Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 June 1883 — QUICKY WOOED, QUICKLY WON. [ARTICLE]

QUICKY WOOED, QUICKLY WON.

BY GEOBGE STUART BURR. “My darling,” said Ross -Edgerly, glancing tenderly down at the small, slender form beside him, and patting the little head that rested so confidingly on his arm, “I shall be very sorry to part with you, even for a month. But” ' —with a sigh—“if you are so very determined and have set your heart upon the matter, why, go you must and will. ” His companion was silent. “Not only myself,” he continued, “but others will suffer by your absence. What will your poor Uncle Nep do without you ? Who will cheer and console him, as you only know how to do; read to him, and comfort his loneliness and age.?” Still Isabel said nothing. Perhaps she was a little conscience-stricken at her hasty acceptance of a proposal made to her by a wealthy aunt. This aiint, Mrs. Darlington, lived in New York city, and had just sent a letter to Isabel at her little country home near the source of the Hudson, inviting her to spend a month with her amid the pleasures and dissipations of the great city. Never having been twelve miles from Plainvillo in her life, Isabel was only too eager and anxious to go. What a contrast New York must present to their little village with its solitary main street, and few stores there at that; with its hills and forests, and silent country roads. So she wrote a hasty note of acceptance, never, thinking how lonely her poor blind uncle and aimosthelpless aunt would be without her; never caring whether the handsome young farmer, to whom she was betrothed, would miss her or no. She was a willful woman, and, like every willful woman, must have her own way. The evening before her departure, Ross had come to the farm-house resolved to make one last effort to turn her from her resolution. But all his pleading produced no effect on one who had never turned a deaf ear to his petitions before. “How long do you think to stay ?” he asked, at length. months. You could not expect me to hurry right back,*could you?” asked Isabel, looking roguishly into his face. But his answer disappointed her. “Of course not; if you enjoy yourself you will be very foolish to return—to return at all,” he muttered under his thick, heavy mustache. “Dear Ross,” she laid a hand caressingly on his arm, “don’t be angry. Surely I have a curiosity to go out kito that world of which I have heard so much; of which I have seen so little. So don’t blame me—l will come back.” He could not resist the tender touch, the soft, gentle music of her voice. He bent down and kissed the red lips that were close at his shoulder, and held her tightly in a last, long embrace. * * * * *

The day was dark and rainy; the streets were filled with mud and slush. A confused sound of numberless wagons and vehicles of all descriptions filled Isabel’s ear with their un'earthly noise as she stood on the steps of the depot searching, but vainly, for the servant her aunt said she would send to meet her niece on her arrival. Poor Isabel 1 How lonely and desolate and miserable she felt; crowds continually coming and going before her, yet not one kindly face was turned toward her. “Oh, for Ross Edgerly,” she murmured, and the thought of her lover came involuntarily to her amid her distress and brought with it a sense of comfort and relief. “If no one comes forme,” she reflected, “I shall have to get on the next train and go back—hack to Ross. ” At that moment her attention was attracted by a tall young gentleman, clad in a long, dark overcoat, standing on the opposite side of the street, gazing at her intently. Isabel noticed him once or twice before as he slowly walked up and down, every now and then peering inside the doorway, as if he, too, expected some one. Meeting her eyes, he now walked confidently- .across the muddy street, and, raising his hat, said politely: “May I ask if you are on the lookout tar any of Mrs. Darlington’s people?” ~A glad light broke over the young girl’s face. “Yes, I am,” she exclaimed, “but I have waited so long, and no one came for ine that- ” “What ?” he asked, seeing that she showed no inclination to finish the sentence. “That I thought I should have to go back again the same way I came;” and she smiled a little, as if thinking now there was no danger of that, for this fen tie man must be one of her aunt’s fiends, or. he would never have known of her expected arrival. “Did Aunt Bara send you?” she inquired, eagerly. The.young man smiled in his turn. “No—not exactly—that is—well, you Bee, she had a small card party last evening, and mentioned to several of us that she expected a charming niece from the country to-day, and was going to send the coachman for her, as she ■yrould not be able to drive down herself. So I made up my mind that I wbUld get ahead of the coachman and come after you myself.” “How very kind of you,” she replied, flushing faintly under his somewhatearnest gaze. “And, if you’ll trust yourself to me, ril call a carriage and take you up to Mrs. Darlington’s at once. ”

