Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 March 1894 — UNITED AT LAST [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

UNITED AT LAST

By MiSS. M.E. BRADDON.

CHAPTERL AT THE BTAB AMD GABTZIt Glorious June weather, tender moonlight from a moon newly risen—a mystical light—siiver-bright on far-off glimpses of the winding river, soft and msysterious where it falls upon the growing darkness of the woodland; a pensive light, by which men not altogether given up to tbe world are apt to ponder the deeper enigmas of this life, and to look backward, Heaven knows with what keen agonies of regret, to youth that has vanished and friends that are dead. Two men who had been dining at the Star and Garter, and who have stolen away from the dessert to smoke their cigars under the midsummer moon, contemplate the familiar landscape in a lazy, meditative silence. One is sitting on tbe stone balustrade cf the terrace, with his face turned to the distant curve of the river, watching the tender light with a very somber expression of countenance; the other stands with his elbows resting on the balustrade, smoking industriously, and looking every now and then with rather an uneasy glance at his companion. The first is Sir Cyprian Davenant, the last scion of a good old Kentish family, and owner of one of the finest and oldest places in the county of Kent. The Davenants have been a wild, reckless set for the last hundred years, and there is not an acre of Davenant Park or a tree in Davenant Woods unencumbered by mortgage. How Sir Cyprian lives and contrives to keep out of a debtor's prison is a subject for the wonder of his numerous acquaintances. His intimate friends know that the man has few expensive habits and ■ that he has a small income from an , estate inherited from his mother. Sir Cyprian s companion is a man approaching middle age, with a decidedly plain face, redeemed from ugliness by a certain brightness of expression about the mouth and eyes. This gentleman is James Morton Wyatt, a solicitor, with an excellent practice, and a decided taste for literature, which he is rich enough to be able to cultivate at his leisure, leaving the ordinary run of cases to the care of his junior partner, and only putting in an appearance at his office when an affair Of some importance is on hand. James Wyatt is a bachelor and a great favorite" with the fair sex. for whom his fashionable modern cynicism seems to possess an extraordinary charm. The cynic has a natural genius for the art of flattery and a certain subtle power of pleasing that surprises his male acquaintances, who wonder what the women can see in this fellow, with his Long, mean-looking no-.e, and his small gray eyes, and his incessant flow of shallow talk. “You’re not very likely company tonight, Davenant,” James Wyatt said, st last. “I've been waiting with exemplary patience for some kind of reply to the question I asked you about a quarter of an hour ago.” “You can scarcely expect much liveliness from a man who is going to start for Africa in four-and-twenty hours, with a very vague prospect of coming back again.” “Well, I don’t know about that. It's a pleasure trip, isn’t it, this African exploration business?” “It is to be called pleasure, I believe. My share in it would never have come about but for a promise to an old friend. It is a point of honor with me to go. The promise was given five or six years ago, when I was hot upon the subject. I expect very little enjoyment from the business now, but I am bound to go. ” He sighed as he said this, still looking far away at the winding river, with the same somber expression in

his eyes. James Wyatt heard the regretful sigh, and noted the despondence of his companion’s tone. “I should have thought there were not many people in England you would care about leaving, Davenant, ” he said, with a curious, watchful look at the other man’s half averted face. “I have heard you boast of standing alone in the world. ” “Rather a barren beast, isn't it?” eaid Sir Cyprian, with a brief and bitter laugh. “Yes, I am quite alone. Since my sister Marian’s marriage, and complete absorption in nursery cares and nursery joys, there is no one to offer let or hindrance to my going yonder. I have friends, of course, a great many—such as you. Jim, for instance; jolly good fellows, who would smoke a cigar with me to-night in the bonds of friendship, and who would hear of my death a month hence without turning a hair.” “Don’t talk platitudes about your friends, Cyprian. I have no doubt they are as good as other people's. I don’t know a man going more popular than you are. ” Cyprian Davenant took no notice of this remark. “I'll tell you what it is. Davenant,” continued the lawyer, “there is semething deeper than you have owned to yet at the bottom of your reluctance to leave England. There is some one, at least—a woman. ” The other turned his face full upon the speaker. “You’re about right, Jim,” he said, tossing the end of his cigar away as he spoke. “There is a woman—not a sudden caprice, either — but a woman I have loved truly and fondly for the last five years of my life. If I were a wise man, I should be very glad of this chance of curing my infatuation by putting a few thousand miles between myself and the loveliest face I ever saw.” ‘lt’s a hopeless cose, then, I suppose,” suggested James Wyatt. “Quite hopeless. What have I to offer the woman I love? The income upon which I have managed to live since my ruin and subsequent reformation would be something worse than beggary for a wife such as the woman I love. Even if she were willing to share my poverty, could I be mean enough to drag her into such a slough of despond? No, Jim, it is a hopeless case. My pretty one and I must part. I to dreary old bachelorhood, she to fulfill her mission, and make one of the grand matches of the season.” “I think I know the lady,” said James Wyatt, slowly. “Lord' Clanyarde’s youngest daughter; the new one, eh, Cyprian? The Clanyardes are neighbors of yours in Kent, I know.” “Of course I can trus£ you, Jim. Yes, you’ve hit it, But what made you fix upon Constance Clanyarde?” , ‘Have I not senses to understand,

