Pullman herald. [volume] (Pullman, W.T. [Wash.]) 1888-1989, 1905-12-02
CHAPTER xxi.

CHAPTER XXI.
Mary went to plead with David for
her uncle. He was IN the deserted farm
yard q Berry. with its tumble-down
baiidinc> He leaned against the gate,
thinking always Of the fields he had lost,
and the wsy in which they had been
taken from him. OF course his first
{ thoaEAt was to get ont Of her way.
Don't rna away, David" she said;
( = came - talk with you"
Vel cenlc through the gate then,
Mary. VIII ron talk in the cottage, or
vii yea talk here
Let Us stay outside-here IN the
F Shsae, David. When will you cease to
worry your uncle?"
did be tell you that l worry him?
Has he been complainng?'
NE. he even denies that you have
any share in the new trouble that seems
to have fallen upon him. But | know
that it is caused by you. After every
one of your morning visits he Is miser-
able. Every day he grows more nervous
and more irritable. He sheds tears when
he is alone. l am quite sure that you are
the cause of his trouble"
well, Mary, perhaps you are right
l may be the cause of it. Perhaps l
may be the cause of a good deal more
trouble than l have done"
ooh! David, thlnk-he is an old man;
he is afflicted with paralysis; you are
Fastening his end. What good will it
do to you if you worry him into his
grave? VIII that restore the past? Will
that make you what you used to be?'
NAY, that it will not do. But when
/ him Of 6.
l think of the day when | came to ask
him to lend ne poor fifty pounds, with
which to try my luck in Canada, aud he
laughed me in the face
well, then. David, does It do you
any good to remember that day? Let
! the past be dead, David, and live for the
| future"
you don't know what you are saying.
Mary. What should you know about it?
You are only a girl'-he spoke roughly
and rudely, but not unkindly-"what do
you know Let the past be dead. Why,
all the world is crying because the past
won't die. | only wish the past would
die" Here, 1t seems to me, David hit
upon profound truth; for very nearly
all the world-not quite-it would be.
unhappily, far better If the past would
die. IF the past should die, Mary, |
should forget that was once substan-
tial man, who sat respected at the mar
ket ordinary, rode my own horse, and
farmed my own land. | should forget
that l had to go away from my native
place and take ship with the lowest emf
grants. l should forget-Mary, he
whispered, Il can trust you'll have told
no one else-I should forget that l had
been in prison-yes, in prison."
DAVID She shrank from him. but
recovered and laid her hand softly upon
his
Yes; in prison. And now l am no
longer fit TO sit and talk with George
and you. But | am fit TO talk with my
uncle, because, bad as | am, he is worse. !"
But if he is, David, forgive him"
Il will worry him." said David, "as
long as | can. | will never spare him.
I've got another But never mind.
Oh! when you are gone. Mary, he shall
have life that he little dreams of nowr'
David 1t is terrible. Can nothing
move your?
Nothing, Mary; not even you. And
mind you, don't try to put yourself be-
tween him and me, because he won't
stand 1t. 1t isn't me that won't stand it,
because don't greatly care who knows:
. but it's him. He likes me to come: he
watches for me and waits for me,
though he knows that when | am gone
he will turn and wriggle in his chair,
and cry and curse. Yet he wants NE
| back. Say no more about it, Mary"
. 1t was indeed useless to try further
I persuasions. Mary was silent. Her
cousin, worked up by his wrath, stood
before her with purple cheeks and fam.
ing eyes.
a Il must go away soon." she said Il
+ cannot let George go out into the world
5 without any one. And then l must leave
. him-alone"
: "Yes; but he will have me-" said Da
/ vid grimly.
u well, have said what l came to say
f David, and l have done no good If yor
j would only forget"
e Il cannot forget. Stay, Mary: on,
= thing | must say. Remember afterwar,
d that | said it in time, Then perhaps
d you'll think that if it hadn't been fo
d him | might have been a different man.
What IS it, DavidF"
e 81; Is this.' His face softened tn
Is moment he ceased to think upon h.
II wrongs. 1t was but the wreck of a fac
J. which had once been handsome ana ia.
OF hope, but il was better and hcalthir
Of to look upon than the face black wit
revenge. viii tells me that you ar
I'd going 70 marry George without your an
er cle's consentT'
= YES"
y You know that he must then give n
It. the whole of my aunt's money!"
III Yea"