People's Pilot, Volume 6, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 April 1897 — A BARTERED LIFE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A BARTERED LIFE.

BY MARION HARLAND.

INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION

CHAPTER L

IT is always a thankless office to give advice in these y matters,” said Mrs. Charles Romaine, / discreetly. “Your i—l brother and I have decided not to attempt to influence you in any way, Constance; not to bias your judgment

r «n favor or or against Mr. Withers. You, as the one most nearly interested in the consequences of your acceptance or refusal of his offer, should surely able to make up your mind how to treat it and him.” “1 should be, as you say,” responded the sister-in-law. “But I cannot." She was a handsome woman, in the prime of early maturity, whose face seldom wore, in the presence of others, the perturbed expression that now begloomed it. "That does not affect the fact of your •daty” answered Mrs. Romaine, with J ■considerable severity. “There are times and circumstances in which vacillation is folly—criminal weakness. You have known Mr. Withers long enough to sane a correct estimate of his character. In means and in reputation he is afl that could be desired, your brother says. Either you like him well enough to marry him, or you do not. Your sit>oattion in life will be bettered by an •alliance with him, or it will not. These axe the questions for your consideration. And excuse me for saying that a woman of your age should not he at a loss In weighing these.” Again Constance had nothing ready 'except a weak phrase of reluctant acquiescence. “I feel the w’eight of your 'reasoning, Margaret. You cannot despise me more than I do myself for my -ehSdish hesitancy. Mr. Withers —any sensible and honorable man deserves different treatment. If I could see the way clear before me I would walk In :!£. But, indeed, I am in a sore dilemmi." She turned away, as her voice shook on the last sentence, and affected to be busy with some papers upon a stand.

Mrs. Romaine was Just in all her '■Sealings with her husband’s sister, and meant, in her way, to be kind. Con«£anee respected her for her excellent w—n, her honesty of purpose and ac■tjmsk—but she was the last of her friends whom she would have select- «*. or her free will, as the confidante <xt such joys and sorrows as shrink from the touch of hard natures —refuse ’to be confessed to unsympathizing ears. Her heart and eyes were very full now, bat she would strangle sooner than drop a tear while those cold, light orbs were upon her. In consideration of the weakness and -ridiculous sensitiveness of her companion, Mrs. Romaine forbore to speak the disdain she felt at the irresolution and distress she could not comprehend. “Is !l£r. Withers personally disagreeable to you?” she demanded, in her strong contralto voice. “I liked him tolerably well —very well, in fact, until he told me what

brought him here so regularly,” Constance stammered. “Now I am embarrassed in his presence—so uneasy that * wish sometimes I could never see or bear of him again.” ■“Mere shyness!” said Mrs. Romaine. ■Such as would be pardonable in a girl of seventeen. In a woman of seven-aad-twenty it is absurd. Mr. Withers Ss highly esteemed by all who know 'him. Your disrelish of his society is •caprice, unless”—the marble gray eyes more searching—“unless you have a prior attachment?” Constance smiled drearily. “I have never been in love in my life, that 1 know of.” “You are none the worse for having -escaped an infatuation thfet has wrecked more women for time and for eternity than all other delusions combined. A rational marriage—founded upon malnal esteem and the belief that the social and moral condition of the parties to the contract would be promoted thereby—is the only safe union. The young, inexperienced and headstrong, repudiate this principle. The mature in age know it to he true. But, as 1 Slave said, it is not my intention to direct your judgment. This is a momentous era in your life. I can only hope «nd pray that you may be guided aright in your decision.” SLeft to herself to digest this morsel 'Of pious encouragement, Constance ■drew a low seat to the hearth register, clasped her hands upon her knees, and tried, for the hundredth time that ■day, to weigh the facts of her position rfairly and impartially. She had been an orphan for eight years, and a resident in the house of !her elder brother. Her senior by more than a dozen years, and in the exciting swing of successful mercantile life, he had little leisure for the study of Ms sister’s tastes and traits, when she ’first, became his ward, and conceived the task to be an unnecessary one, now that she was to be a fixture in his family, and appeared to get on smoothly with his wife. In truth, it never occurred to him to lay a disturbing finger ■upon the tiniest wheel of the domestic machinery. His respect for his spouse’s ■executive and administrative abilities was exceeded only by her confidence in "her own powers. She was never irascible, but he knew that she would have borne down calmly and energtically ■any attempt at interference in her op-