He signaled a hack-driver, who was lounging np against the side of the depot, and, entering his hack, they were soon rolling away through the dirty, crowded streets. Before a large, elegant house in the upper part of the city the hack stopped, and the two got out. Isabel’s companion preceded her np the broad flight of steps, and rang the bell. As the door opened he said; “I don’t believe Mrs. Darlington is here now, so 11l go-in and remain with yon till she returns.” Isabel made no reply. She supposed it was but natural her aunt’s friend should desire to see that lady on her return, after having performed the satisfactory service of conducting her niece safely tnere. He seemed quite at home, and Isabel began to tbink he must be a very great friend indeed of Mrs. Darlington’s to allow himself so much liberty, so very much more than she—that lady’s own relative—would dare to take. He assisted her to lay aside her wraps, and rang the bell and ordered the servant to bring up some refreshments at once.

“No, no, I am not hungry,” began Isabel, “do not take so much trouble—” “No trouble at all,” interrupted the other, courteously; “everything ” —and he laid especial emphasis on that word —“is at your disposal here.” The servant soon returned with a delicious lunch, and Isabel said no more. The sandwiches and salad were very tempting, the mnlled claret tasted so refreshing after her long, cold, dreary journey. “How do you think you will like it here ?” finally asked the young gentleman, who had introduced himself as Marr—Henry Marr. “Of course you can’t tell very much on such a day as this,” ho continued; “but we’ll do our best to have you carry away a good impression with you when you go back to your country home. Do you know—can you guess”—bending toward her and laying his hand on the arm of her chair—“why I was so anxious to offer my company to you in place of the coachman’s ?” His companion shook her bead. The wine—which in her simple life she had seldom tasted before —began to dull her senses, and she laid back in her chair in a kind of half-conscious dream. She could not have replied to him in words if she had triod. “Because—because at your aunt’s I saw your picture, and that, far more than her description of you, made me resolve to see and judge for myself. ” He was sitting close beside her now, his hand rested caressingly on hers, and his dark eyes, gleaming with a brightness almost unnatural, looked inquiringly into hers. All thought of her aunt, of her visit, of the singular means by which she had arrived in that house, faded from her mind. She was dimly aware that she was falling into a sleep from which it was impossible to arouse herself. The massive door opposite, the huge statue that stood at her side, the heavy ornaments of bronze around —all merged into one shadowy substance, and she remembered nothing more.

