Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 October 1897 — A WOMAN HEART [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A WOMAN HEART

By FLORENCE. MARYATT

CHAPTER I. Some twenty years ago there lived in an old-fashioned, rambling cottage, in the greenest part of Chelsea, England, a lady iff the name of Warner and her daughter Jane. Mrs. Warner was the widow of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, a fact of which she was inordinately proud. Her daughter Jane, at the time of her father’s death, was a staid, sensible girl of fifteen, and quite capable, in the opinion of Mrs. Warner’s friends, of assisting her mother to eke out the miserable pension which was all the Lieutenant’s death left them to live upon. So they established the mother and daughter in the Chelsea cottage, where Jane grew from girlhood to womanhood, with such education as books and her. own thoughts could give her, and a knowledge of housekeeping and the best means of making a shilling do duty for two, beyond her years. The upper portion of the cottage was let in lodgings, and generally nlMhe year round, for it sweet, quiet place to live in, and Jane made her lodgers so comfortable they had no desire to move. At the time our story opens they hwl three permanent inmates, all of whom looked on the house as their home. The drawingroom floor was let to Mr. Wilfrid Eweil, a clerk in Somerset House; and the one above it to Mr. John Cobble, who was walking the hospitals; while the room on the landing served as “parlor and bedroom for all” to Miss Prosser, a daily governess, who had made an arrangement to take her meals with the Warners. Jane was glad to secure such a companion for her mother, who occupied the din-ing-room, and who was never happy unless she had some one to chatter to about the deceased lieutenant. The room was decorated with trophies of her hero—his books and portraits, and the shells, 9tuffed birds and other abominations which he bad collected during his voyages for the edification of those at home. The oldfashlbned rambling cottage, which was surrounded by a green veranda, almost hidden in summer by honeysuckle 6nd clematis and climbing roses, was set in the midst of a garden as old-fashioned and rambling as itself. It was an evening in June, quiet and serene as herself, and Jane, the day’s labor over, was watering her favorite flowers. She wore a black and white print dress, with a hollund apron and a broad-brimmed muslin hat; and she made a pretty picture as she stood there with the watering pot in her uplifted hand. Presently a little person, fantastically dressed, came ambling along the garden paths, and Mrs. Warner stood beside her daughter. It was difficult to look at them, and believe they were parent and child. Jane towered inches above her mother’s head, and her regular features bore no resemblnuce whatever to Mrs. Warner’s turned-up nose and round bird-like eyes. The elder lady wore r dress of many colors, end a wonderful cap, manufactured by herself. Her cap was ornamented with every artificial flower and morsel of ribbon she could lay her hauds on; and in the front of it was stuck a large brooch-formed »t a pamtmw on tvory f>r she temple of Tanjore—one of the Lieutenant’s last gifts to her, and which the poor old lady regarded as a species of amulet or charm. She was never seen without this brooch placed in some part or other of her dress; and her latest craze was that, if she parted with it for a single hour, some harm would happen to the Lieutenant—for her madne§B had taken the happy form of refusing to believe her husband was dead; and sometimes Jane was unable to persuade her to stir out of the house for days together, under the impression that he might return while she was away. As she approached her daughter’s side on that June evening Jane saw she had some new crochet in her addled brain, from the way in which she looked around her, with her finger to hefi lips. “Jane,” she commenced, mysteriously, “Miss Prosser is not in.” “Well, she is often detained, you know that. Perhaps Lady Brooke has a dinner party, and has asked her to remain with the children. She will be home to supper. But you must not wait for your cup of tea a minute longer.” And Jane put her arm round Mrs. Warner’s waist, and tried to draw her toward the house. But the old lady stood still upon the path and refused to stir. “Jane,” she said, solemnly, “don’t trifle upon such a subject. Have you forgotten that I expect your father to arrive at any moment —that this very evening he may be here? And Miss Prosser does not return! Perhaps she has gone to meet him. The thought disturbs me greatly. I have been very kind to Miss Prosser. 1 have talked a great deal to her of your father’s goodness and beauty. Do you think I talk too much of his goodness and beauty, Jane?” “Perhaps you do, dear, sometimes. The subject is not so interesting, you know, to other people as it is to you and to me.” “But that is impossible, Jane. Every one must be interested to hear qf your dear father. He is one of the handsomest men in England, you know, and certainly the best. Can women fall in love with men of whom they have only heard, Jane?”