erations as minister of the interior — the ruler of the establishment he, by a much-abused figure of speech, called his home. A snug and elegant abode she made of it, and, beholding Constance well dressed and well fed, habitually cheerful and never rebellious, he may be forgiven for not spending a thought upon her for hours together, and when he did remember her, for dwelling the rather upon his disinterested kindness to a helpless dependent than speculating upon her possible and unappeased spiritual appetites. For these, and for other whimsies, Mrs. Romaine had little thought and no charity. Life, with her, was a fabric made up of duties, various and many, but all double-twisted into hempen strength and woven too closely for a shine of fancy or romance to strike through. She had coincided readily in her husband’s plan to take charge of his young sister when her parents died. “Her brother’s house is the' fittest asylum for her,” she had said. “I shall do my best to render her comfortable and contented.” She kept her word. Constance’s wardrobe w'as ample and handsome, her room elegantly furnished, and she entered society under the chaperonage of her sister-in-law. The servants were trained to respect her; the children to regard her as their elder sister. What more could a penniless orphan require? Mrs. Romaine was not afraid "to ask the question of her conscience and of heaven. Her “best” was no empty profession. It was lucky for her self-com-placency that she never suspected what years of barrenness and longing these eight were to her protege. Constance was not a genius—therefore she never breathed even to herself: “I feel like a seed in the cold earth, quickening at heart, and longing for the air.” Her temperament was not melancholic, nor did her taste run after poetry and martyrdom. She was simply a young, pretty and moderately well-educated woman, too sensible not to perceive that her temporal needs were conscientiously supplied, and too affectionate to be satisfied with the meager allowance of nourishment dealt out for her heart and sympathies. While the memory of her father’s proud affection and her mother’s caresses was fresh upon her she had long and frequent spells of lonely weeping—was wont to resign herself in the seclusion of her chamber to passionate lamentations over her orphanage and isolation of spirit. Routine was Mrs. Romaine’s watchword, and in bodily exercise Constance conformed to her quiet despotism—visited, studied, worked and took recreation by rule. The system wrought upon her beneficially so far as her physique was concerned. She grew from a slender, pale girl into ripe and healthy womanhood; was more comely at twenty-seven than at twenty-one. CHAPTER 11.

UT all this time she I Jj) was an hungered. She would cheerfully have refun(iifcVjJ/lf ed to her brother two-thirds of her ) liberal allowance of Vh pocket money if he wi' had granted to her with its quarterly payment a sentence of fraternal fond-

ness, a token, verbal or looked, that he remembered whose child she was, and that the same mother love had guarded their infancy. Her sister-in-law would have been welcome to withhold many of her gifts of wearing apparel and jewelry had she bethought herself now and then how gratefuly kisses fall upon young lips, and that youthful heads are often -sadly weary for the lack of a friendly shoulder, or a loving bosom, on which to rest. She did not accuse her relatives of willful unkindness because these were withheld. They interchanged no such unremunerative demonstrations among themselves. Husband and wife were courteous in their demeanor, the one to the other; their children were demure models of filial duty at home and industry at school; the training in both places being severe enough to quench what feeble glimmer of individuality may have been born with the offspring of the methodical and practical parents. Constance found them extremely uninteresting, notwithstanding the natural love for children which led her to court their companionship during the earlier weeks of her domestication in their house. It was next to a miracle that she did not stiffen in this atmosphere into a buckram image of feminine propriety—a prodigy of starch and virtue, such as would have brought calm delight to the well-regulated mind of her exemplar, and effectually chased all thoughts of matrimony from those of masculine beholders. Had her discontent with her allotted sphere been less active, the result would have been certain and deplorable. She was, instead, popular among her acquaintances of both sexes, and had many friends, if few lovers. This latter deficiency had given her no concern until within two years. At twenty-five she opened her eyes in wide amaze upon the thinning ranks of her virgin associates, and began seriously to ponder the causes that had left her unsought, save by two very silly and utterly ineligible swains, whose overtures were, in her esteem, presumption that was only too ridiculous

to be insulting. Her quick wit and knowledge of the world helped her to a solution of the problem. “I am poor and dependent upon my brother’s charity,” she concluded, with a new and stifling uprising of dissatisfaction with her condition. “Men rarely fall in love with such —more rarely woo them." She never spoke the thought aloud, but it grew and strengthened until it received a startling blow from Mr. Withers’ proposal of marriage. He was a wealthy banker from a neighboring city, whom business relations with Mr. Romaine drew to his house and into his sister’s company. His courtship was all Mrs. Romaine could desire. His visits were not too frequent, and were paid at stated intervals, as befitted his habits of order and punctuality. His manner to the lady honored by his preference was replete with stately respect that was the antipodes of servile devotion, while his partiality for her society, and admiration for her person, were unmistakable. He paid his addresses through Mr. Romaine as his fair one’s guardian, offering voluntarily to give his beloved whatever time for deliberation upon the proposal she desired. “You had better think it over for a week,” advised her brother, when he had laid the case duly before Constance. “It is too serious a matter to be settled out of hand.” After that, neither he nor his wife obtruded their counsel upon her until the afternoon of the seventh day. Then Mrs. Romaine, going to her sister's chamber to communicate the substance of a telegram just received by her husband to the effect that Mr. Withers would call that evening at 8 o’clock, was moved to grave remonstrance by the discovery that she whom he came to woo had no answer prepared for him. Constance was no nearer ready after the conversation before recorded. “I cannot afford to be romantic,” she had reminded herself several times. “And who knows but this irrational repugnance may pass away when I have once made up my mind to accept him? This may be —in all likelihood it is—my last chance of achieving an independent position. It has been a long time coming, and my charms will be on the wane soon. True, a marriage with Elnathan Withers is not the destiny of which I have dreamed, but then dreams are but foolish vagaries after all. Life is real and earnest.” (TO BB CONTINtTEO. I