When she at last awoke she found herself lying upon a lounge, apparently in au upper room, in a kind of library; for there were books and engravings scattered loosely about. Where was she ? Where was her aunt? Where —but the various enquiries that forced themselves upon her bewildered brain were lost in an uncertainty that seemed terrible—maddening. She reached out her hand feebly for the bell, which was near by on a small lacquered table, and, in answer to it’s summons came—not the domestic she expected, but her companion of the previous day.. “Oh, Mr. Marr!” Isabel exclaimed, rising excitedly from the lounge, and advancing towards him; “take me home —take me to my aunt’s.” “My dear,” returned Marr, complacently, “you are at home.” “Oh, not here—not here —not her home! lam sure of that, for why don’t I see her ? Why are you here continually since—since yesterday?” she added, as the position of the sun in the heavens warned her that the night had passed and gone. A look of deep embarrassment came over the dark, handsome face; the eyes involuntarily drooped before the young girl’s earnest, searching gaze. “To tell" the truth—“he hesitated a moment, then went on, “if I tell you everything? the reason of your being here so long without your aunt, will you will you forgive me ?” She bowed her head upon her hands. A light, the dawn of which had never cast a shadow upon her mind before, now arose, clear, calm, pitiless. She felt that those few hours, though harmless to her, had in some undefined manner wrought a change which the future might be powerless to overcome. “Oh, you were cruel to deceive me!” she murmured, “what shall I do? Oh, where shall I go?” “Just listen to me a minute,” said Marr, more softened by the sight of her suffering than he cared to confess, “listen to me. I wouldn’t willingly do any harm, and yet for the sake of a bet—an idle wager, I have made matters and myself appear much worse than they really are. Some time ago, when I heard Mrs. Darlington speak of having invited you, I was there with a couple of friends. Wo saw your picture, and admired it immensely; and then, when we heaid that you were coming here, I bet one of them—Dick Hamilton—that I’d be the first to see you. And not only that paltry wager, but—but perhaps you will not believe me, but I had fallen in love with your picture, and long, oh how earnestly, to throw myself—my life—the little fortune I possess, at your feet! Isabel, you are in my mother’s house, safe from every evil -even from the suspicion of evil; oh, will yon not pardon the stratagem I used to draw you hither ? Forget that I am a stranger; forget that I have deceived you, forget everything except the intense and ardent love which prompted me to do so. My darling, you are free to leave, to go to your aunt’s if you will, but I shall not let you go till I have my answer. ” He came closer" to her, and gently taking her hand pressed it fervently, passionately against his lips. Still she did not answer, “My love —my darling, say just one word —that you forgive!” he pleaded fondly. The suddenness of this unexpected declaration had well nigh taken away th* young girl’s breath. She was not insensible of his passion—of the love that lit up those dark eyes with a splendor and brilliance that dazzled and charmed her, while at the same time it bewildered and amazed. She did not know what to say. Her mind was incapable of actfive thought —she yielded pa*»ively to

the- arm that drew her toward Ks breast. . « “Oh, my darling,” he murmured, caressing the glossy curls that lay against his shoulder, “we will be happy, oh, so very happy!” One moment she rested there, full of the joyful sense erf a love which had never inspired her before. Then she suddenly drew herself away. Was it right—was this the faith she had promised herself to keep to Boss? Should she surrender to a mere stranger—so soon, too? Marr seemed to read these doubts and questions in the timid, wavering glances she threw upon him. Once more he advanced and took her hand in his. There was a sadness in his tone which touched her heart far more than bis most passionate words. “I see you don’t care—you cannot bring yourself to care for me so soon. Well, so let it be. I will take you to your aunt’s at once, if you are so anxious to go. But oh, Isabel, if patient, tireless devotion can win your love, it shall ultimately be mine. If ceaseless effort can prove to you how deeply I love you, I shall spare no pains nor means to accomplish it.” “But where—how ?”

“How will we account to Mrs. Darlington for not arriving yesterday ? Easily. We will say that you did not get here till this morning, and, if you will prepare to leave now, I will go and call a carriage.” He went out, and Isabel caught herself listening with a somewhat mournful intentness to his departing footsteps. - . * * * * * * “Why, my dear, we looked for you all day yesterday, and George went to the depot twice, but couldn’t find you; so wo thought you had given up coming. How very fortunate that Mr. Marr happened to see yon this morning and brought you up, exclaimed Mrs. Darlington, as she welcomed Isabel to her handsome home.”

“Well,” said Marr, in a jaunty manner, “I saw at once that she was a stranger, and recognized her—would you believe it, Mrs Darlington—by the picture you showed me three weeks ago.” “Impossible!” ejaculated the lady. “But true,” answered Marr, nodding wisely. “I suppose you have become quite well acquainted by this time. The drive from the depot is a long one—eh, Mr. Marr ?” Isabel flushed a little and appeared embarrassed. But Marr was equal to the occasion. “Quite good friends,” he answered, carelessly. “Such very good friends in fact that I trust she will not object to my calling to-morrow to learn how she stood the effects of her journey. ” Then, after a few desultory remarks, ho took his hat and left the house. Isabel felt considerably relieved and less guilty when she heard the outer door close upon him. “Who is that Mr. Marr?” she asked of her aunt, as that portly relative proceeded to help Isabel off with her cloak. “An old friend of mine, my dear. How very odd that you should meet' him in that singular way. He is rich and well connected, bright, original, and just the least bit eccentric.” “I should think so,” murmured Isabel to herself. “But he is a sociable, goodnatured kind of a fellow; rather slow-and-go-easy, you might say, but we’ll wake him up, my dear, won’t we ?” and her aunt gave her a kindly tap on the cheek as she glanced slyly down into Isabel’s drooping eyes. The latter’s experience with Mr. Marr would certainly not incline her to agree with Mrs. Darlington regarding the latter characteristic of that gentleman. But she said nothing. How could she confess that in a few short hours she had had a better opportunity to form an estimate regarding him than her aunt had enjoyed during an acquaintanceship of several years. She went up stairs to her room. It was a small but beautiful apartment, fronting on the corner of Seventyeighth street and Fifth avenue. Glancing down that fashionable thoroughfare, she beheld Marr conversing with two ladies—one, elderly and faded; the other, young and seemingly beautiful. A sudden pang of —was it jealousy ? shot through her heart. But the sensation was only momentary. Bitterly she reproached herself for allowing her thoughts to dwell, even for an instant, on one who had deceived her in such a manner. She tamed hastily from the window, and sat down before the Open grate, in which some hot coals were sleepily smouldering away.

