Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 10 March 1892 — Page 7

I-

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By Robert Buchanan.

CHAPTER XXV.—CONTINUED.

"Weel, he has had an odd kind of ^ucation, and his ideas are a bit unsophisticated. But he's none the worse for that. He's a good kind of a lad, and he wouldna make a lassie a bad husband!"

Marjorie bent low over the fire and pushed togetherjthe peat sods with her little foot. When she lifted her again, her cheeks were quite

bead red.

f'lvlr.

Macgiilvray,H she Cried. "I

want to talk to you again about what 11 said the other day. 1 know now I what I can do, and I have quite determined to do it."

4iAy,

and then?"

"When the laird said in his will that he wished me to marrj' Mr. Edward he did not mean exactly that." "Then it was a pity he took the trouble to write it," returned the old man, with a smile. "I mean," continued the girl, "he was not really anxious for me to marry Edwarofl. He wanted to do two things, a*d yet he could not do *them both. He wanted, most of all to keep the property together, and let it be owned by one of his name." '"'And if he had beel a weel-loving and a G«d-fearing man he could have done it, Marjorie. It was his wicked pride and his vicious heart that eaused all his trouble, and no one but himself was to blame." "Do not speak of that," said Marjorie. It was very sad and terrible out for all his misdeeds he was cruelly punished. But remember,

Macgillvray, he could have kept

1| his property in the hands of one of his own name if he had not thought I of me. Be could not bear to leave me penniless, so he thought, 'I will make her a rich lady: then, if 1 wish it, she will marry my nephew. The property will be kept together, and they will both be satiafied.' Don't you think I am right?" "Maybe but you havn't married

No," And you mean to?" he shook her head. 'The laird, if he had lived, would have been too kind to force me against my inclination. I cannot marry Mr. Edward, because I do not love fii'rfl indeed, I do not wish to be married at all: but I can carry out the laird's wishes just the same as if I did."

The old man opened his eyes. "Then you're* a witch, Marjorie. How are you to do it?" "By just giving all the property to Mr. Edward." "By letting Mr. Edward, as you call him, make you a beggar!" cried Willie. "Very well but you have forgotten one thing suppose you happen to be giving away other people's goods! Suppose the rightful heir, the other poor de'il of a Campbell, should come forward!" ^'There's no chance of that," said Marjorie, with a sigh. "I used to dream of it, Mr. Macgillvray but I know he is dead, and will never come forward to claim the land." "What makes you so certain?" "Everybody knows it. Mr. Roberts says so too." "He says so, does he? Then you may be sure if he says so, he's right. Istarjorie. But in case o' difficulty?" \'Of course," continued the girl, "I should make it a condition that if Si he came he would receive his own." $ The old man smiled. v5 "Weel, Marjorie, and when do you mean to make this known to Mr. Edy*/ ward as you call him?" "As soon as he comes back. And fkS "now I must return, Mr Macgillvray.

I am having the Castle cleancd out

and made nice for him, that it may please him. and then I will give ail to him and go away."

From that moment until the much i* looked-for Saturday arrived Marjorie .£ 1 was in a state of much trepidation $ '4 laid delight—delight at the bright, fjr, cosy look of the Castle, the rooms of which grew wonderfully pretty be»f neath her magic touch trepidation ii at the thought of what she had to communicate to Edward Linne. It was not a pleasant task which she §4/ had set herself—to tell him that the fj idea of marriage with him was so distasteful to her that she could not

I reconcile herself to it, much as she J-.would have loved to carry out her guardian's wish yet since she had resolved to do this, she set about it v/ in the plea^antest way possible. Her first task had been to make the C-as-tie bright, her next to assume brightness for herself, and so happily did she succeed tiiat when, on Linne's arrival he found her standing at the door to give him welcome, his heart 1 leaped up with joy at the glowing *'i look on her face.

He himself looked jaded and jr weary. Dunned on every hand for I claims which he could not yet meet, I and oppressed by the remembrance 5 of the coldness with which the girl had received his advances, he had looked forward to troublous times.

But now all his fears seemed groundless, for there was Marjorie evidently of another frame of mind since his departure, and ready and willing to extend to him a helping hand.

