Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 November 1897 — A WOMANS HEART [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A WOMANS HEART

CHAPTER Vll.—(Continued.) “Not legal, Will! What nonsense! We were married in a church.” “Just so, my dear; but it seems one can be married in a church and yet illegally. We were not of age. I was only twenty, as you know, and you were seventeen. The law called us minors, and minors cannot be legally married without the consent of their parents or guardians. Then, again, I married you under an assumed name. I am not yoUr husband, and yon are not my wife. We have never been married at all.” The color forsook her blooming face now, and left it deadly pale. “Will!” she said imploringly; “it cannot be true. A few words cannot make such a difference ns that. Why, lots of people are married as young ns we were. Do you mean to say that their marriages are all illegal aa well as ours?” “Not if their parents consented to them, or if no one has taken the trouble to set them aside. But don't look so frightened, Jane. It is not an irremediable mistake. We eau easily be married over again.” “But these two years?” she said, with trembling lips. “Now don’t be silly and make a fuss over it. You have too much good sense for that. Mr. Parfitt certainly surprised me a little by declaring our tnarriage to be irregular, and in fact no marriage at all; and I felt 1 wanted a little time to think it over before I met you again. But it’s nothing to grizzle at, though it will be better, perhaps, for us not to see each other so often until the ceremony can be properly performed.” “But why should there be any delay ?” asked the girl, breathlessly. “Well, as we have waited two years,” said Sir Wilfrid, with a slight laugh, “I think we may wait a little longer. You see, Jane, it would look very queer for me to marry you in such a hurry, and just as I have come into this fortune. People might say there had been pressure somewhere. Don’t you thiult it will be wiser to go on quietly as we have done for a few weeks longer, and then, when the season is over, we will be married in due form, and go abroad for a little while before I introduce you at Lambscote?” “Go on for weeks longer?” repeated Jane; "go on living with the load you have given me to bear to-night for five or six weeks longer, feeling that all this time I have never been your wife, that I have only been— Oh, I dare not think of it. No, no, Will! it cannot be. I will not consent to it. Yon must marry _jne at once—do you hear?—at once! It will be hard enough even theu to look back on the last two years, and remember how we have passed them. Oh! how I wish I had never known it! I feel as if it had taken all the pleasure out of being Lady Ewell, of kambscote, of—or —anything," and here Jane took ont hey handkerchief and began to cry. “Now, look here. Janie,” said (Sir Wilfrid, “if you’re going to make a row 1 shall go bqck tp tpwq. Give me a kiss, and think pp more about it, ft’s done and can’t be undone. Least said, soonest mended,” She shrank from his embraces, as if they even had become wrong, under existing circumstances, until Sir Wilfrid grew really angry, and declared his determination to return to town that night. He thought that Jane would repent of her disposition then and implore him to remain, hut she did no such thing. She let him go, almost without a- word, and wandered about the garden for the remainder of the evening, brooding over what he had told her,

CHAPTER VIII, Sir Wilfrid Ewell was in an evil temper for two days qftpr this interview with Jane Warner. He could not understand the dismay with which she had received the intelligence he had convoyed to her, and, like most men in their dealings with women, be did not take the trouble to find ont what made the difference in their feelings on the subject. Meanwhile, he had plenty of occupation and amusement to distract his thoughts. Lady Otto St. Blase and her daughter were not the sort of women to let the grass grow under their feet when once they had made up their minds to carry a project through. The little Sunday dinner to which the mother had invited him when they met at the Westerleys had been succeeded by several attentions of a similar nature. Now it was a stall for the theater, or a seat in an opera box, or an invitation for some big bull or garden party, sent through their influence by the reigning millionaire of thp season. And on one and all of such occasions Sir Wilfrid was ‘sure to hud himself hy the side of Lena St. Blase for the whole of the afternoon pf evening, singled out, as it were, by general eonsent as her esßeciqi cavalier. At first, when he ffiund that ipa old feelings with regard to Lepa St. Blase were in course of reyival, Sir Wilfrid was rather remorseful, and took himself tp> task fqr inconstancy add vice. Men and women dp not plunge all at once from one mode of life to another. For two years he had considered Jane Warner to be his wife, without the chance of change, and it took some little time to disabuse his mipd of she idea. But as the new passion grew, and became more and more a thing to be desired ip his eyes, he began to weigh the possibility pf gratifying it. jip kept on telling himself that he must do his duty by Jane, and yet he felt more and more every flay that he could not live his life without Lenq. The lawyer, Ms, Parfitt, d'd not leave him alone upon the subject, and since bis advice tallied with the young man’s own wishes, his influence over him in this particular gained strength every day. Jfig very manner pf mentioning the subject was calculated to make bis client ashamed of it, “Yon are making out a very bad case of it, Parfitt,” be said to him one day, “I am telling you the truth, Sir Wilfrid, that is ail. I tell you that you would lose less caste in Somerset by settling Misj Warner at Lambscote, under he>; present name, than by making her Lady Ewell. No, no! my advice to you is—pension her off.” “She would never agree to such a thing,” cried the baronet, indignantly. “She would have to agree to it, Sir Wilfrid, if you spoke the word.” After all, whnt would be Jane’s loss? She loved him, true; but thousands of people who love ench other are compelled to part in this world, and she would not be worse off than others. She was very young, too —only nineteen—anti had plenty of years before her in which to forget. And then, ias to their marriage, no One knew of it except, indeed, Parfitt, k-ho looked on it in the same light as any other liaison. If the marriage had been sfiatlo public—known to her friends and {blations, or followed by any inconven-

