Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 April 1892 — YPAIR OF jACKS. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

YPAIR OF jACKS.

BYLVIV Jamisin

’ CHAPTER Xl—Continued. “•Oh, my,” Mary added, as Mrs. Thomson returned with the glass of milk and a. generous wedge of gingerbread, “this .is what I call good.” “Do you know,” she continued, aft?r a few moments’ silent enjoyment of her refreshments, “I believe' Weston has really grown since I saw it last.” “I don’t know about that, Miss, but I do know we are improving wonderful. So many city folks come here for the summer. Next year we are going to have another hotel, and everybody that’s got a spare room is set on taking boarders.” “Are you?” asked Miry, setting down her empty glass. “Oh, no, Miss. I haven’t a corner. Besides, I’m t-V far from the town. Take some mo.e milk, Miss Mary.” “No, thank you. You gave me such a large glass. ” She walked to the window as she spoke, and glanced down the broad, shady street. “You have tone very pretty girls,” she added, after a second, as her eye followed two young ladies on horseback. “Are those two natives or visitors?” .“Them?” said the woman, looking in her turn. “They live here. That tall ■one’s Miss Ellis’. She goes to New York a good part of her time. She’s going to be married.in a few months.” “Ah, is she? How happy she must feel. Looks, I mean.” “People think she has reason to be happy. She’s going to do very well. They say Mr. Beverly is a ” “Mr.' Who?” efied Mary? turning' quickly. • “Mr. Beverly,” repeated Mrs. Thomson, slightly surprised at Mary’s tone. “A mighty nice young man. He doesn’t live here, of course; he comes from New York, and I daresay when they’re married they’ll go there altogether.” Mary still stood by the. window. She could feel her knees tremble under her, and a stange, numb sensation Creeping about her heart.

“Will you tell me this —this gentleman’s name?” she asked, after a second, striving to make her voice calm and to keep all emotion from her face. “Christian name?” repeated the woman, knitting het brows in her effort to remember. .“I’ve heard it, I knbw, and yet I can’t, somehow, recollect.” “An uncommon one, perhaps,” suggested Mary, in a strange voice. “It is nothing like—Jack.” There was a slight lingering over this name, as though she half feared to let it leave her lips, but Mrs. Thomson took it up eagerly. “That’s it, Miss,” she said, with decision. “Sometimes you know a thing, but can’t just think at the tithe, and if somebody mentions it Ah, Miss, what’s the matter? Are you ill?” Mary had clutched the window for suppt rt, but at the woman’s question she stcod upright again. “No, no, not ill,” she answered, painfully. “I may b'e tired. I’ll sit here for a few minutes, then I must be going.” “You look-rather pale,” was the somewhat anxious reply. “Perhaps I might get something to make, you feel better. ” “Thank you. Nothing could make me feel better now. I .think lam rather interested in Mjss Ellis. Are you sure about this engagement, and that his name is—Beverly?” “Yes, Miss. Everybody here knows it; and as for Mr. Beverly, I’ve spoken to him. He’s nice in his manners—-good-looking, too. I saw him not two hours ago. He was with Miss Ellis then.” ■

“Two hours ago,” thought Mary. This, then, was the reason for his going to New York. How.often during the hours that she was not with him had he come here to be with her? Of course he had known her in New York, had perhaps been engaged when he came to Robin’s Rest. She had served to amuse him. The world would call it a flirtation—nothing more. He had been amused, and she had been a fool to think him in earnest. She could realize now how unreservedly she had*given her heart to him; how utterly she had staked her life’s happiness on the weight of his word. He had seemed so true, so earnest." Even in the face of such overwhelming testimony it was hard to doubt him while she remembered his words and glances. Mary never knew how she reached home. Her pale cheeks awakened her grandfather’s concern at supper. She pleaded headache as a cause, and as soon as possible went off to bed. The night was filled with miserable thoughts. Hour after hour passed, and she tossed restlessly on her pillow. At one moment she would tell herself that she no longer cared; that Jack had quite passed out of her heart and life; and at the next she would pray that her walk and its bitter revelations might prove only a dreadful dream.' Oh, if she could but wake to find the world as bright, and herself as happy, as hopeful, and as trusting as she had been but twentyfour hours before. B.ut morning found her sick and faint from want of rest and sleep. “I must get up, though,” she said to herself. “They must not know. Nobody must know. He has stolen my happiness from me. Yes, stolen it. I was so contented here with grandpa until he came, and now Everything is so different. Ah, he had so much; why should he have taken the only thing I had? “I won’t care, though,” she added, indignantly, dashing a tear from her eye. “I must not give up to this weakness. If I don’t hate him, I must despise myself. I must —I do hate him.” Breakfast proved a most trying ordeal. Jeannette’s sharp eyes and }ier grandfather’s anxious inquiries were difficult to evade, and when the meal was scarcely half over she left the table with the half-trembling words: “Grandpa, don’t be anxious; I am perfectly well, but there are times when I cannot bear your kindness. Please don’t" speak to me now. ” “There is something wrong," said Mr. Millard, with a grave glance at Jeannette. “I never saw her act so strangely before.” v “She doesn’t look over and above well,” was the answer, “and if she hadn’t seemed so bright yesterday morning I’d say she and Mr. Beverly had been a fussing, as’ they’ve been doing the best part of the last three weeks, but now I can’t make nothing of it. I don’t think it’s anything serious, though, j Nothing that won’t come right.” Jeannette was rather surprised when ' Mary came to. her.twenty minutes later, and putting a note in her hand, said: “Give it to Mr. Beverly when he comes to-day. _ If he does come,” she added. “Give it;to him?” returned the old woman, glancing from the noteM Mary.