“I don’t think so,” replied the girl, cheerfully. “I never met with such a case. Mother, if you don’t come in at once the evening air will ruin the painting on your beautiful brooch,” said Jane, using the most forcible argument she could think of. Mrs. Warner immediately clapped her hands to her brooch with a cry of dismay, and trotted into the house. Her daughter followed her with a sigh. Once settled at her tea-tray, Mrs. Warner fell into a more reasonable mood. She was given, at such moments,'to assume a managerial and dictatorial air with her daughter, which would have been highly amusing had it not been so sad, and which Jane bore with the utmost submission. The subject which started her this evening was the accidental mention of Mr. Ewell’s name. “Where is Mr. Ewell, Jane?” demanded the old lady; “I don’t know, mother.” “You have no business to let him stay away so long. He will get up to mischief. Yoling men are not to be trusted. If he were' like your dear father ” “What right have I, mother, to question the comings and goings of Mr. Ewell, or anybody else? He has rich relations; perhaps he is staying With them. You know bo often goes to his cousin, Sir Robert Ewell, of Lambscote.” “1 don’t believe it, Jane! He has left the cottage because you put clean sheets on his bed.” “My dear mother!” “It is the truth; I saw you do It The best linen sheets, too. Why is Mr. Ewell to have linen sheets and Mr. Cobble only cotton T’ Zb* girl laughed, though uneasily.

“I thought the best sheet* should go with the best floor. However, I will equalize my favors in future.” “And you darn his socks, too,” continued Mrs. Warner, in a tone of injury, pointing to her daughter’s work-basket; “and Miss Prosser says she would be only too thankful to be helped with her needle-work.” “I never undertook to help Miss Prosser,” interrupted Jane, proudly. At that moment the postman's knock sounded on the door, and, hurrying through the hall, Jane received a letter addressed to herself, and hid it in the pocket of her apron before she returned to the dining-room. There was no need. Mrs. Warner’s temporary fit of natural curiosity had already evaporated, and she was busily employed dusting the shells and stuffed birds and talking to the portrait of her husband as if it had been a sentient thing; so Jane found no difficulty in escaping once more to the garden, and there devoured the contents of her letter. It did not take long td rend, but it contained startling intelligence. 0

“M.v Dearest Jane: I have been so full of business the last week I have had no time to write to yj>u; but I shall be home to-morrow or next day, If only for an hour. I have unexpected news for you. My cousin, Sir Robert, and his boy were carried off by diphtheria, within a few hours of each other, last week. This event, as you will guess, brings the title and estates to me; but I beg you will not mention the circumstance in the house yntil I have seen you. “I remain, yours lovingly, W. E.” “P. S.—By the way, if that brute Knowles comes bothering about his bill again, refer him to Mr. Parfltt, 33 Commentary Inn. And send me a couple of clean shirts and etceteras to the Albany Hotel in a cab, as soon as ever you re ceive this, there's a dear girl.” Jane read this epistle more than cnce before she fully comprehended the astounding fact It conveyed to her, and the difference that fact made in the fortunes of .Wilfrid Ewell. “A baronet!” she kept on repeating wonderlngly to herself, whilst the night moths flew about her, and the dark rapidly blurred the characters she had been perusing. “A baronet!—Sir Wilfrid Ewell!—and to live at that lovely place, Lambscote, of has told me so much! and to have all Sir Robert’s carriages and horses and hot-houses! Oh, it seems too.good to be true! I cannot believe it!”

And then her thoughts turned with womnnly compassion and tenderness to the dead man, whom she had never seen, and his young widow. “Poor Sir Robert!” she whispgred softly, whilst the tears rose to her eyes. “How sad for Lady Ewell to' lose hlih aud her little boy both in one day! How miserable she must be! I wonder Will says so little of them both. He has such a kind heart, surely he must feel his cousiu's sudden death. Perhaps he feels it so much he has net the courage to put him feelings into words. How I wish it was in my power to do anything to comfort Lady Ewell now.” But here Jane’s mind, always practical, remembered hrr correspondent’s request for clean shirts, and she went up stairs and packed the articles, and carried them herself to the nearest cab-stand, last the servant should decipher the new address, and talk about it. And, us she vyalked back in the dark, there was a new light (which might almost have been deemed triumphant) in her eyes, as she kept on repeating to herself: "S'r Wilfrid Ewell, of Lambscote! Sir Wilfrid and Lady Ewell, of Lambscote! Oh, it is impossible! It cannot be true. It will be days and days before I am able to believe it.”

CHAPTER 11. The advent of these unexpected honors seemed almost as incredible to the recipient of them as to Jane Warner, and when the news was suddenly conveyed to him that a few short hours had quenched the lives of both the young baronet and his son, and bestowed on himself a title, lands, and money, he turned sick end faint with the shock. He was only 22, though rather old and blase for his age, ns young men left to their own devices in London are apt to be; and with one turn of her wheel fickle goddess had transformed him to an independent man. It was enough to turn a stranger head than Wilfrid Ewell’s. The morning following his letter to Jane Warner, he walked by appointment into the office of the solicitor, Mr. Parfitt, ftnd was received by that gentleman with open arms. “My dear Sir Wilfrid, charmed to see you! So sorry I was out when you called yesterday. Come about making some arrangement with regard to Lambscote, I conclude? Ah! yes. Quite right. Had a letter from the widow this morning—poor young creature! Very sad, of course; but these things are to be expected—eh, Sir Wilfrid?” , “Well, I didn’t expect it, Mr. Parfitt. Poor Bob was always so healthy and well, you know. I am sure, the last time I was staying at Lambscote he reminded me more of Harry the Eighth than of any one else.” “Ah! corpulent— rosy—full habit—determination of blood to the head. A constitution very much to be avoided, Sir Wilfrid. lam glad to observe that you don’t take after the late baronet in that particular.”