•* ” —*7 * But in a few minutes she was up again, wandering up and down the room. Where did her restless feet carry her at last ? To the window, to be sure. The two ladies were nowhere in sight; neither was Marr. She was conscious of experiencing a feeling of relief, which almost instantly was superseded by one of curiosity. He was no longer standing with them. But, then, had he accompanied them ? or, had they passed on one way, and had he gone on his way the other ? She felt ashamed that she should take enough interest in him to ask herself these simple questions, but so it was. Struggle as she would, her eilbrts were too feeble to render it otherwise. “How very strange, ” she said, softly to herself, “that I—that he should seem so near and —” she had almost said dear—“so agreeable to me, when, until yesterday, we had never met. I don’t exactly lake him—how can I, after such disagreeable conduct on his part ? And yet—” Isabel leaned against the side of the window, as if deliberating the momentou* question she had just inquired of Tier self. It was quite evident that, far-Jrom disliking him, she was endeavoring to think of some extenuating circumstances—of some small loophole that might admit even the shadow of an excuse for his conduct. She was not long in finding one. Had he not declared that only bis ipve for her had urged him to measures which he would never have thought of taking but for the sake of winning her regard? Had not the first glance from the eyes of her portrait thrilled him with such delirium that he would have gone through fire and water to meet and declare his passion for the beautiful original ? On the whole, * then, looking at the matter in a pore- impartial light than she had regarded it that morning, she could pot see that he had been so very much to blame, after all. She recalled the old maxim which adorned the first page of her old copybook : “Faint heart ne’er won fair lady, ” and, in the light of her recent experiences, was fain to ajlqnt that there might be more-truth in. that saying than even the famous author himself had probably been aware of. i Marr came, not only the next evening,

