The Morris County chronicle. [volume] (Morristown, N.J.) 1877-1915, 1909-06-29
CHAPTER vi.

lASuJ Will ulnSTGuC dCCSuL Al Al5
voice, he went on: Put yer purse
away; it don't hold so much, / guess,
that you can give money to others.
she'n't forget you, neither. A Teller
don't run agin many like you every
day"
Enid slipped her purse back into
her pocket. Her ears were panied
by the words he had spoken about
Dorothy, and with all her usual truth
fulness she preached this subject.
HAS my cousin done you some
wrong, that you abuse her as you
do?" she said, hurriedly, and little
timidly.
He just smiled faint, unpleasant
smile.
Don't ask no questions, miss, and
you won't hear no nasty stories. 1t
amt for you; you're one of them as
goes straight and honest--you don't
understand lies and wickedness. We
shall meet again, miss, and I'll not
forget what you thought of me. I'll
not forget"
Enid bent her head and moved
away.
September came in with continu-
alton Of the splendid weather that had
done all in its power to recompense
for the changeabIe, unsatisfactory
summer that had visited the earlier
months of the year. Out on the
moors the sportsman, freed from
trammel and care, forgot his daily
town existence, and trudged valiantly
after the birds, breathing in store
of sweet, fresh air to strengthen his
lungs for the late autumn mists and
fogs. Every seaside place was
crammed, and round about London
the river resorts and small farm
houses still held goodly company of
health rather than pleasure seekers.
Close to lock in one of the pref
test parts of the upper Thames there
was a tiny, old-fashioned cottage,
rustic in it's exterior, yet replete with
every comfort and luxury within. A
bachelor had furnished it, and a
dainty nest it was, a casket worthy,
in its way, of any gem. The owner,
tired of the serene beauty OF the
river, sought other scenes, and put
up his cottage bungalow for hire.
1t was at once taken, and thither,
after sending down servants and
making everything more charming,
if possible, than before, did Gervais,
Lord Derriman, bring his young wife
week after their marriage.
The wedding had been as quiet as
the most rigid upholder of etiquette
could have wished, no one being pres
emit save Lady Derriman and a second
cousin of Dorothy's, the present hold
er of the title, Sir George Knebwell.
She had gone to the altar in simple
cotton gown, and no two people
started on their new life with deeper
prayers for future happiness than
was breathed for them by Gervais'
mother.
A halcyon time followed. Dorothy
declared again and again that she was
in a paradise with which there was
no compare. Her love for her hus-
band was still the same blind, ex-
traordinary passion, while his for her
was deepning into that tenderness,
that sweet protection that is more
lasting than the truest affection.
"Gervais, think l shall go for
STROLL" she said, shielding her eyes
from the sun with a small, white
hand. Il will go and inquire for that
poor child we saw run over the other
day
Il will come with you," was the
answer, and away went the newspaper
at once.
But Dorothy shook her head.
mo, mol" she cried, with a laugh
that somehow was scarcely easy or
musical; you must work; remember
those letters you said were so i'm
portant! shall not be an hour, and
we can spend all the afternoon on the
river; so, my lord, be industrious for
once! I bid you au revoir!"
And, waving her hand, Dorothy
went through the window, calling to
her maid to bring her shady hat,
parasol and gloves, and, thus
equipped, she blew a kiss to her hand
some husband, and walked away,
with all her proud. graceful bearing.
Her way lay through a most pic
turesque and exquisite bit of country;
but Dorothy had no eyes for scenery,
the sight of her lovely face in the
mirror was enough for her, and so,
deep in her thoughts, she walked on
and on, never needing which way she
had taken till she found herself alone
in a lane oordered on each side by
trees tingcd with autumn's decaying
touch, and came to the conclusion
that she must be good two miles
from her cottage home.
She looked around her, and at first
could discover no one or no thing.
till suddenly coil of blue smoke
lifted ITSELF above the trees, and NOV
ing toward 1t, she saw a tiny work
mans hut, with the door wide open.
The step was snow-white. and on this
step a baby child was playing-a
small tot, with hair of curly brown.
Dorothy was drawing her dainty
skirts away from the communicating
touch of the baby when suddenly 1t
lifted its head and sazed at her with
its great blue eyes. She stood still
and looked down at it, her gaze riv-
eted on the small. tanned face with
those glorious orbs and the mark Of a
scar just across the left brow. The
color had fed from her own checks,
her lips were pale, and as tho sound
of steps approaching from inside