“No; I have always been spare enough, if that is nny indication of health. But with respect to Lambscote, Mr. Parfitt?” “Ah! with respect to Lambscote, Sir Wilfrid. You wnnt to know how soon you can take possession? Very natural. But I have thought it was hardly time to moot-the question to Lady Ewell. The poor creature is naturally cut up about this affair, and being so soon after the funerals ——” • • “I should have thought the sooner she left the place, the sooner she’d forget it,” replied Sir Wilfrid, flicking the dust from his mourning trousers with his ebony cane. “And—and there are others to consult besides myself In the matter.” “All! your mother, no doubt, Sir Wilfrid, and your Bisters. Five of them, are there not? You see, I was a friend of your late father for years, and know all about the family- Pity be did not live to see this day! I am sure you will agree with me in that. And directly J heard you had come into the title, I knew your first thought would be for your mother and sisters. They will help (o fill the Hall nicely, Sir Wilfrid, and take all the trouble of it off your hands.” At this suggestion the new baronet looked uneasy, and shifted his feet. “Yes, yes,” he stammered*; “of course I shall hope to see my family very often at Lambscote, as visitors, you under

stand, Mr. Pa rfitt—visitor*. Bat a maa doea not want to lire with his mother and slaters forager, and—and ” The old man looked at the yeung man •lyiy.“I do understood, Sir Wilfrid, perfectly—perfectly; and a very right resolution, too. You are of an age to do, air, as you think of doing, and the inheritance of such a titled fortune as yours brings the responsibility of marriage with it Poor Sir Robert thought so, and you must think the same. You must not-let the name become extinct Sir Wilfrid, and there ia no one to take it after yourself, unless jou leave sons behind you. It becomes a duty, air—a duty. And if you will let me further advise you, being so much your elder and your-late father's friend, I should say, don’t be afraid of looking too high. There ia many a lord’s daughter who would be proud and happy to become the mistress of Lambscote, and you have a title fit to rank with the best in the land.” “Yes, Mr. Parfitt; but there is an obstacle In the way, and that ia, that I am al* ready married." The solicitor bounced in his chair like an India-rubber ball, with surprise. “Married! Sir Wilfrid! married! Bless my heart and soul! You have positively taken away my breath with surprise.” “You may well say so. It lakes away my own sometimes only to think of it.” “But when did it happen, Sir Wilfrid?” “Two years ago.” “And none of your family are aware at it?” “Not one. I was afraid to tell my father, who held very rigid opinions on such matters, and would certainly have withdrawn the small assistance he rendered me, had he heard of it And since his death, where waa the use of disclosing it? I had not'the means to introduce my wife into society, and we were perfectly happy as we were. Now, however, circumstances render It imperative that I should acknowledge her, and make our marriage perfect. She la, of course, Lady Ewell, and must take her place in the world according to her rank.” (To be continued.)

ATCHISON GLOBE SIGHTS. We hear a great deal about philosophers. It Is our opinion that there never was one. Two men cannot be friends very long who entertain opposite opinions about a base-ball club. What has become of the old-fash-ioned What-Not, formerly the most prominent piece of parlor furniture? People who are young, and fat, and prosperous, wonder why the old and unfortunate are not more patient We’ll bet that we can spend a week In a kitchen, and cook better than half the women who hire out as cooks. Every man Is secretly proud If his beard Is stiff, and bard to cut; he believes a stiff beard means more of a man. The most pitiful case of slavery in the world is where an old bachelor marries a widow with a lot of grown children. Lying Is expected in a politician as much as In a circus man, a hunter, or a fisherman, and nobody pays any more attention to it. A woman who has the courage to go to a dentist, and have four teeth pulled, should have the courage to get rid of undesirable visitors. A policeman is about the only man yrhotio a.dvloo ia always taken: If a man does not take a policeman’* advice, he Is locked up. No man Is so worthless that he la not an effective gossip: people will not take his noter but they take his word for a scandalous story. There Is a good deal to be said in favor of tbe man who goes fishing; It la so much better to fish than It la to loaf around busy friends. When a man commits a great crime, there Is a good deal of sympathy for him, but let him commit a little folly, and how the people give It to him! Our idea of good luck 1b to have country people think so much of you that they come In for you on Sunday, take you out to Sunday dinner, and bring you back again. Dry goods deserves the credit for much of the attractiveness of women. A blue sash properly used Is as effective as blue eyes, and a white dress Is prettier than pearly teeth. Old people are often fretful and seemingly unreasonable because they are sick. The young should remember this. After a man Is sixty years old, he Is simply a lot of decaying matter waiting for burial. Kansas products will bring more money this year than ever before In the history of the state. Last year Jewell county, Kansas, raised more corn than any other county in the world: elevfen million bushels. This year it wll raise twelve million bushels, thus breaking the world’s record twice In succession.