His spirits reviv. considerably during dinner, and when it was over and ne found himself alone with the girl he took heart of grace to begin. "Do you know, Marjorie," he began, "I am very glad to get back again to Linne Castle and to you?" '1 am glad you like hat I have jfedone," said the girl nervouslj yes," he said, looking about him, "now I come to look around, I

'WSE.

Have

hand, "have you been lonely? you missed me?" Marjorie quietly withdrew her hand, and her heart began to beat with apprehension, for she felt the time had come. "I am sometimes sad, but never lonely at Linne Castle," she said. "Then I hope you have not been very dismal," said Linne, making no attempt to take her hand again. "But, Marjorie, you know what I would say—you remember what I said to you before I went away? Have you thought of it?" "Yes," answered the girl.

She tried to say more, but her mouth drid up and the words refused to come. "And you have decided? Is not that so, Marjorie? You have decided, like a sensible girl, to dispense with unnecessary delay and get our marriage over? There's no use in waiting. He would not have wished it, and I q,m sure you are too good to oppose his dying wish."

To his amazement Marjorie covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. When her sobs had subsided she looked up at him. "Indeed I cannot do all that he wished. I cannot," she said. "I have thought it oversiace you have been away and I know can never marry you."

She was horrified at the look of anger which crossed Linne's face. "So!" he said between his teeth, "you have thought it over and come to that decision, have you? And I suppose you expect me to accept that as final. "I am sure," returned Marjorie, "you would not wish to marry one who did not love you."

He laughed outright. "A fiue excuse! a nice way out of the difficulty! You get possession of my property and then you keep it with a paltry excuse like that. No, no, it won't dp a condition was imposed upon you and you will keep it." "I will never marry you, if that is what you mean," said Marjorie, firmly. "I thought I would not before, and now I am sure I will not but I do not wish to keep you from the money. I do not want it it is yours." "What do you mean?" said Linne, aghast. "I mean what I say, Mr. Edward. I am sure the laird wished his nearest heir to have the money and the land and since I cannot marry you I will give up everything, just the same." "Do you mean to tell me," said Linne, "that you won't marry me, but will give me all your property." "It is your property, not mine," said Marjorie. "He intended it for you." "Marjorie," said Linne, "you don't talk like a sensible woman. You must know I could not accept this, even if I would. The whole thing is preposterous." ''i do not see that." "Then you are blind and foolish. Of course, theatrically speaking, you are right the property is mine. I have been taught to regard it as mine for years, and when it was taken from me I was tricked so you are right in one way. I have no right to suffer such a heavy loss simply because you don't know your own mind." "But I do." returned Marjorie. "I have resolved to do this, and I will do it. The property is yours, as I said, and vou shall have it." "And you—what will you do?" "I do not know. I have not thought of that." "Of course not. You have wild flights of fancy and you act like a child. It it is all very well to play the romantic heroine in novels and plays, but in real life it doesn't do. It's easy to say 'I will restore to you your own,' but it's not so easy to do it." "It is very easily returned," said Marjorie. "I sh&li be no worse off than I was before. I am not fit to be an heiress, atid I do not wish to be." "That's all very well, but you must live. Have you any relations?" "No." "That's awkward," he said, "because you might have gone to them. Oh, it's too ridiculous! Why I on earth can't you marry me? It is the simplest way out of the difficulty, after all."

But it did not seem so to Marjorie, who persisted in shaking her head, and Linne saw in her eyes a certainamount of determination which he would never be able to overcome, She would give him all her property, but she would not give him herself if he would not accept one without the other, he must lose both. "Very well," said Linne, at last. "I am too tired to discuss this matter further to-night. 1 will think it over, and let you know in the morning."

So they parted. Left aloue in his room, Linne cursed the name of the very girl who, he averred, had brought all this trouble upon him, Had she never come to Linne Castle, he felt sure that the property, together with the tumble-down edifice would have been his but she had come between him aii-I his uncle, and robbed him of all. "The girl may go to the devil as far as I am concerned, and the sooner she goes the better but one thing is certain—I must have money, and I mean to have it. But how am I to arrange it so far as to make all right?"

