Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 February 1897 — LOVE AND MONEY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

LOVE AND MONEY

BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.

CHAPTER XXII. Angela devoted the early hours of Friday afternoon to packing the trunks which were to be sent on to London, at which place she would claim them. Of the few things which she forgot to pack away one was a silver-gray wrapper. It was a peculiar garment, long enough to cover her dress, exquisite in texture, and graceful in form. There was no special designation for it It was neither cloak, capo, dolman, nor mantle, and Lady Laura always called It a wrapper. In their early married days the Captain had purchased one similar to it for his wife; and she had been so much pleased with It that she had expressed a desire that Angela should have one like it; and the Captain, who was at that time moat attentive to his wife’s wishes, immediately ordered another for Angela. Lady Laura liked her wrapper all the more' because her husband had given it to if r, while, because It was her step-father's present, Angela had never eared for hers. The mother had long since worn out hers and forgotten it, while the one belonging to the daughter had been burled in the, recesses of her wardrobe. When Jana Felspar packed Angela’s clothes to send them to Brantome, she sent the gray wrapper with them, and the girl had worn it at times because she had little else to w%ar. She had worn it last whea shp went to the rose-garden, and had let! it folded carefully on one of the seats, and forgotten all about it It was no>t until her boxes were packed that she remembered the silver-gray wrapper and went in search of it It lay just as she had left it on the seat by the great rose-trees. She carried it back to the house, and then it occurred to her that she wanted to make some purchases in Culdale, in order to give a few presents to those who had been most kind to her during her btoy at the Hall. She was doubtful for ft few minutes as to whether it was prudent for her to go into Culdale, knowing that the Captain was In the neighborhood; but the afternoon was very pleasant, and she longed for the walk. Restless and excited, she was glad of a pretext that would occupy her time, and she told herself that it was not likely that she would meet any one she knew; still, to provide against such a contingency, she resolved to wear a veil. It was after four o’clock when Anglia started for Culdale, wearing the sllvergray wrapper, and little dreaming of all that would spring from the circumstance. Her way lay through the park, over Ike pretty rustic bridge that .spanned the river, through some clover-fields, then by the shaded high-road to Culdale. The afternoon was not too warm for walking, a sweet western wind bringing grant gusts of perfume from the clover-fields; and her heart rose as she walked on, &11 nature smiling around her. Sho reached Culdale, arid having made her purchases, set out for her walk home. She had left the town, and had jqst turned into the high-road, when suddenly, without any warning, she met Gladys Itane. There was no time to draw down the veil, which she had intended to hide her face, no time to avoid her; they h*d met face to face. “Miss Rooden!” exclaimed Gladys, in utter wonder. “Is it really you?" “Yes; it. is really I, my own self, Mias Rane," she replied. “But Captain Wynyard told me that you had left home—that you had gone away.” “I have been away from home for souae time.” "But where are you staying? Dees Captain Wynyard know that you %re here? What an extraordinary thing! I can hardly believe that it is you.” “Will you walk part of the way with me?” said Angela; and then she remsphered that she did not want Miss Rane to know that she was at Brantome Hgll. She must be careful not to let her kn*w It. “I have much to say to you, Mkss Rane,” she added. “Will you walk with me?” A nervous dread of remaining near Guldale came to her—a dread lest she might encounter the Captain, who, it was not improbable, might ba walking or riding near by. Angela had often wanted to talk seriously to Miss Rane, and the «p----portunity seemed now to be afforded her. She had fancied that she should like to tell Gladys some of the thoughts that were in her mind about her, and thus try to induce her to change her conduct toward the Captain. But it was most u»deslrable that their meeting should bo held in the public road, nor could Angela take Gladys in the direction of Brantome. She remembered presently the King's Meadow, which was half way between where they were standing and Brantomo Hall. She would take Miss Rane there, and say what she had to say, then hid her farewell, and wander through the fields until Gladys was on her way home again. "I have kept my secret so well," she said to herself, “it would be a pity for It to be known now.” "Ho.w strange it is that we should meet in this manner!’ remarked Miss Rane. “It seems extraordinary to me. I was talking about you to the Captain this morning. He canot understand why you left home.” “Let us sit down,” said Angela, pointing to the ivy-covered trunk of a fallen tree; and the two sat down together in the shade of the lime-trees. The afternoon being warm, Angela unfastened the clasps of her silver-gray wrapper, which fell unheeded from her shoulders on to the grass, and the soft summer wind bore it to some little distance. • 1 “Miss Rane,” she said, gently, “I am glad to have this chanee of speaking to you. I have often wondered whether it would be of any use if I made an appeal to you.” “An appeal about what?” asked sharply. “For my mother’s sake,” replied Angela, looking straight Into the dark face of the beautiful woman before her. “Miss Rane,” she said, simply, “do you know what you have made my mother suffer? fto you know that you iave helped Cap-