“What am I to do that for? I must say I don't like the looks of things.” “Will you give it to him or not?” asked Mary. "If you will)not, I will take it to Toby.” “I’ll give it to him; but I must say again, I don’t like the looks of things." Two hours later she put it In Jack’s hand, with the words: “I con’t know what’s in it, sir. It may be something not very pleasant; if it is, don’t mind it. Miss Mary has more humors than a cat has lives. It comes of .i her grandfather ruining her when she was young.” Jack scarcely heard these remarks—he was reading his note. It was written in pencil, and contained these words: “I write this to spare myself the humiliation of ever seeing or speaking to you again. I have discovered all your miserable conduct, and if you have one spark of manliness in your nature you will spare me thq sight of your face again.” “Where is she?” he cried, hoarsely, when he had gathered the full meaning of the bitter lines. “I must see her.” “She’s gone riding,” replied Jeannette, rather startled by his face. “I couldn’t say where, sir. She’ll be coming back soon. I guess maybe you had better wait.” Jack found this waiting miserable enough. Dinner time came, and Mary did not appear, a fact which so disturbed Mr. Millard that he failed to notice Jack’s peculiar mood. It was not until late in the afternoon that Jack, standing near the gate, caught the first glimpse of the approaching Prince. / He waited until he was almost upon him, and then starting quickly forward grasped the bridle, bringing horse and rider to a sudden and rather sharp standstill. “Do you know why I have stopped you in this way?” he asked in a s'tern voice. “No,” responded Mary, with darkening eyes and a face from which every particle of color had fled, “unless you ' wish to add another insult to yo'ur long list.” “You shall explain what you mean by that,” he exclaimed passionately. “And by this, too.” He drew her note from his pocket and held it before her eyes. A slight change passed over her face. “The meaning is clear. If yoy wish another answer, ask your own conscience.” . She jerked her bridle from his hand, and giving Prince a smart cut, dashed by him without further words. “I will have an explanation,” he muttered, looking after her. A Returning to the house he tore a sheet of paper from his note-book, and hastily scrawled upon it: “I must see you.” Jeannette earned this to Mary, and returned looking both angry and perplexed. “She says you have her note, sir, and she hasn’t any more to say. I’m very sorry, sir,” added the woman, feeling something was wrong. “Thank you, Jeannette. I must be getting my things together. I will have to leave you to-night.” “Oh, sir, that’s too bad. Mr. Millard will be so sorry. I suppose you couldn’t change your mind?” “Impossible. And Mr. Millard must think business calls me away. It will be better so.” “Yes, sir; I understand. It’s a shame Miss Mary’s temper ” “I cannot discuss that,” Jack replied, ■with much pain in his voice. “It is something more than temper, though; I’m positive of that. I’ll find out what in some way.” Mr. Millard saw Jack depart with genuine regret. He had built many hopes upon this visit, and their failure dieap-* pointed him keenly. Mary’s spirits worried him also. He attributed her present melancholy to a cause perfectly natural under the circumstances. The idea gave him such pain that he decided to take Jeannette into his confidence. “I have been noticing Mary’s indisposition,” he said, in breaking the subject to her, “and I have feared—it may be quite groundless, I hope it is, but yet it is possible—that she cared for Jack. Give me your opinion. You should be able to judge much better than I.” “I know this much, sir,” returned Jeannette, unable to hold back longer, “I know she sent him away. Whether she cared for him or didn’t care for him, he cared for her and she sent him away. She wrote him a note. I don’t know what was in it, but I do know it made his face as white as your shirt. He tried to see her, but she wouldn’t have it, and then he left, as any self-respecting young man would.” The gentleman’s face had undergone various changes during the progress of this speech, and when Jeannette concluded' he regarded her in pained surprise. “I don’t understand it,” he said in a musing tone. “I can’t understand it.” "No, sir; nor no one else. You might live to be a hundred and not understand Miss Mary.” f Mr. Millard remained in deep thought after Jeannette’s communication, and when Mary sat by .him in the study that night, he said to her, quite suddenly: “My chill, you are not happy.” Mary looked awayfrom him. “I have been in low spirits lately,” she rejoined, “but I shall get over it in a day or two, if you will try to bear with me a little while longer, and not be too good to me.” “But why should you bo in low spirits, Mary? If there is a reason, surely, I should know it.” > Mary looked pained and troubled. Once more she turned away. “Grandpa,” she said at last, speaking with an effort, “when I have found a reason which I can acknowledge to my own self I will tell it to you. But it only hurts me to speak of it now. In a few days everything will be as it used to be. We will be happy together, sha’n’t we? Nobody will ever come between us now.” “I can scarcely tell whether Jeannette was right, or wrong,” mused the old gentleman when reflecting on Mary’s words. CHAPTER X. ’’You won’t get no room down here, sir. There's only one hotel in the place and that ain’t nothing to speak of; and such as it is, it’s full. There’s quite a big house up to Weston, sir. You might be able to put up there. As It's no great ways, lean drive you.” “Very well,” replied Jack, in a relieved tone. “I don’t feel like getting back to New York to-night, and I must find some sort of a lodging. Get me there as quickly as you can and I’ll give you your own price. ” “Kind ’er unsettled,” muttered the old farmer, as y he watched Jack's long, impatient strides before the stable door. However, the suggestion of 1 money proved an incentive to extra exertion, and the old horse was soon ready for the road. “Now, sir, I gndss we can start.” “All right,” responded Jack, jumping into the somewhat dilapidated-looking

