Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 November 1897 — A WOMANS HEART [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A WOMANS HEART

CHAPTER 111. The solicitor was leaning back in his chair thoughtfully with a paper-knife. “I am sorry to hear this. Sir Wilfrid, very sorry, because I presume—forgive me if I offend you, sir—that (as you did not care to announce your marriage to your late father) Lady Ewell is not, perhaps, quite in the same position as yourself.” “She is not,” replied the young man, curtly. “I am very sorry,” repeated the lawyer; “very sorry, indeed.” “Look here, Mr. Parfitt,” said Sir Wilfrid, “you were my father's apd iny cousin s friend, and I will make a elmi breast to you. You know where I have been living for the last three years, down at Chelsea, at a place called Wolsey Cottage, kept by a lady named Warner and her daughter? It's the daughter—you understand—l married her two years ago.” “But, my dear sir, “you were not of age,” exclaimed Mr. Parfitt, with aroused interest. “I think I am right in saving you are two-aud-twenty at the present moment.” “Of course I wasn't of age. If I Lad been I would have married Miss Warner openly. But I was only 20, and she 17, so we took French leave.” “And, how, then, did you procure the license?” inquired the luwyer. At this question the new baronet grew very red. “That was the most awkward part of the business, Mr. Parfitt. You see, I was quite ignorant of such matters, and when I applied for a license, I found I had to declare we were both of age. There was no other way of getting it. I had already decided to be married under iny Christian names only, of Wilfrid Stanley, so that my father might not get wind of it; so the license was made out accordingly. It was very foolish and very wrong. I see that now; but at the time I was so much in love that I would have sworn to anything in order to obtain my own way.” “You took a false oath, in fact, Sir Wilfrid?” “I did. I feel very much ashamed to confess it, but I looked upon the whole matter ns a mere form, and of no consequence to any one but ourselves. And no more, I suppose, it is.” Not from a moral point of view, sir, certainly; but looked at legally ” “What of it, looked at legally?” “Simply this; that it is no marriage at all.” “What!’ cried Wilfrid Ewell, with the utmost nstonishment. “I repeat it, sir. A marriage entered into by minors, without the consent of parents or guardians, aad under an assumed name, is invalid.” “I am extremely sorry to hear it, hut it was not done willfully, nnd, ns I said before, no one has a right to dispute my marriage with her now,” spoke Sir Wilfrid. “Except yourself, sir.” “What do you mean?” ‘That you could set aside this marriage without the slightest trouble—in fact, you aro as free to marry ns if you had never seen the lady under discussion. You would not even have need to appeal to the law; you are at this moment absolutely free.”

“Do you think I am a. villain?” exclaimed Sir Wilfrid, starting in his chair. “My dear Sir Wilfrid, pray be reasonable. I am your legal adviser, and it is my business to tell you what is the law, and what is not. Y’ou might as well find fault with your doctor for attempting to direct your regimen.” “Tree! You must forgive my hastiness, Mr. Parfitt, but this intelligence has upset me. Well, I suppose the only thing to be done is for me to marry Lady Ewell »> “Miss Warner, Sir Wilfrid,” interposed the lawyer, blandly. Sir Wilfrid laughed. “Miss Warner, then, if you will have it so, over again. It can be done without any fuss or publicity, can’t it? I mean, without letting the world know it has been done before.” “Certainly, sir—if ytm are determined to renew the contract.’’ “Of course I am determined. What else could I do?” “Well, under the circumstances, considering the Indy’s position in life, and that you have, in fact, never been married to her, I think most men would find plenty of other things to do. However, that is wot my business, Sir Wilfrid. No doubt, your heart is set upon the matter, and of course yovi are the best judge of your own actions. But I cannot help feeling sorry —for your father’s sake, as well a a your own. A lodging-house-keeper’s daughter is not the wife for Sir Wilfrid Ewell, nor the mistress for Lambseote Hall. You should have looked higher, my dear young friend—if you will permit me to call you bo —much, much higher.” “All right, Parfitt; we will speak of this again to-morrow.” “Good-morning, Sir Wilfrid—goodmorning!” said the lawyer, as he accompanied the new baronet to the outer office, and opened the door for him with his own hands. It was a false pride, but Wilfrid Ewell could not help feeling proud as he walked through it, with the clerks bowing to him on every side. Which of them would have bowed to him a month ago, if he had been sent to Mr. Parfitt with a message from Somerset House? But to be a baronet with a fine estate, and a rent-roll of seven thousand dollars a year, was a very different thing! The man was just the same, but nobody would think so. And neither did outward objects appear just the same in the eyes of the newly-made baronet as- they had time to those of Wilfrid Ewell; and this fact struck him more forcibly as he walked up to the door of the cottage in Chelsea that evening.The cottage walls looked dingy, and as if they needed paint; the cry of welcome from the old parrot in his cage In the veranda sounded like a discordant shriek. Mrs. Warner’s fantastic dress, ns she appeared for an instant at the window, looked the essence of vulgarity; even Jane, who ran to the door to welcome him with her grave, sweet smile, seemed more like a servant than she had ever done before. He took her by the hand, but he did not kiss her. These married lovers had been compelled, from fear of discovery, to put a very strong control upon their words and actions, so that Jane neither expected nor desired such a demonstration on his part. But she was disappointed to see him enter with a frown upon his handsome face, just when she had thought it would be over-brimming with his new happiness. “Oh, Will!” she exclaimed in a kind of whispered gasp as their hands mot. “Why do you wear that thing?” he answered, pointing to her Holland apron. “You know I hate it.”

