Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 October 1892 — AWOMANS INFLUENCE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AWOMANS INFLUENCE

BY LULU JAMISON

CHAPTER XV—Continued.

The Colonel met them at the diningroom door, and Nell, approaching rather cautiously, gave him a half-expectant, half-questioning, glance. Her fears were quite groundless, however, for as soon as he had seen Margaret, and heard that she was going to leave them so soon, he had no thought for any one else. “T don’t know how we shall do without you," he said, bending over her with kindly affection. “Bertie told me you were going, end I have been anticipating my own loneliness. Have you grown tired of us so soon?” He look her face between his hands and regarded it with a gentleness in which a variety •of emotions found expression. “You are in a hurry to leave us, Margaret,” he added, sadly. “Ah, no,” she hastened to answer, as her eyes grew dim and a painful flush bverspread her cheeks. The gentleman did not answer for a second, during which his - face worked with feeltng and a tender light filled his eyes. “You are a.brave girl,” he said, rather unsteadily, at last; “a true, brave girl. Heaven will bless you as you deserve. •Don’t let that scoundrel come near me; I might be tempted ’’ “You are so hard on him, Colonel. Dop’t-T-” “Don’t blame, him, I suppose. Ah, Margaret, you are like the rest of your sex—always ready to defend the man Who breaks your heart. Well, well, I’ll not be hard, for your sake, but when I think .Never mind; we’ll miss you, child—every,pne of us. Don’t quite forget your old lriends; you won’t find the new ones h§ff%o true. ” Again Margaret’s eyes grew dim, and she found herself incapable of an answer. Alice, noting her distress, broke in with some light remarks, which Nell took up, notwithstanding her uncle's formidable presence, and discussed volubly. Under this respite Margaret regained her self-possession, and began to speak quite calmly. No further allusion to her going away wao made during the meal, though each one seemed quite' talkative. Nell particularly airing her opinions freely, and receiving no reproof for her temerity. But when the time came to say goodby, and Margaret was ready to go, the Colonel, disregarding the hand she held out to him, clasped her in'his arms, and tenderly, almost reverently, kissed her . brow. ■

“I knew it would be hard, ” she sobbed, breaking down completely. “I knew this would he the hardest of oil.” “No,, it sha’n’t be, Margaret,” he said, putting her gently from him. “i do not wish to pain you, child, even for a mom At. But I ain very deeply moved to 6ee you go from us under such’ circumstances. Your bravery and devotion will have its reward —be sure of that. Remember me when you need sympathy or advice, for I would not be worthy the name of friend if I could not show my affection in time of adversity as well as prosperity; and I know that not even your own father could be more anxious to help you than I am. ” For many long days Margaret carried in her heart the memory of his kind words and sympathetic voice. As she rode home through the winter afternoon toward the chain of beautiful hills which shut in the quiet, peaoeful village, her fancy tinged with indescribable melancholy every surrounding object, and the melancholy lingered long after her eyes had ceased to look upon the scene that had engendered it.

CHAPTER XVI. A NK yr FRIEND. “Margaret, I think I shall bring Wileon to dinner to-night. I met him yesterday and he asked about you. He has fceard.Bertie lauding you to the skies, and naturally he is anxious to see the paragon. ” “Really, that is too bad of Bertie. I don’t pose as a paragon, Brian, and indeed I don’t care to be one. Ido want to meet Dr. Wilson, though, and If you will only correct his false impression, I wish you wodld bring him this evening.” "I’ll bring him, but I’ll leave you to correct or prove his impressions. I know you’ll be equal to the emergency in either case. You should really ap?reoiate the compliment he pays you. don’t believe I ever heard him express a desire to meet any one before. ” “Really? Why, I feel quite vain. I hope he isn’t a cynic.” “ Oh, no. It is rather indifference, I think. He isn't particularly sociable; that is, he doesn’t care for visiting. People follow him up, though, like the deuce, and he’s considered quite a catch in the matrimonial pond. Any number of anglers would be glad to land him. The power of money, you see. Well, I must be off. I sha’n’t be home to lunch. Good-by. You won’t be lonely?” “No.” Every day Brian left Margaret with this question, and every day she answered “No,” but always after he hai gone she felt she had answered untruthfully. She was lonely—very lonely. She found so'little to interest her—so little to fill the long dull mornings. Brian sometimes came to lunch, but as often he did not. Her afternoons were spent in seeing the sights of New York, shopping, or calling on her few friends, and her evenings at the theater, when Brian would take her; but more often at home alone when he had some engagement which he could not possibly defer.

