him
the open letter, and then, suddenly turn
ing from him, ran into the house up-
stairs into her room. She locked the
door, flung herself face downward upon
the bed, and wept as a woman weeps in
the first great agony of her life. The
sound of those passionate sobs was stfled
by the pillows amidst which her face was
buried, but the anguish of them shook
her from head to foot. 1t was very
wicked to have thought of him so much.
to have loved him so dearly. The pun
ishment of her sin came to her all at
once, and was very bitter
Mr.. Gilbert went upstairs by and bv
and finding the door of her chamber
locked, knocked on the panel, and asked
Isabel if she did not mean to 90 to
church. But she told him she had
dreadful headache, and wanted to stay
at home.
the western sky was all one lurid glow
of light and color. She got up because
there was little peace for a weary spirit
in that chamber, to the door of which
some considerate creature came every
half hour or SO to ask Isabel if her
head was any better by this time, if she
would have a cup of tea, if she would
come downstairs and lie on the sofa, and
IN ~ ~.
full inquiries of the like nature. She
was not to be alone will her great sor-
row. Sooner or later she must go out
and begin life again, and face the blank
world in which he was not Better.
since it must be so, that she should begin
her dreary task at once She bathed her
face and head, she plated her long black
hair before the little glass, behind which
the lurid skies glared redly at her. All,
how often in the sunny morning she had
stood before that shabby, old-fashioned
glass thinking of him, and the chance
of meeting him beside the mill stream.
under the Pickering shadows of the oak
leaves at Thurston Crag. And now it
was all over and she would never, never,
never, never see him again.
She went downstairs by and by, in the
DUSK, VIII ueT lace as WnlIe as the tum-
bled muslin that hung about her in limp
and fiabby folds She went down into
the little parlor, where George and Sigis-
mund were waiting for tea.
She told them that her head was bet
ter; and then began to make the tea,
scooping up vague quantities of congo
and gunpowder with the little silver
scallop-shell which had belonged to Mrs.
Gilbert's grandmother.
"But you've been crying Izzier'
George exclaimed, presently, for Mrs.
Glbert's eyelids looked red and swollen
in the light of the candles
Yes, my head was so bad it made
me cry; but please don't ask me any
more about it," Isabel pleaded, piteously.
Il suppose it was the p-picnic'
nearly broke down upon the word, re-
Numbering how good he had been to her
all through that happy day-"yesterday
that made me il"
II dare say it was that lobster salad"
Mr.. Gilbert answered briskly. Il ought
to have told you not to eat it."
Sigismund Smith watches his hostess
with grave countenance while she
poured out the tea and handed the cups
right and left. Poor Isabel managed it
all with tolerable steadiness; and then,
when the miserable task was over, she
sat by the window alone, staring blankly
out at the dusty shrubs distinct in the
moonlight.