tain Wynyard to break her heart and ruin her life?” The proud eyes drooped before the speaker’s earnest gaze. “You say very strnnge things, Miss Rooden!” returned Gladys Rane, indignantly. “They are true,” said Angela, gently. “I have often wondered if you realized what you were doing.” “What have I been doing?” asked Gladys, proudly. “Your own heart and conscience will answer that better than I can. My mother was happy once, but now ” "Well,” said Gladys, abruptly, “and now ?” “Now her heart is broken,” added Angela. “All her beauty is dying, there is no light left In her eyes, no smiles ♦-•ome to her lips—she who was once all sunshine and gladness.” “What have*l to do with that?” asked Miss Rane, coldly. “This—you have helped Captain Wynyard to break her heart,” was the emphatic answer. j Miss Rane tried to laugh at the idea; but the laugh was forced and unnatural. “That is a very easy thing to say, Miss Rooden; you have yet to prove it.” “I have every proof of It, and the final one Is this—you are at Culdale Hall purposely to meet him. Is It right, fair, or Just to my mother, do you think, Miss Rane?” she asked. Her companion looked at her with wondering eyes. “If she is so unhappy,” said Gladys, - “why do they not part?” “Captain Wynyard is too shrewd a man of the world to leave my mother,” replied Angela, bitterly. “He will never be kind to her, and he will never leave her. Dearly as I love her, I cannot help her. Nothing will release her but death. I want you, Miss Rane,” she added gently, “to keep my secret. You have done irreparable harm to me and mine; to keep my secret will be to do me a favor.” “I will keep it,” said Gladys. “I will not mention that I have seen you.” “I would kneel and pray to you to spare my mother, my gentle, loving mother,” went on Angela; “but I fear it is too late now. She knows the character of her husband, and nothing cau make her happy again. Ah, Miss Rane. you have helped to break a noble heart! May heaven forgive you!” Without another word Angela rose, weeping as Miss Rane had never seen any one weep before—weeping and wringing her hands over the woe and the desolation the woman by her side had caused in tho once happy home at Rood. With a sobbed-out word of farewell the unhappy girl Walked slowly across the sunlit grass, and was soon lost to view. Miss Rane made no attempt to follow her, nor did she notice which way she went. She remained seated, pondering what had just passed, for some time; and then she perceived that Angela had forgotten her light silver-gray wrapper, the wind having blown it to the foot of a tree behind her.

CHAPTER XXIII. Miss Rane’s thoughts were not pleasant ones. She had always believed that the following out of one’s own inclination was the principal charm of lifej and Bhe concerned herself with nothing higher or nobler than the pursuit of pleasure. She hud loved Captain Wynyard when it was no sin to love him, and, when ho had married, she refused to Impose any seifrestraint upon herself. She had followed the bent of her own inclination, and in plain, pathetic words Angela had placed before her the result. She was not well pleased with herself, and, as she sat on the old tree-trunk, with the golden sunshine all around her, a faint doubt came to her as to whether she had done the best she could with her life. t “I think,” she said to herself, “if I had my life to live over again, I should act differently in many ways; and I am not quite sure that I do not wish I had never seen Vance Wynyard. When a fact is placed before one in very plain words, it has a different aspect.” Then Gladys Rane rose,. and, as she did so, her eyes fell upon the silver-gray wrapper, which the wind was blowing further and further away. Woman-like, she was attracted by the delicacy of the material, end she hastened to pick up the article. » “It is Miss Rooden’s,” she said to herself; “and how lovely it is!” She. shook out the fine, glistening folds, with all a woman’s admiration for what Is 1 most beautiful in dress. “ I must send, it to her,” she .thought “What .a pity' that she left it here!” As the easiest way of carrying it, she placed it round her' shoulders, at the same time fastening the clasps; and then, as she wandered on, it occurred to her that she did hot know her road. She had not walked either on the high-road or through the clover-fields before, and so she did not know' which way to turn. She had not noticed the direction in which she had come when she walked with Angela. Then, to her, infinite delight, she saw in the distance a sheet of water. She did not recognize it—she had never seen it before; but then she had not explored the whole of Culdalo Park. The sheet of .water was evidently a small ornamental lake, for a fountain was In the center, the water from which fell with a sound that was like delirious music on this oppressive evening. Op one side of the lake ran a narrow terrace of white stone, with steps leading down to the water’s edge. The very aspect of the place, with the noise of softly falling water, spoke of rest and peace, and to Gladys, thoroughly tired with her long walk, the sight of it was most welcome.

W ith a sigh of relief she sat down on one of the steps leading from the terrace to the water, and, as she thus rested, a gentle breeze came over the lake and fanned her hot face. The better to enjoy it, Gladys removed her hat from her head and let the breeze play .among the ripples of her hair. The music of the falling water was sweet as a’ lullaby. How thankful she was to sit down.! Her tired, limbs were at rest; her burning head and face were fanned by the breeze, her tired senses refreshed by the sduud of the falling water. Then Bleep came and weighed down her

eyelids? me emtio n« rail* it*-end wkj should she? She was safe now, and evidently close to the Hill. Someone would be passing and then she would be all right. In s few minute* Gladys Rane was lulled to sleep by the sound of the falling waters, while the wind played with the dark ripples of hes hair, and stirred the silver-gray folds of the wrapper, and, as she slept, a dream came to her. It was of a shadow that followed her. a shadow that was dark and overpowering and seemed to press her down — a shadow io terrible, so cold, so black, that it caused her to shudder in her sleep. Presently she woke for a moment and cast a glance at the loveliness of the scene around her, then the white eyelids closed again. Gladys Rane had looked on sunlight and water, on the ripple of green leaves, on the blue sky for the last time! The dark shadow had fallen over her, it was a requiem that the wind sung to the trees. (To be continued.)