To Linne's mind by far the easier way would have been marriage, for though he cared little more for the girl than she cared for him, he thought it would look better tc take her over with the property. he could stand well in the the world without personal

When

eyes of loss or

By carrying out that arrangement he could not be accused even of mercenary motives, since he would bo acting in strict accordance with his uncles will. Besides, it would be so much safer. Once married to Marjorie, no one would dare to question his right to every penny of her fortune. With the other arrangements it was different. A hundred objections might be made when the thing became known, and in the meantime his debts were closing round him like the waters of the ocean, and threatened to sink him unless he obtained timely aid. "Well, if she won't do one thing she must the other," he said, at last, "I shall take the property, let the lawyers say what they will."

When Marjorie sar him in the morning, he looked so pale and haggard that she pitied him. "Are you not well, Mr. Edward?" she said. "I am decidedly out of sorts with all this worry," he answered. "Why need it be Marjorie?"

The girl hung her head, but did not answer. Are you still of the same mind you were last night?" he asked. "Yes," returned Marjorie softly. "You still absolutely refuse to marry me?" "I cannot marry you." "Then I suppose it is no use to say more about it? "It would not be of turned the girl. "Very well. I have thought it over, and I think I have hit upon a plan. You hand me over the property that has been left to you, and in return I give you Linne Castle, or 'Castle Hunger,' as they call it here, I think, and a small income to keep it up." "Do you not wish to keep the Castle?" "No. What would be the use of it to me? I would never live in it. I hate the hole! But you don't hate it, do you?" •'Ah no, indeed!" "Then you are satisfied with that?" "Quite satisfied." "That's all right. I will make out rough drafts of the papers to-day, and you can sign them. There is no need for lawyers, you know, when we are both agreed." "There is one thing," said Marjorie, suddenly. "What is that?" "If the laird's son should be living and is ever found, you will give up all to him, just as I should have done?"

any use, re-

Linne laughed bitterly. "If he ever comes, I will but you know he is lying:, or rather his bones are lying, at the bottom of the sea."

If he took this view of the case, Marjorie wat. content to take it, since she belifcved, from all she could gather, that it was the true ono. bo without waiting to discuss the matter further, she set off to tell the news to her friend hermit. "Mr. Macgillvray!" she cried, bursting delightedly into the cave, "it's all over. I have done it!" "Bless my soul!" cried Willie "is the lassie daft? What's over? What have you done?" "I have told Mr. Edward that I cannot marry him but that he may have the property!" "Weel, and how has it ended? What did Mr. Edward do? Did he agree to take the money?" "Of course he did!" "And do you think you have clone wisely, my bairn?" "Certainly I have. I could not have married him, because I did not love him." "Then, since you are certain o' that, ye ken weel what love is, Marjorie," t. aid the old man, eyeing her fixedly. "Is there no other laddie that's taken your heart?"

Marjorie felt her cheeks grow crimson beneath the old man's steady gaze. "Don't talk foolishness, Mr. Macgillvray," said the girl, uneasily.

But the old man suddenly leaped up like one demented, crying— "Come out, you limmer, come out! and take her in your arms, for she loves you, and is free!"

The next moment Marjorie found herself struggling in a strong man's embrace. [TO BE CONTINUED.]

C0NDI3IENTS.

A stock company has been formed to control the boot and shoe trade. Here at last is a corporation which will have a sole. "Gentlemen," said the tramp, "it is many days since food has passed my lips. I would like to dine-a-mite." And the people fled,

Partial Approval.—Ethel (showing her engagement ring)—"Don't you admire his taste?" Maud—"Ye-es, as far as jewelry is concerned."

George—I have discovered that I need you to be happy. Jessie—I don't think papa would hear of my marrying a needy person.

Oldboy—Honesty, my boy, is the best policy. Newman—Ah, yes that policy lapsed some time ago— some time ago, old fellow.

There is no valid reason why the milkman's wife should stay away from the ball if she wants to go, even if she does have to wear pumps. "The sleighing isn't much, is it?'' said Bromley. "Isn't, Dollar and a half an hour!" was the characteristic reply of his close friend. J|| "You seem to think very highly of him. Does he praise your looks when you are with him?" "No, but he runs down those of the other girls.'»

There is many a church member who would be scared almost to death if he could only feel his own spiritual Dulse and find out how near dead

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