and eyes to see. and have I not seen you and Miss Clanyarde together at least three times? Why, Cyprian, the infatuation on both sides is patent to the most unsophisticated observer. It's a pity you ve only four hundred a year. That would be rather a tight squeeze for a Clanyarde. They’re a notoriously extravagant set. I know, and have been up to their eyes in debt for the last forty years. Yes, I have seen the lady, Cyprian, and she is very love'v. Upon my word, I m sorry for you. “Thanks, old fellow. I needn't ask you not to mention my name in conjunction with Miss Clanyarde's. And now I suppose we d better go back to our friends.” “I think so. By the way, what do you think of the lady we were asked to meet?” “Mrs. Walsingham? She is very handsome. A widow, 1 suppose?” “She is rather silent on that point, and I have heard it hinted that Colonel Walsingham—he was Colonel in the Spanisn Contingent, I believe, and Count of the Holy Roman Empire—still walks this earth, and that the lady owes her agreeable freedom to an American court of divorce. The antecedents are altogether doubtful, and Mrs. Walsingham’s set is of the order fast and furious Gilbert Sinclair likes that kind of thing." “And I suppose Mrs. Walsingham likes Gilbert Sinclair," “Or his money. Sinclair’s about the biggest fish in the matrimonial waters, and she will be a happy angler who lands him. But I really believe Mrs. Walsingham has a weakness for the man himself, independent of his money. Strange, isn't it? Sinclair’s the dearest fellow in the world, and as his friend of course I dote upon him; but I confess that if I were a woman I should regard him with unmitigated loathing. ” “That s rather strong.” “Of course he's a most estimable creature; but such an unspeakable snob, such a pompous, purse-proud cad. Ah, there he is at the window looking for us. If I were a woman, you know, Cyprian, that man would be the object of my aversion; but I’m not, and he’s my client, and it is the first duty of a love his clients. Coming, Gilbert.” The two men crossed a little bit of lawn, and went in through the open window. The room was lighted with wax candles, and a merry party was crowded round a table, at one end of which a lady was dispensing tea in quite a homelike fashion.. She was a very beautiful woman, of a showy type, dressed in white muslin half covered with lace; dressed just a little too youthfully for her flve-and-thirty years. There were two other ladies present, one a fashionable actress, and the other her friend and confidante, also an aspirant to dramatic fame. The first was engaged in an agreeable flirtation with a cornet of dragoons, the second was listening with delight to the lively conversation of Mr. Bellingham, manager of the Phoenix Theater. A couple of gentlemen belonging to the stock-broking fraternity, and Gilbert Sinclair, the giver of the feast, made up the party. Mr. Sinclair was a man whom many people admired, and who was in no obvious manner deserving James Wyatt’s unflattering description. He affected a certain bluntness of style, which his friends accepted as evidence of a candid and open soul and a warm heart.

The chief claim which Mr. Sinclair possessed to notoriety was comprised in the fact of his wealth. He was the owner of a great estate in the north, an estate consisting of iron-works and coal-pits, the annual income from which was something stupendous, and he had shares in more railways and mines and foreign loans than his friends could calculate. “I wish you would give me a little assistance with the teacups, Gilbert, ” Mrs. Walsingham said, rather impatiently. “It is all very well to talk of the pleasantness of having the tea made in the room in this way, but one requires some help. Thanks. Take that to Sir Cyprian Davenant, if you please, and bring me Sophy Morton's cup.” Mr. Sinclair obeyed, and when he came back with the empty cup Mrs. Walsingham motioned him to a vacant chair by her side and detained him there till the carriages were announced. She called him by his Christian name in the face of society, and this party of to-night' was only one of many entertainments that had been given at different times for her gratification. It was scarcely strange, therefore, if rumor, especially loud on the part of the lady's friends, declared that Mr. Sinclair and Mrs. Walsingham were engaged to be married. But the acquaintance between them had continued for a long time, and those who knew most of Gilbert Sinclair shook their heads significantly when the matrimonial question was mooted. Mrs. Walsingham detained Mr. Sinclair in conversation some time after the carriages had been announced. She was very bright and animated, and looked her best as she talked to him. It was nearly eleven o'clock when she was reminded of the lateness of the hour and the length of the drive before them by Miss Sophy Morton, who had lately transferred her attention from the callow cornet to Mr. Wyatt, much to the disgust of the youthful dragoon. “Yes, Sophy, I am going to put on my shawl. Will you fetch our wraps from the next room, please, Mr. Wyatt? Will you take the back seat in the b’ ougham, Gilbert, and wind up with a lobster salad in Half-Moon street? It is really early, you know.” “Thanks, no. I could scarcely trust my man to drive those chestnuts; so I think I’ll go back in the phaeton; and I’m due at a hop in Eaton square.” “Indeed?” asked the lady curiously, and with a rather anxious look. “You used not to care for dancing parties.” “I don’t care for them now, but one has to sacrifice inclination now and then, you know. ” “Do I know the people?" asked Mrs. Walsingham. Mr. Sinclair smiled as he replied: “I think not. ” A cloud came over the lady's face, and when her shawl had been adjusted she toon Gilbert Sinclair s hand in silence. Nor did she speak to him on the way to the porch of the hotel, where a mail phaeton and a corple of broughams were waiting. Her adieus to the rest of the party were brief and cold, and Gilbert himself she only honored by a Stately inclination of her beautiful head, with its coronal of bright chestnut hair, and coquettish little curls dotted about a broad white forehead. Mr. Sinclair stood bareheaded under the porch as the Walsingham brougham drove away, and then turned with a frown to perform his duties in other directions. Here, however, he found there was nothing left for him to do. Miss Morton and her companion had been escorted to their carriage by Sir Cyprian Davenant and Mr. Wyatt,

and ware waiting to bid their host good-by. “And a thousand thanks for our delightful day, Mr. Sinclair, which we are not likely to forget for a long time, are we, Imogen?" Miss Imogen Harlow, who had been born Watson and christened MaryAnne. shook her empty little head coquettishlv, and declared that the memory of that Richmond dinner would remain with her to her dying dav. And on the way home the two ladies discussed Mr. Sinclair and his income, and speculated as to the chances of his ultimately marrying Mrs. Walsingham. |TO BB COSTIMCBD. I