BY FLORENCE MARYATT

“Oh, my poor apron! I quite forgot to take it off, I was in such a hurry to lot you in. Shall I pay the cab, Will? What is it? . Two shillings? You go upstairs. There's no one in the house but me and mother, and I’ll come to you as soon as I've settled with the cabman.” He walked down the garden-path, and as soon as his back was turned Jane seized her portmanteau, which had been deposited in the hall, in her strong young arms, and carried it bodily upstairs. When Sir Wilfrid entered his sittingroom he found her divested of the apron and quietly arranging her hair before his looking-glass, as if she had done nothing out of the common way. “Did you bring up my portmanteau?” he inquired, curtly. "Of course I did. Will. Who else? Haven't I done it scores of times before?” “But always against my wish, .lane, ns you will acknowledge; and in future it will be against my orders. I cannot have you degraded to the position of a maid of all work.” He had thrown himself in an arm-chair when he entered the room, and the girl went up to him and knelt beside his knee. “Then I won’t do it again, Will, you know I won’t. But I cannot think it a degradation to wait upon you, I have done it for so long. It would seem quite unnatural to me to sit still and let somebody else attend to your wants.” lie was touched by her answer, and folding his arms about her, kissed her upon the brow and lips. CHAPTER IV. “You will tell me all about it, won't yon. Will?” said Jane, coaxingly, from her seat on the arm of his chair. “You can fancy how anxious I am to hear the whole story. It seems too wonderful to believe that this grand new baronet, with his estates and his mcney, can possibly be my husband.” Sir W ilfrid looked annoyed at the term she used, and glanced around the room anxiously. "How incautious you are, Jane. How often have I begged you not to use that name,' even in private. The door is ajar, and you never know who may be listening.” “But, my darling!” laughed the girl, jumping up and slamming the offending door. “I have told you already there is no one in the house except poor mother. Besides, everyone must know it now, surely! We can’t go ou like this when you take possession of Lnmbscote. Will.” “Certainly not; but I cannot take possession for some time to come. Mr. Parfitt, my solicitor, tells me it is usual in these cases to allow the widow to choose her own time for vacating the premises—that is, within a month or two. Awful nuisance, isn’t it? But it’s always the way in this world. You can’t get a stroke of good luck without some worry to counterbalance it.” “Oh. don’t call it worry, Will! Think how completely unexpected our good fortune was—how different it is to be a«rieh man, from toiling at a desk all your life —and nothing will be a worry to you. And poor Lady Ewell, too! A month w ill seem n very short time for her to give it all up in. Tell me more about her. Will. Is she nice and pretty? and will she—can she be Lady Ewell still, as well as—as ’»

