Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 23, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 June 1896 — WORTH WINNING [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WORTH WINNING

CHAPTER XXIII. Acton did not fina his task with Lady Prendergast nearly so hard a one as he had prepared for. She was not a woman to be obdurate, nor to indulge in personal antipathy or vindictiveness, except when she conceived she was obeying the stern behests of duty. What had ever been prominent in her mind, in her long and obdurate hostility toward Cave Harding, was the harm and disgrace which his courses and associates might bring upon Camilla and the impediment these might prove to settling the girl creditably in life. And now all that was over. Lady Prendergast saw her beloved one fading away like some lovely dissolving view, and knew only too well that it was- a mere race between them to the grave. “Oh, let him come by all means," she had exclaimed, somewhat astonishing Cyril by interrupting his long chain of carefully prepared arguments. “Who knows but seeing him again, forgiven by me, and repentant, Camilla may wish to live for his sake if not for ours." An<J the formerly hard old lady felt, as she said those last words, the old wild jealous revolt within her; but valiantly she subdued the feeling. “And when,” she asked, “would you propose that I receive him?” “Why, the sooner the kinder, both to him and Camilla.” “Shall I ask him here on a visit?” This was so much more than Acton had dreamt of that it almost took away his breath. An intuitive feeling told him that he had better not accept too much all at once. He said: “Oh. Lady Prendergast, there is no measure to your bounty. I never contemplated such extreme goodness. But no, my dear friend Harding has long been accustomed to rough it. There is a spare room at th? rambling old farm where I am staying; let him come down to me there, at any rate for the present. One favor more. I see Camilla coming in. May I be so selfish as to claim the pleasure of imparting to her the news of your generosity? Oh, how she will love you!” jK“By all means, so run along and meet heiyi—He waited for no second bidding, and accosted Camilla upon the lawn, with: ‘ “You see I am an earlier visitor than usual to-day. I have a piece- of news which will startle and delight even you.’’ The girl flushed up, but that meant nothing. She did so now many, many times a day for little or no apparent ’cause. “Delight me?” she said, surprised, yet indifferent. “Your dear grandmamma has asked your father to come and see you here. He begged me to try whether she would consent to an interview, and Lady Prendergast, nobly forgetting all differences, at once expressed a wish that both Mr. Harding and myself should take up our abode here.” The tears rushed to Camilla’s eyes. Knowing her grandmamma as she did, this complete abandonment of the policy of years, this utter yielding up of that iron will, and for love of herself, as she well knew, was to the girl’s mind something ineffably touching. She wanted instantly to take the old lady in her arms, thank heaven that the last barrier between them was broken down, and weep out her thanks upon her bosom. She could now, indeed, love her without reserve. “And you have done this—for me?” she said, giving her hand again to Cyril. It was, of course, his cue to make the most capital he could out of the matter, but his cleverness told him that this was best to be done by modestly affecting to ascribe all merit to others, and deprecating the idea that he deserved excessive thanks. ‘1 merely endeavored,” he said, “to carry out your father's earnest request that he might see, you again on any terms. Lady Prendergast’s own generous heart, and her deep love for you, have done the rest” “It is very well for you to put it in that way; but I am confident—l take nothing from my gran’ma’s goodness in saying that without your zeal, and also your delicate tact, all might have failed. Now do not deny it That is my conviction, and in it I remain forever—mind, for‘"“Andshe laughed with the drops still dancing in her eyes'. off Jibe went to do her other thanksgiving. ■