bringing several friends with him, bnt many evenings after. He proved to be, as Mrs. Darlington had told Isabel,.SH. easy-going, good-natured yqjpig fellow. And, only that Isabel had had a deep and intense insight into his nature, she would have thought him too lazy and indolent for any expression of passion, such as he had so solemnly declared for her. He never alluded to that day, even when they were alone, and they were very frequently thrown together. His delicacy touched her, and exerted, unconsciously, an influence favorable to him. An hour did not pass in which she was not comparing him to tho country swain of Plainville. Not but what Ross Edgerly was not a very good sort of a fellow in liis way, honest and trustworthy and all chat, still, when two people have been brought up, as they were, from childhoodT to look upon themselves as destined for each other, such business-like arrangements naturally preclude any but the slightest halo of romance from hanging ever the affair. Ross’ father and Isabel’s mother, having been engaged to each other in early life, and each having, it appeared, preferred a different partner when the crisis came, made up their minds that it would be a good thing to unite their children in those bonds which they had thought better of entering together; and so in their wills left clauses to the effect that Ross and Isabel were to be set apart, so to speak, for each other. But Isabel long ago wearied of the compacf made by those who were dead and gone, and showed but little disposition to fulfill her part. She tolerated the lover-like advances Gs Ross, but could not make up her mind to take him for better, for worse; and consequently, hailed with delight Mrs. Darlington’s invitation to visit her at her home in the city. Her first adventure there was sufficiently romantic, and its pleasant and harmless termination added additional romance to that with which she already invested Marr. Two months had now passed since Isabel’s arrival. Still he had said nothing—no pleasing continuation of the story he related so fervently and ardently to her on that memorable morning. Perhaps he was waiting , for some sign from her; perhaps he felt that, after such a sudden avowal, he ceuld well afford to wait a while before overwhelming her with another. One morning they were in the draw-ing-room together. .He had called fc> take her out riding, but the weather beginning to look gloomy and overcast, they concluded to remain within. Some choice engravings were lying on a table in the center of the room. Marr carelessly took up the first one that came to hand. It was a copy of Brocatelli’s “Venus and Adonis.” “What are you thinking of?” asked Isabel. He dropped the engraving; and came over to her side. “I am thinking—well, every day I make np my mind to tell you what I am thinking of—and every day finds me cowardly and unwilling to look fate bravely in the face. How I could ever have been so rash as I once was, passes even my own belief now.” •This was the first time he had ever alluded to their meeting—to his peculiar conduct then. She was silent. A month—six weeks ago—she might have replied calmly. Now she felt that she could not trust herself to speak. He glanced toward her, but could not tell whether her eyes foreshadowed encouragement or the opposite. They were downcast, and the heavy lashes hid them completely from view. At that moment there was a light tap at the door, and the servant entered with a couple of letters for Mrs. Darlington and one for Isabel.

Marr caught a glimpse of the large, scrawling letters in blue ink, and wondered who in the world her correspondent could be. No woman could possibly write such a hand-»-it must be from a man, certainly. So poor Marr stood on the hearthrug, tormented with curiosity and jealousy, while Isabel calmly read her letter through. It was from a man, as the anxious lover suspected—from Ross Edgerly. She quietly folded the letter up, put it back in its envelope, then sat silent, looking past Marr into the gleaming ccals. “Well,” he said, impatiently. “Well,’'-returned Isabel, smiling, “I know exactly what you want to say and cannot. ” “And what is that, my fair clairvoyant?” “I can easily tell. You would like to know who this letter is front, ” patting the envelope and glancing slowly over to the tall figure before the fire. “Indeed I would!” he exclaimed. “From an old friend of mine in Plainyille. I should have answered his last letter, but forgot it, and so—and so he haS written again to remind me,” and Isabel laughed coquettishly. “Don’t answer it,” he broke in impetuously. “And why not ? I must not slight old friends, Mr. Marr, for the sake of new ones. ”

“But for the .sake of one you would—for the sake of one who—oh, Isabel! I cannot control jny feelings pay longer, or keep them from finding vent in words. I love you, darling; I need not tell yon that; you know it—you could not help knowing it long ago. So won’t you forgive me for-what is past, for my wild conduct when we first became acquainted with each other? Tell me taat there is a little hope. I have waited and looked for it from day to day Don’t turn your face away, dear—let me look there and find my answer, the best, the only ansfffer I shall ever be contented with.”

He took her in Iris arms and raised the face that was endeavoring to hide itself in the folds of his coat. “Dear love,” he murmured, “I feel — I know I am forgiven.” “How dare you think so when I have not even said a word ?” said Isabel, saucily. “Silence gives consent all the world over,” replied her happy lover. Then, after a pause: “You won’t answer it, will you ?” “Answer what ?” she asked, entirely forgetful of the letter that had dropped from her hand, and was now lying on thejloor at her feet. Marr stooped down and picked it up. “This letter,” he replied. “Don’t give me any more cause for uneasiness. I have had enough.” “There is one reply I should think you would like me to send to him,"said Isabel, archly. He thought for a moment. “So there is, darling. How very stupid of me not to think of it at once. I will let you answer it on one condition, ,then. ” “And what is that 8” she asked,'

r. — softly, stroking the arm that held her closely to him. “That you send him my regards and an invitation to our wedding.” t And on that condition, and that only, did poor Ross Edgerly get liis long-looked-for and much-expected letter. — Chicago Ledger.