“As well as yourself! Yes; you are both Lady Ewell, now! She is the Dowager Lady Ewell, and you are the reigning one.” “How strange-—how very strange—it seems.” replied the girl, thoughtfully: “but I am so ignorant of such things. I have never been thrown in the way of lords and ladies and such high people before. Oh, Will, dear, where shall we goV” “I have no intention of taking you away from Chelsea, at all events for the present. But I shall have a great deal of business to transact during the next few weeks, and I must have rooms at the West-end. Parfitt is looking out for some for me, and I am to see them to-morrow.” “What shall I do without you—perhaps for a couple of months?” said the girl, wearily. “Just.as bad for me as for you,” he answered, carelessly, “but I have to endure it. Make the best of it, ns I do, Jane. You see everybody will be wanting to speak to me now. My mother has written twice already for me to go down to Surbiton, and several of my father's old friends have sent letters and cards for me to Parfitt's office. It is quite necessary I should have a proper place to receive my visitors in.” “Of course," acquiesced Jane, who knew nothing of social etiquette; “and I must remain here, then. Will?” “For the present, my dear, certainly. You see, Jane, I am rather in an awkward predicament. I have passed everywhere for a bachelor; and to go now and tell the world, without any preparation, that I am a married man would call down many comments and inquiries. I have told Parfitt all about it, and he seriously advises our keeping the matter dark, until my business is finally settled.” "You have told Mr. Parfitt that we are married!” exclaimed Jane. “Yes; I gave him every particular.” “Oh! what did he say?” “He thought we had been very foolish and very imprudent, naturally—eveyy one would say that; and ” “Oh, Will!” interrupted the girl, eagerly, “1 wonder if it was too foolish! I have been thinking so much about it since I received your letter, and worrying myself with the idea that if we had not been so rash, you might have found some one else more suited to your rank and station. But never one to love you better, darling—never a more faithful and constant wife than I shall be to you.” “Don’t talk rubbish, Jane, and don’t get sentimental. When people are married they’re married, and there's an end of it. You will see the necessity that has arisen for our keeping our marriage a secret for a little while longer. Not a word to anybody, Jane. Remember, not to anybody.” “Not even to poor mother! It would make her so happy,” said the girl, regretfully. “No! Your mother is the last person in the world to confide a secret to.” “And your mother, Will?” v I shn n’t tell her, either, until we are settled at Lambscoto Hall—if we ever are.” “Why do you say ‘if we ever arc'?” exclaimed Jane, with surprise, “Only because ‘there’s many a slip ’twist the cup and the lip,’ you know; and who s to tell what may happen in a couple of months? We may all be dead before Lady Ewell takes herself off to her father.” “Oh, Will! it's your turn to talk nonsense now. But about mother, dear; yon won’t separate us—will you? You promised me you never would.” She looked wistfully at her husband as she spoke, but h;s eyes did not meet hers. “if I said so, my dear, it must lie all

right I have not been in the habit es breaking my protniae* to yon—have I? What time is it? Let me see. By Jotel five o’clock: and I’ve had no luncheon. I thought I was feeling deucedly hungry” She sprang to her feet imm.tdiately. “How selfish of me, Will! Here have I been thinking of nothing bnt myself, whilst my boy was starving. What wili you have, dear? There is a cold pie in the house, and some lamb chops, and a bunch of lovely asparagus.” “I'll have scone cutlets and asparagus, Jane; and tell the girl to go round to the wine merchant’s and order in a dozen of the best claret. How soon will it be ready?” ‘ In half an hour, dear; but I must go and look after it myself. lam not to be a baronet’s wife till you go to Lambseote. Yon told me so. And when I get there I will be very good, I promise you, and pretend I never darned a sock or cooked a cutlet in my life. But I must teach mother not to talk about it—mustn’t I ! Poor mother!” continued Jane, with affectionate pity, as she left the room; ‘ how she will enjoy herself at Lambscote!” As a vision of Mrs. Warner, arrayed in every color of the rainbow, and with her tongue going like a water-mill, doing the honors of his residence with h*er daughter, passed through Sir Wilfrid’s brain, he shuddered and closed his eyes. “No,” he thought, “that cannot be. M hat I promised Jane when I married her, and believed that this cottage would be our home for life, must not be allowed to stand in the way of her own advancement. Her slender chance with the county families would be ruptured at once, unless her mother is kept in the background. We must get someone to live at the cottage and look old lady instead. How extraordinary it seems to remember what Partitt declares —that after all this time of apparent security, Jane is actually not my wife! I wonder if she will be cut up when she hears it! But I sha’n’t tell her, until I am prepared to repeat the ceremony. She is not, perhaps, in every particular what I would have chosen for Lady Ewell, but she is a very handsome, intelligent girl, and there is no doubt of her affection for me. And, hang it all! after a couple of years a man could scarcely be such a scoundrel as to propose to annul the marriage, It would be too mean! But I wish Parfitt hadn’t put the notion in my head.” Which proved that, in whatever light his conscience might regard such a contingency, Sir Wilfrid’s inclination meant to have a fight for it when the time an rived. (To be continued.)