Acton remained for awhile, sauntering among the flower beds and butterflies. He told himself that he had decidedly “scored,” as he put it. Presently Tie joined the ladies within, and agreed to stay for dinner. The letter sent off that afternoon to the prodigal father, and his coming arrival, formed the staple of conversation among the trio. A gayer tone than usual reigned around, and the hours flew by more pleasantly than they had been wont to do for some time. Cave came down four days later, and having happened to win a few sovereigns the night before, he was in the highest spirits. Acton drove to meet and bring him from the station, and both men came to dinner at Silvermead. Of course there was nothing like a fuss or a scene. The father kissed his child and shook hands with Lady Prendergast as if he had dined with them every day for a month past. His spirits chanced to be up, and so all his alarm about Camilla’s health was forgotten. And the next day they were all together again, and so on every day up till the eve of Monday in Goodwood week. CHAPTER XXIV. Happy and contented as the gambler seemed and even was at Silvermead, the ducal race week had attractions for him which were not to be withstood. He had backed Alcestos for the Gup, to an extent far exceeding what even Acton had any idea of; in fact, Harding, on certain information he had received of a private trial, chose to believe that the horse could not lose. He accordingly looked solely to the chance of his winning, and thus was never tired of taking the odds upon his favorite. And so, with a little circumspection, he managed to make that three hundred pounds stretch and stretch until at the present moment he stood to lose every shilling of four thousand pounds upon that one coup. It was not until the evening before his departure that Acton, being alone with her he loved so cruelly, suddenly startled her from her supposed security. After a short pause in a simple discussion as to the orthodoxy of a recent semi-religious poem, he said, quite coldly: “Xea know, I suppose, that your good *

BY JEAN MIDDLEMIS.

father favors our marriage?” She started; then, the next instant, telling herseV that the question meant no renewal of his suit she said, looking up at his face in the bright moonlight to read what might be there: “Why do you tell me this?" “I thought it only kind to prepare you for what he is sure to say or to write to you. But he will probably speak, for you know he return.-- on Saturday, not to the farm this time, but here, to stay at Silvermead.” “You have told him nothing, then?” “I assure you I have.” “Oh! But he eannot have understood you; my papa is good and loving; he would never coerce me, and now ” “Believe me. I described everything to him in the fullest detail; he has told me often that it will break his heart if you do not change your mind.” “Change my mind! I change now! Oh. he cannot know what he is talking about,” and she laughed bitterly. Then with rudden energy: “I will go to him at once. You shall set*. A few words and all will be settled. I know my own dear father.” “Do not disturb him now. See through the window. He is deep in sixpenny piquet with Lady Prendergast. Surely there is no hurry.” “Oh, no; nothing can make any real difference. It is merely a question of dispelling. a little sooner or later, this foolish hope of papa’s.” “Why foolish?” “Surely you ought to know. Have you so soon forgotten i»y words of the other night? To go over the old ground again is useless. My father has ever been loving and gentle. If yon think he is going to command me now, give up the illusion, for, even were he to do so, I should not dream of obeying him.” To himsjlf Acton said: “We shall see about that!” And they went within doors to find Mr. Harding more jubilant than ever. He had won, and winning with him was alway winning, whatever the amount. Acton , took care to give father and daughter no chance opportunity of a tete-a-tete, and in this the lateness of the hour well seconded him. Camilla woujd not condescend so far as to make a formal demand for one. Her pride told her it was paying Acton, whom she was beginin earnest now, too great Nothing worth recording occurred during the next few days at Silvermead. Acton called on the morning after the scene just described, but only to say he was running up to town on business, and to ask the ladies if they had any commands for Ixindon. He should be back, he thought, on Thursday or Friday. As he drove away an immense relief seemed to come to Camilla, who breathed a secret prayer that he might not return. On Friday, however, at noon, he sent a note over to say he was back at the farm, and asking if he might come to dinner. Of course the answer was “yes,” and he arrived about seven, bringing with him various small purchases which he had been Instructed to make for Lady Prendergast. Neither of the ladies could help noticing the young man’s unusually high spirits. Joy is indeed a more difficult emotion to conceal even than great grief, except, that is, in the first few moments of a terrible sorrow. It happens that to-night Camilla actually sought an occasion for being alone with Acton, but there was nothing in this at all flattering to him. As soon as she found one she said: “Can you by chance tell me bow it has fared with my father at Goodwood? He promised to write and has not done so?” “No, I have seen or heard nothing of him since Monday night. He was off at daybreak next morning.” The girl bent her head pensively as she said, more to herself than to Acton: “Oh, how I do wish he would take to something else!" “Just wnat I have urged a hundred times,” rejoined he brightly. “With his intelligence, for he is clever in almost anything, I am sure he might even now make himself a career,” said his daughter. -“Let us both try and persuade him.” Even in this good work Camilla did not. relish the partnership, but she only said:

“I asked him what race he was most interested in, and which horse he had backed, but he just put me off by declaring it always brought him ill luck to talk about his bets. Still, I should so like to knpw he had not lost. You cannot te‘ll The arrival of a telegram here broke in upon their conversation. “A telegram for Miss Harding.” “From papa,” she said, as she read it. “Ah, he tells me nothing, merely to acquaint gran’ma that hq will be here to breakfast” “Well,” exclaimed Cyril, “you will not have long to wait. I dare say you will be up early to drive and meet him at the station, and so would like to go early to bed. Good-night. I shall walk home across the fields and hope for the best” It was from no wish to spare Camilla that the young man had concealed from her the secret of his high spirits to-night. They had a twofold cause. Firstly, his trusty lawyer had informed him in London that certain awkward inquiries emanating, it was supposed, from Jack Forbes and his medical friend, Sir Ewing Crofton, had at last been successfully diverted upon a false scent Secondly—oh, blissful news—Alcestos had lost the Goodwood Cup. CHAPTER XXV. The very first glance which Camilla caught of her poor father the following morning told a terrible tale. The man who had set forth but so few days before, blithe,, demonair, positively young, looked now a mere wreck. He had left her a sort of Croesus, so thoroughly did he already possess in imagination the expected tffbusands he was to win. He returned a beggar—worse by far than a beggar; a gentleman who had staked upon honor what he did not possess, and, most maddening of all, who had a fair, proud daughter to blush for him. As they drove away to Silvermead he put his arm around her and asked with a smile: “And how is my little pet? Eh? And the old lady at home? Well, I hope, eh?” “Oh, yes, papa, dearest, but what of yourself? You look unhappy! Say, have you lost?” “N-not largely, dearest. If you read my unhappiness, believe me it is because I have not won certain large sums, which upon my honor, 7 wnsidered as good as

[at my banker s. Oh. I wm right! My judgment in racing matiers is well-nigh infallible. Upon my aoul, my darling, it is.” “Well, then?” “A fatality, my dear, one of those things that happen only to me! Alcestoa— that was the horse that carried all my money—was pulling Fordham out of the saddle—full of running, and looked like finishing ah me; when that wretched Jemmy Kite— Jemmy Kite is the lightweight, my darling—why da they allow such children to ride?—the Jockey Club ought to pass a law; however, little Kite—he’s not fourteen, and such an imp you never saw in this world—riding Artillery. Artillery, although a slow brute, is no boy’s horse—well, cannons bang against my animal, nearly knocking him down. I thought we were out of it; but no, in the last few strides he came again, and to show how right all my calculations were, and what pounds we had in hand, Alcestoa was only beat a head.” 'Then you didn't lose much?” “I didn't loss by much, you mean," said poor Handing in his excitement; “but the horse might as well have been beaten out of sight as far as the money goes.” “Of course, of course.' sadly smiled Camilla. "Even I know enough racing to see that” They were now at their little journey's end. Camilla had determined to have a thorough explanation with her father on a certain subject, the very hast opportunity. She now, however, busied herself in waiting upon him at breakfast, coaxing him to get through that meal with what comfort he might and about eleveno'clock invited him to take his cigarette in a certain spacious summer house; and there it was. seated by his side, that she begun what she believed a very few words would bring to a final and satisfactory issue. (To be continued.) , _