From these engagements he would return late in the night, with the heavy, stumbling steps which told their own story, and which always struck so heavily on Margaret’s heart, as she waited sleepless and anxious. This was the record of the ten days she had spent in New York, and she seemed as far away from the reward the Colonel had promised her as when she left Elmwood. Under other circumstances she could have been, not precisely happy, because she was too thoroughly a child of nature not to miss, with an intensity few could understand, the restful, peaceful influences of her country acme. Yet she could have found contentment in this charming little apartment, with its comforts and luxuries. Its situation was convenient and delightful, In the heart of the city, surrounded by places of Interest and amusement, and near the various clubs, r7here Brian was fond of spending hie lime. Bhe was in. tbe oenter of bustle and Ictivity. From her window she oould

hear the throbbing pulse of a life that was never still—the ever-sounding orchestra of a busy city; the mighty roar of the elevated trains, with their noisy, whizzing echoes; the sound of the heavy drays passing over the cobblestones; the lighter rumble of carriages, and the long, line of pedestrians, made up an ever moving, ever changing panorama of human life, hope and upon which she gazed with feelings that brought her own loneliness and isolation more keenly before her. “How was she to fill the long hours that must pass before dinner?” she asked herself. “Should she go through the stores and see the beautiful things the shop windows displayed so temptingly?” That was not interesting when one had no companions to exchange opinions with. The crowds wearied her, too. She felt so utterly alone amidst the busy throngs, where a friendly glance seldom, if ever, greeted her. At home it was so different; there she could see a familiar face in every passer-by.

No, she would not go out to-day, she decided at last. She would stay at home and read and try to emulate the contentment of spirit which prompted Norah under all circumstances to sing cheerily over her work. Yet it was a bright day to spend indoors. The sun, which always seemed to her prejudiced fancy to shine through a yellower, thicker atmosphere, lay warm and golden on the house tops opposite. It tempted her with its cheeriness. But, pshaw! where was the pleasure in walking sedately over the hard pavements? How could that compare with a delightful gallop over the hills at home? Ah, those glorious rides! Why couldn’t these tall walls crumble away? Why couldn’t the paved streets, this horrid noise and din by the touch of some farr.v’s hand give place to the familiar hills and fields? Not for long; only for one day—just one day. How she would use every hour of that day!

fche would have her usual ride on Mollie’s sleek back. They would canter away through the cool, still morning. She would feel the invigorating air against her cheek, and the glad sense of fresh, new life tingling in her veins. Bhe would go to The Cedars and talk with Alice and the Colonel, and laugh over Nell’s ridiculous nonsense, and feel so happy. She would run in to kiss the children as they pressed their little faces against the rectory window, and she would find time for a few minutes with Mrs. Martin to ask her how her rheumatism was, and hear if • the old man had been out since his sickness. Ah, there was so much she would do if she could be at home to-day. Nanny came in to remove the breakfast things, and she asked twice for the orders for luncheon and dinner before Margaret heard her. “Indeed, I don’t know,” she said, at last, trying to fix her mind on these household details. “You and Norah exercise your ingenuity to-day. I’d particularly like a nice dinner, as Mr. Leign will bring a friend home with him. Men must be fed, you know, even if the world goes to pieces. It is their falling to think more of their dinners than anything else, and we have to humor it. So you and Norah must do your best.” Quite late in the afternoon Margaret rather suddenly decided that she could stand the house no longer. So, preparing herself for a walk, she was soon upon the street. Wnen she arrived home it was nearly dinner time, and secretly upbraiding herself for staying out so late, she began to dress as quickly as possible. “I should be dreadfully sorry if Dr!’ Wilson should come and-1 not ready to receive him,” she confided to her reflection in the mirror. “I shouldn’t know how to excuse myself. Well, it is rather late, and if they have come I cannot help it.” When she entered the parlor five minutes afterwards she found, not Brian, but a tall, fine-looking man who arqse at her approach, with an air of chivalry perfectly in accord with the noble face.