BY FLORENCE MARYATT

ieut results—that would have been a very different matter. Then, of course, he should have been obliged to acknowledge and make it binding; but under existing circumstances, who was the wiser, and who was the worse? Jane would go on living in Chelsea as she would have done if she had never met him, and though ho should always be her friend, and render her assistance if necessary, he eotild not see why he should stand in the way of her making u suitable marriage any more than she in his. And Sir Wilfrid started from his dream of approaching freedom to keep an appointment on the river with Lady Otto St. Blase, where he was to pass the afternoon wrapt in another dream of coming bondage, evoked by the languid looks and veiled glances of her lovely daughter. CHAPTER IX. Perhaps there is no material pleasure more enjoyable than that of floating down the banks of the beautiful Thames on a calm summer's day. It possesses an indolent peace unknown to the everchanging ocean, and a quiet freshness unknown to the stirring, busy land. It keeps us holering for n little while, as it were, between earth nnd heaven, and persuades us to lay aside our cares and anxieties until we reach the landing stage again. Sir Wilfrid felt this keenly as he found himself gliding down the river, with his eyes on a level with those of Lena St. Blase, and all four eyes well protected from public observation by the shelter of her lace purasol, Jane Warner, and the cottage at Chelsea, nnd the irregular marriuge, went out of his mind altogether us he talked to his fair companion and felt that warm glow stealing through his veins which makes us feel us if we no longer belonged to this earth when in the presence of nny one for whom we have conceived a tender passion. Lena had behaved exquisitely throughout the expedition, and Lndy Otto was charmed with her. She had hardly spoken to Captain Dorsay. Only once had they been thrown together, unwitnessed by the rest of the party, and then such a scene had occurred between them as made up for any degree of coldness in public. But, “What the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over,” and so neither Sir Wilfrid Ewell nor Lady Otto St. Blase was any the wiser or the worse for that little undiscovered episode; and as Lena stepped again on hoard the steam launch, aided by the young baronet, the hand he held trembled in so Interesting a manner, and the eyes he sought were cast so modestly upon the ground, that he could not but feel his time was come, and he bad conquered. He wrapped her fleecy shawl about her shoulders, and kept his place behind her chair all the way home, leaning over her, and whispering in her ear as they glided over the silvery waters, v What makes you tremble so? I mu afraid yon are coldi" he said,

