Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1908-11-24
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Perils
CHApTER VI
By MARY CECIL Hay
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Abram Bartle was sitting in his favor
lite scat beside one of the windows in his
parlor when Lorraine arrived at the farm.
1t struck her at once that he was wait
ing and watching for some one. and the
idea grew upon her through all his I'M
feigned delight at seeing her.
He and Lorraine talked lovingly and
cheerfuliy OF the time since they had last
met; and with this old friend the girl
seemed as the child again, with the old
mixture of usefulness and willfulness
The oppression was lifted from her heart,
and the grave mischievons brightness
came again to her beautiful eyes.
She had asked him 10 tell her of Mrs
Trenham's death. but found him so
strangely unwilling to speak of it that she
went back readily to what she knew he
liked to hear-that part of their stay in
London when they had had Rourke with
them.
Tell LIE exactly" he said, as if he had
never asked it before, how my boy is
changed by his long travel. Tell me
what he is like now, and / shall quickly
enough detect the changes, Gipsy'
But it was vainly that she tried TO tell
him; looking dreamily out among the red
dening leaves as she recalled the face she
loved with su n brave, unselfsh love.
Mr.. Bartle, look look who is COM
ing"
After all. the old mans eyes, disturbed
in their watching, had not been the first
to catch sight of the figure be had been
recalling. Seeing it now, and the stick
thrown lightly up into the air as if those
two years had been but dream, he rose
slowly and turned away from the window.
1t seemed as II the sight Of Rourke, really
coming to him at last, took all courage
from the eyes which had been forever see
ing him while he had been hundreds of
miles away.
''I'll go out and tell Mrs Winnipeg
he's coming. He won't come in that
way to-day"
Dear" said the old man, falteringly,
don't run away. ] would rather
But Lorraine was gone, and so he and
his boy met alone; and Rourke-loving
and keen and quizzical as of old-noticed
at once a strange, new nervousness, al
most hidden pity, in his uncle's manner.
II declare" he said, when they had
sat fol- more than half an hour, Il have
forgotten TO pay my respects to the fair
Judith Come along, uncle"
al won't tell him whom he'll find there
thought Abram to himself; time enough
when he finds her"
At he table of the bright farm kitchen
stood Abrams housekeeper, buttering
homemade mullins and listening placidy
while Lorraine knet before the fire toast
Ing them.
"Why, Gypsy cried Bartle. laughing
at the tabeau. Burning your face as
heedessly as if you were one of a real
tribe"
Rourke had not spoken nor moved to-
ward her. When she slowly rose and adj
vanced to him they were at liberty to see
how the fire had crfmsoned her soft, dark
cheeks.
And Trenham came and kissed her hand
with his old ease, though under the brown
mustache his lips were tight and drawn
with pride and pain.
Lorraine presently rose to say good
night As she took her jacket from
side table. and, with a smile, gave it to
Abram to hold for her. as she had been
used to do when she had been little
child. and lie had had to stoop very much
10 bring his hands on level with hers,
Rourke walked lesurely out into the hall
and took down his overcoat.
Through the meadows in the quiet dusk
of the November night they two walked
together in a strange silence which Meth
err tried TO break a silence which held
nameless pain for both, yet a nameless
dreary pleasure. too. Hardly one word
had naesgd between them when they stop
ped al the gate Ct Rupert's Rest. Then
Lorraine. surprised to see that her com
panion hesitated. asked him if he were not
coming in to see Una.
Presently" Trenham said; II have
one or two things to see about first.
will come presently"
Then they went on their separate ways,
and the silence of each, even then, was
not greater than it had been while they
walked together.