The Prince George's enquirer and southern Maryland advertiser. (Upper Marlborough, Md.) 1882-1925, 1908-05-08

Nothing, my dear Miss Grand. Any
other particulars that you may wish to
learn Miss Lynch will, no doubt, tell
you at some future time. 1 am sure
you have heard as much as you can
bear, together with the fatigue of your
Journey, upon one day."
"Very well, SIR" she answered, me-
chanically. 81 am much obliged to you
for all the trouble you have taken for
me; and think now, if you please, l
will get on my road again; have some
thing to do for Miss Lynch before 1 go
back to Paddington."
She rose to her feet, and knew that
it caused her a strange, unwonted ef-
fort to move. She was not faint, nor
trembling, only her limbs felt heavy,
inert, cold-as her brain, her heart felt
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. and al.
luding to what had formed the sub
ject of their interview, just as he would
have done to any other serious family
communication that he had thought it
necessary to make. And Jane took
leave of the old man with feeling OF
relief that he proffered no deeper sym.
pathy and sought to offer her no con-
dolence. She stood in need of support
that no words spoken by lips of flesh
and blood could give her.
1t was some hours before the time
which Miss Lynch had fixed for her to
return; and at Mr.. Clithero's wish,
poor 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 few mouthfuls of the food
that was set before her-but the merest
attempt at rest, or quiet thought, made
her heartsick. Now that she was alone
and unconstrained, an Irresistible few
erish desire to do something, if only
to get upon her feet and pace restlessly
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 familiar
face staring strangely at her in her
pain. The old print of Hogarth's above
the chimney-p piece, 'The Antiquated
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'
in each old-fashioned piece of furni-
ture, seemed to look at her, and twit
her with the past-the happy, uncon-
scious past-when from these windows
she had used to look out and think
of London (even such London as the
upper floor in Russell Square COM
mands) as 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 Totten-
ham Court road-a point at which Miss
Lynch always forced James unwilling
feet to turn when they walked out
unescorted.
She looked through these windows
now, and she saw London as 1t is-a
countless mass of streets and houses,
holding countless mass of human be-
ings-hundreds and thousands of them,
20 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?-al the sweet and
innocent fountains of her former happi-
ness poisoned?
Already the carriages of Mr.. Cll-
fbero's clients We're 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 care to hear
whether she was in misery or i'll hap
piness.
And vet it seemed to her own con-
sciousness as though her grief must
be greater than all other griefs; rs
though it were monstrous. almost i'm
possible, that the rest of the world
| could go on, quiet. and glib, and un-
concerned, when she in an hour had
lost every thing that made life worth
living for. What Il mockery was the
summer sunshine streaming clear and
golden on the crowded streets. What
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 sun
| shine; the children's voices-all be
longed to something gone; and fevered
her, while they possessed not the exact
degree of pathos that could melt hel
| into tears.
/ She felt as though her brain must
| turn if she remained longer inert. She
must get into the streets; must feel, al
! least, the stimulus of bodily exertion
! must go to do Miss Lynch's shopping
drive to the station; walk about the
! platform; murder time and conscious
/ ness by strong physical effort, unti
until the hour when she should bt
back at home, and could rest her hea(
for once-for the first and last time il
her life-on Gifford's breast.
Clifford! How would he receive her
What would he think of her? Had she
changed? Had she hardened? Had
she grown plain and haggard in this
last hour, which seemed already q:
distant and severed a period as thougl
it could be reckoned by years and no
by minutes? She walked to the look
ing glass, and at the sight of her owl
.::.;age there she almost started. Hel