vehicle. “I hope your horse Is a good traveler." “Fair, sir, fair. I can’t complain of him.” . Jack did not hear these words. Lighting his cigar, he leaned back in his seat and maintained an unbroken silence for the rest of the journey. “At last.” he said, as they* pulled up before the door of the worthy Mrs. Shrimp. But here a new disappointment awaited him. Mrs. Shrimp hadn’t a corner, she declared, with many regrets. People had come down on her so, she’d beep driven to find a spot for John and herself. Jack regarded her with a helpless air. “I have come from South Weston,” he said, “In the hope of finding a room here. I mightreturn to New York, of course, but that would inconvenience me greatly. Perhaps you can suggest some house ” Mrs. Shrimp shook her head. All she know of was lull. “There was the Millers, with as nice and neat a room as one might wish. The gentleman*might have had that. But then there was Mr. Milder ” “What about him,” interrupted Jack, foreseeing a possible lodging. “Nothing, sir. Except he’s dead. Died last night, and, of course, Mrs. Miller being up to her ears in mourning and sorrowing.. Couldn't ” “Certainly not,” was the prompt response. “I didn’t dream the poor man might be dead. I see, there’s nothing but to return to New York.” At this stage of the conversation a young man, who had been sitting on the other side of the room, laid down the paper he held in his hand, and giving Jack a scrutinizing glance, left his chair. “I beg pardon,” he said, addressing, himself to Mrs. Shrimp. “I have heard enough of your conversation to understand that this gentleman is looking for a room, and that you are unable to acoommodate him. If he wishes to share mine it is at his service.” Mrs. Shrimp looked relieved and Jack gratified. “Mr. Beverly’s room is one of the best, sir, large, airy ” “Mr. Who’s?” interrupted Jack with more force than politeness. “I beg your pardon, will you tell me to whom I am indebted?”

“My name is Beverly,” answered the youngjnan. “The devil!” said Jack. “No relation, I assure you, though I am what the laity consider the next of kin, a lawyer. If you feel disposed, I shall be happy to show you my room.” “The gentleman will register first,” put in Mrs. Shrimp, with due respect for this always Insisted upon preliminary. I “Here, sir, jf you please.” Jack took up a pen, but paused as a. thumping noise was heard in' the next room. “It’s only John,” observed Mrs. Shrimp, with calm reassurance, “Not having no bed last night he’s a little upset this morning.” Apparently satisfied, Jack dipped his pen into in some rather thick ink, and wrote in a large, bold hand, ‘Jack Beverly.’ Mrs. Shrimp, standing near, pega.ded him with a slightly bewildered air. In her estimation he was upset also. “You’ve made a mistake, sir, if I may be allowed so to speak. You’ve written Mr. Beverly’s name.” “Have I,” he' rjked imperturbably. “It can’t be helped, for, if I may be allowed so to speak, it is mine, too. Areyou a Jack also, Mr. Beverly?” “I am, sir, as big a one as you are. A much bigger one than I ever thought myself before. Come to my room, for heaven’s sake. I wan’t to talk to ydu.” ■•-v |TO BB CONTINUED. |