That face impressed Margaret at once. Not so much with its beauty of feature and expression as with its firmness of character, its strength of intellect, and the ennobling influence which high endeavor and strong purpose had left upon it. Instinctively she felt a quickening of her sympathies and feelings, an indefinite attraction toward this man, whose very appearance compelled her admiration. During her scarcely perceptible pause in the doorway, the stranger, with a swift but critical glance, had taken in the sweet face and girlish form. Then he started forward with the half question, half assertion: “Mrs. Leigh? lam not mistaken." She held out her hand with a smile of welcome. “No, you are not mistaken,” she said, with the easy, gracious manner that made her personality so winning. “I am Mrs. Leigh, and you are Dr. Wilson, I know. I am very glad to meet you, and doubly glad to welcome you to my home, because I really cannot feel that you are a stranger, but rather an old friend whom I have heard of and talked of so often,” Her words gratified him very much. “You honor me too highly,” he answered, pressing the hand she offered him. “To be numbered among your friends is a privilege I esteem most deeply. Brian and I have been friends of such long standing that the pleasure I feel of meeting his wife is twofold.” “I’m afraid you find his wife very remiss,” put in Margaret, flushing brightly, and seating herself in the chair he placed for her. “She must really ask your pardon for not being at home when you arrived. Her only excuse is a very whimsical disposition, which took her out so late that she could not get back at a reasonable time. ” “She is fully excused," rejoined Wilson, meeting her smiling glance. “We got here about ten minutes ago, and Brian left me to make himself more presentable, he said. I was admiring some of your curios when you came in. I knew you at once. Bertie’s description is so accurate, and I’ve had the picture of you in my mind. ” “I think Bertie is inclined to exaggerate sometimes, Doctor. Still I hope you have not found the original very disappointing.”

“Quite the contrary, Mr 3. Leigh. Brian tells me that you have only been in New Yoik a very short time, so I suppose you have not had sufficient opportunity to see how great and important we are. But you have visited a great many places of Interest, no doubt?” “Yes, quite a number; though very far from all, lam sure. Of course it is a great city, and no doubt a delightful one, and lam ridiculously unappreciative; biilt »deed, I like some less preplaces better. It is all noise and uproar to me. Do I quite shock you? I’m incurably devoted to country life, you see. I cannot enjoy any other. I hate any other. There, that’s dreadfully childish." He regarded her face with an intent, rattier puzzled, glanee. “Yetyou have established yourself

very delightfully/ he Mid, as if answering an argument in bis own mind. “I fancy you must intend a long stay.* “Yes, it may be. That is, I don’t know. I hope It depends on circumstances, I think." She spoke rather disconnectedly, and, anxious to divert any impression her words might make upon him she hastened to add: “Don’t misunderstand me, please. I don’t wish ysu to think I actually dislike the city. I find it interesting in many ways, but I have not that fascination which, some people feel for it. I was born in the country, and all my associations hold the memory of green fields and bright skies. I think that must account for my tastes. I know that brick walls and paved streets tire ray eyes, and I feel a longing to rest them on something that is not here. Sometimes I am almost determined to go to Elmwood just for a day. It isn’t lar from here, you know; but then I remember that I should have to leave after the day was over, and that would be hard. So I think I must always put that thought aside. Brian is so different in his tastes; he likes this busy life. He finds the country dull and lonely, and Elmwood has not the same attraction for him that it has tor me. He simply endures it, but I—well, I could live there forever, because it is home and— I love it." The last words were spoken in a lower tono, but Wilson understood the meaning they held, arid his next ramark was in a more feeling vein.* “We will have to teach you to love New York for something moro than its paved streets and brick walls. We Gothamites are very proud. We think that all things good and delightful are to be found in this, great noisy city of ours. ”

Margaret smiled. “You have many desirable advantages, that is certain; but while you are proud of your wealth you should not forget your poverty.” “True. And we have enough of it. The condition of the poor in this city Is miserable in the extrome, and perhaps, what is more incredible, the most opposite conditions of prosperity and want exist in such close proximity. I was most forcibly impressed with this fact a few days ago. I was passing along one of the streets just off from I lfth avenue. There were elegant mansions all around me, and handsomely dressed children playing under the eyes of watchful nurses. Yet a little further on I passed into a scene so different that I could scarcely credit the testimony of my eyes. Within an actual stone’s throw of splendor and prosperity, poverty, misery, and sin were running riot. It is terrible to think of it. A physician whose practice lies amid such scenes is obliged to see so much of the heartI aches of life.” . “I suppose so,” returned . Margaret, 'with a sigh. “Such an experience wouldn’t do for me at all; so much wealth on one side and so much want on the other would make me lose my faith in God. It is dreadful to say it, J. know. I have taken myself to task foi even thinking of it, but my sense of justice cannot be reconciled. There is some wise decree, -no doubt* 'in what seems so unwise, but Tell me. Don’t you ever feel like taking the world to pieces and making it over again?” He smiled, amused at the question and the expression which accompanied it. “I have often thought it might be changed to advantage, but I do not know that i could manage it successfully." [TO BE CONTINUED. |