Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1908-10-27

away, Newley. l only wonder it allowed
you to come at all. There is no more
stewards business 70 transact here to-
night, so you have permission to retire"
Rourke had not raised his voice, but
the clear proud tones escaped very few
ears in the room. For a minute the two
men gazed at each other, while Una.
nervous and frightened, pressed Rourke's
arm appealingly; then Newley broke the
pause with ready tact. though many Of
the bystanders could see what an intense
effort it was for him to vpeak with ease
and politeness.
my further absence, as well as to make
my apologies to Miss Gaveston."
He bowed, with a quiet Difference
which had no servility in it, while even
those who would have scorned him if he
had stayed answered pleasantly the words
and action which seemed so modest Then
he was gone, and Rourke felt a miserable
weight upon him which he could in no
way account for.
After this the ball went on undisturb-
ed to its close, with the laughter and the
anu luc Jealousy anu IuS
pleasure which balls create, and will do
until the end of time.
When the last guest left Hohve the
dawn was softly touching the distant
hills, like a cool hand laid upon the brow
of the heated night, soothing and allay-
ing its restless excitement. And Rourke
stood bareheaded on the steps reveling in
the pure, chill morning air.
"You have a fine constitution, Tren-
ham, as you know, but you triAe with
it little too daringly."
Those had been DR.. Vere's parting
words when he left him there without hat
or overcoat, heated from dancing, but,
though they came back to Rourke's mem
DRY, mixed with Una's loving farewell
words. he still stood there, leaning against
the old cannon; looking on the dim. wide
park-every tree In which he loved with
a clinging. boyish love-and passing thus
unconsciously through one of his painful
est farewells in the beauty and the mys-
terry of the dawn. And 1t may have
struck Rourke how much less sad this
mute farewell would have been If in the
home he was leaving there had been some
one to give to himself just such a wide,
warm love as he lavished upon the place
which was to be his own one day.
The gray light on the horizon had
frightened into silver and the breeze had
lost a little of its first fresh purity when
Rourke turned and re-entered the house.
Half an hour afterward he left it by a
side door, dressed for riding.
"Ha! Brent, only now going of to the
station ~ he exclaimed, meeting his ser
want suddenly; you will be late if you
don't take care; and it will be a shame
to let your little sweetheart arrive first.
Run, man."
"But l went to leave your message in
the yard, sir, and the groom says there
must be some mistake, as you told him
the new chestnut was not to carry you.
So he would not believe my order that it
was to be brought round to you at eight"
"All right" said Rourke, passing on,
"you go and meet Rhoda. l will leave
my own orders"
Rourke had mounted and left the park.
and the eight o'clock bell was ringing in
the stable turret, where Horton Newley,
strolling from the Hohve gardens into the
lane which skirted them, encountered two
people lettering together near the gate
through which he passed. One was An
drew Brent, the young squire's valet, the
other young girl dressed in a cheap, gay
dress, and with a face rosily, brightly,
childishly pretty. Newley's eyes were
fixed in cool surprise upon 1t, while it red
dened with a deeper glow under his gaze.
Woodworking" he said, genially, as
the young valet touched his hat You
are in luck, Brent. Is this your sister,"
MY sweetheart Mr.. Newley," said
Andrew, with loving pride, as he gently
drew her forward for inspection. "Rhoda
Burke. She's come down to bid me good.
by, and I've been to meet her train. !
should have gone to her at Alton, but
there were reasons against it. She gets
laughed at in her place about me, and she
don't like it much. They're not very kind,
the people she lives with, and of course
their laugh isn't pleasant. So to prevent
it this time 1 didn't go, but Rhoda got a
holiday to come and see an aunt in Kun
ley"
Gould not something be done to make
the girl more copfortable?" asked New
ley, his eyes leaving her face and stray
ing along the road You are a good
fellow and she looks a good girl, and l
should think something might be done.
Let me see old Miriam at the Winter6eld
Lodge is looking out for some one to help
her and take care of her. l will speak
about it,
Il fear it will not do, sir" put in
Brent, unwillingly. 'Of course, Miriam
could not pay, and. Rhoda dear, | fear
l don't earn enough FOR both of us, and
to put away for our marriage and furni-
ture and things. It's a kind thought,
though, of yours, Mr.. Newley."
Miriam can afford TO nay, or I never
should have proposed It," said Newley
composedly. "She always intended to
pay for help. and to pay well, believe.
Rhoda would like to live here, dare say,
and you would go away content yourself
yourself to leave her here. By the way,
l would not mention this before | went IL
l were you. Brent, as you can not pos
sibly wait TO see 1t all settled. AS soon
as you are gone, 1 will put it into Mi
RAMS hands. Then the servants here,
ar any rate. can not laugh at Rhoda
about her sweetheart"
"Rhoda dear. you would be so content
with Miriam" said her lover, with earn
est gladness: land it's such a comfort
ahic cottage. and Mrs. Trenham's house
keeper would be kind to you"
A shadow scarcely perceptible. and gone
in an instant, crossed Newley's face.
yes, Mrs. Sheriff would be kind to
you" he said. THAT is one reason why
l should like Brent to feel you are near
here. The parting is hard enough for
him. l dare say, without his having to
feel that you are Uncomfortable and I'M
cared for"
Il don't know what thanks l can say,
Mr.. Newley," said the simple, grateful
fellow, as he touched his hat.
Don't say any, then. And do you like
L. g -, An,D 1N