"No, I am not cold, l am quite comfortable, thank you. I wish you would not notice any of my littlo vagaries,” replied Lena, with an agitated laugh, “This has been a pleasant day, has it not? 1 hope you have enjoyed yourself,” he continued. “Oh, immensely! It has been too charming! It makes one feel sad to think it cannot come over again,” ‘'Why should it not come over again all through one’s life? I have had but pue drawback to my perfect happiness.” "And what is that?” “The presence of that follow Dorsay. I cannot help feeling that he moans to win yon. He cannot keep bis eyes away from yon. He is very far gone, indeed. I pity him—that Is, if you do not reciprocate," “1 have already told you Ido not. He is only a friend of mine, and knows he will never be anything else. But perhaps he has sufficient interest in mo left to feel a little anxious about my happiness—that is all.” “Is it possible that any man who has once loved you can be content with your friendship only? 1 do not believe it. He must say it just to relieve your anxiety concerning him.” “But I have no anxiety on the subject. I dismissed him, and there Is an end of it.” “Just as you dismissed me. I wonder if he felt what I did, when I heard my fate.” “Sir Wilfrid! I thought you promised me not to allude to that subject, It is very unkind of you. If ypq knew " “If I knew—what?” “The influence that was exerted over rap. 'pry and put yourself in my place. Supposing I had been the one to plead, and you to reject. Cannot you imagine how hard the task would havp been, and how you would hnye hated to think of it afterward—far morp to hear if alluded to? Why xyill you humiliate me ip such a cruel manner?” “My dpar Miss St. Blase, forgive me! But, you see, I could not suppose such a thing, bpcausp—the cases grp so different. You to plead, and Ito reject! How could it he possible, when I loved you go? Hpw could it ever be possible, feeling—feeling—as- ” "1 know—l understand,” she faltered; “but supposing the case's are not so different, after ail? Supposing—that—l—- “ Well—well—go on. For heaven’s sake, don’t keep me in suspense!” he exclaimed eagerly, “Oh, Sir Wilfrid! what have I said? What would you have me say?” “A little more, Lena, or a little less. I don’t know if I am a fool; but if I am you have made me so, May I put that question to you once moro? May I plead again, and hear if you reject?” “I am listening,” she answered faintly, “You know what my position is ns well as I do—will you share it? Will you take back those cruel words of two years ago, and say I am not too presumptuous now in asking you to be my wife?” “Yes, yes! They were not my words, believe me, and I recall them thankfully. I will be all that you may wish me, if you will promise on your part never to remember them again.” “Never! my dearest, never! Oh! do you know how happy you have made me? I feel half wild with joy. When shall we leave this confounded boat and reach the shore? What a penance it is not to be able to thank you properly for your sweet consent! Oh, Lena! I will do all I can to repay yoa for your gracious answer to me.” “I shall be repaid sufficiently. j have no fear of that,” she replied, as qmdestly as if kp iittd been % fifst man who hfid ever lopkfd loye into her eves. “But don’t let these people guess what we have been talking about, Wilfrid. Rad you «6$ better leave me for a little? Suppose you go and tell m«mm». She has been so anxiops about me. Bhe will rejoice to hear it is all right at last,” Sir Wilfrid did as she desired him, and took a seat by Lady Otto. But he felt

very mnch constrained a* he did so. By the side of Lena, heated by wine and inflamed with passion, he had thought”" of nothing but gaining possession of her, and of hearing her revoke the words which had rankled in bis breast for years. But to have to inform her mother that he had asked her to be his wife, and she had consented, seemed to plunge him into a moral shower bath. He had done the deed then, which he had longed for, but dreaded, for weeks past. He had actually proposed to Miss St. Blase, and been accepted by her. He had compromised himself to set aside that first marriage —to cast off Jane 'Varner—and to take nuother wife to his bosom. Until he sat down by Lady Otto and tried to frame the words in which to convey the news to her, he.did not scem to have realised what he had done. Yesterday it had seemed far away—something quite uncertain, and so distinctly in the future. To-day it was actually an accomplished fact. A moment of delirious longing—a convenient proximity—a few impassioned words—and he had done what he uever could undo. He had pledged himself to put away Jane Warner and to marry Lena St. Blase. The proportions of the deed he had committed himself to, seemed all at once to assume such magnitude that he turned sick and dixsy, and Lady Otto asked him if he were ill. “I feel rather giddy," he said, In answer. “I think it must be the smell of the engine oil. Have you not perceived it rather strong nil day?” And without further remark he left her side again, and walked to the other side of the vessel. He was all on the alert when they reached Richmond, and squeezed Lena's hand until he hurt her, ns he wished the ladies good-ulght; but Miss St. Blase was very much astonished ou reaching home to find that her mother was still ignorant of the important event that had occurred. "Well, mamma," she said, ns they entered their own house; "and so, you see, I have accomplished my little business. What did you any to him when he told you of it?" "Told me of what? Whom are you speakiug of?” “Why, of Sir Wilfrid, of course! Didn’t he tell you we are engaged?” “No! When did it happen? He never said a word on the subject. My dear child, let me congratulate you. But how very strange that Sir Wilfrid should not have informed me of it!” “Very. Particularly ns he left me on purpose to do so. Y’es; it's all right. He asked me plump ns we were coming home; and, of course, I said ‘Yes.’ Perhaps he had had too much ehnmpngue and will want to cry off to-morrow!" “Don't talk of such a thing, my dear. The general would soon bring him to book if he did. No! There is no fear of that. Sir Wilfrid Is far too honorable by nature; besides, anyone enn see how much in love he Is with you. Well, you are a very lucky girl! That’s my opinion and I hope you think so, too.” (To be continued.)