Rensselaer Republican, Volume 21, Number 53, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 September 1889 — TOO LATE. [ARTICLE]

TOO LATE.

A Story of Si Valentine’s Day. CHAPTER ID. Nell could not be persuaded; she remained arecluse from the September that saw the departure of Lyon Leslie to the opening' of the Christmas following. People nodded and whispered. Some said she was engaged to the handsome soldier, others that she was pining in secret; but Nell made no sign. She was cheerful as ever in manner, if not so buoyant as of yore, and performed her usual routine of parish duty; but, besides persistently refusing to mix in the towns entertainments, she sought less and less the society of the companions with whom she had been intimate. She took her rides alone, and her walks too, at least, so far as human fellowship went, but with a goodly company of dogs, her twin brother’s special property and trust to her. Wanderings of hours they took together, but wanderings that brought no roses to the girl’s pale cheek, nor added vigor to her limbs. Her eyes seemed to grow larger, and their inner light more earnost. At times too, she was fretful, and day by day grew more silent and abstracted. Mrs. Thanet was disturbed; she did not think it wise to force her daughter’s confidence; still, she felt that the present condition of things could not be permitted to continue without a word, and a very difficult word to speak she felt that word would he. Intuitively she knew that, whatever had passed between her daughter and Lyon Leslie, no definite engagement had been entered into. She mistrusted the man. But, like the prudent woman she was, she bided her time, and that arrived suddenly.

A note from Mrs. Kennett to her sister-in-law informed her of their arrival at the Hall for Christmas. The next day Mrs. Kennett, accompanied by Janet, drove into Thorpe and stayed to luncheon with her relatives. Janet, keen as a hawk, espied a change in her cousin. “You are mooning after Randall,” she said. “You are to come to the Hall for Christmas, and Randall too. Uncle Nettle”—her respectful diminutive for Squire Nettlethorpe— “says so, mamma says so, and I say so; so it is im fait accompli.” At the Hall Nell always shared the ■same room with her cousin. This had hitherto been a great enjoyment to both girls. Now Nell would have wished it otherwise, but she foil into i;he usual arrangement without a hint of her desire. It was the most confidential hour lb the twenty-four, the hour before lying down to rest, Then the girls, arrayecT in their dainty dressing-gowns, satover ■the cheery fire and exchanged confidences. The confidence of these cousins differed essentially from those usually indulged in by the average young lady of the period. Meh played a subordinate part, and persons generally. They used to build castles in the air, to sketch out “great things to do,” to criticize their current reading, discuss authors and artists, and bewail the proscribed lot of their own sex. Nell’s hair was long and wavy, dark brown, with a golden sheen. Janet’s was black as raven’s wing, straight and glossy. They sat, brush in hand, Idly drawing it over their silky tresses, anon letting it fall into their laps and, throwing the rebellious locks back from their faces, looking into the gleaming ash. Nell spoke first “You must have lots to tell me, Janet; you have been everywhere.” “Which amounts practically to nowhere. I have no distinct recollections Of any place in particular, Dresden and Dussendorf suggest—well, colored canvas. From gallery to gallery we were trotted, catalogues in hand, and lmpovers behind. It didn’t elevate my scriptural conceptions. I assure you; things got mixed, and for the life of me I couldn’t recollect Biblical facte apart with heathen myths.” “But Paris P Oh, how I long to see Paris 1” ''Well, Paris is charming, but, my dear, disillusionising. When I shut my eyes and think, I seem to see nothing but architecture, and to hear the Marseillaise.” “Theßhine, Janet, and Switzerland, and Italy! Are you weary of those, toof” “Yes, and no. There are bits of the Clyde the Rhine can never touch; there **§ passages and torrents and glens in the Highland all the grand Alps oaobot show; and Italy sent me to sleep. 4 * “You are such a home bird, Janet; pea are Insular.” “Weil, you see, Nell—Janet took up leer brush and began to draw it over her hab—“you see It was all in the toy of edueatUm. It wee to expand Oriflf. New, if you wens given Some favorite tollypop and told it oonielMdatocic, would job enjoy ttP

No—emphatically no! ” —and the brush worked with a will. ! “I wishyouand I could go off together,” said Nell, “on from island unto island. But then I have no money. I wish we could; Randall wtrald go with us and write a grand poem.” “Poetry’s only good for the gods,” announced her cousin. “I am practical.” “So am I, Janet, more so than you perhaps; but one may 6tand on earth and look at heaven.” “Nell, you have become quite romantic, and I want to know the reason why,” Janet asked regarding the other critically. 5 Nell blushed rosy red, and, with sudden vigor, began to brush her wavy locks. “What nonsense you talk, Janet! I suppose, if I repeated one of Tupper’s platitudes, you’d call me a philosopher. There is just as much analogy between supposed philosophy as between me and romance.” ■ ■ “I thought we were bosom-friends, Nell, real bosom friends. I know I never had a secret from you, and you used never to have one from me.” “I have no secret, Janet; there is nothing to tell.” “Nothing to tell when there is everything to suspect? Ah, Nell, absence does not make the heart grow fonder! You have grown cold to me.” Nell turned her great mournful eyes to her cousin In some such way as a half-frightened deer. She wondered how much Janet knew. “You would have been the very first I would have told,” continued Janet, still in a tone of reproach. “When Mr. Anclivo did me the honor to say he was ‘willin’, before I even gave him his conge —the idiot!—l told you.” “But no one has laid such valuables at my feet, Janet. You have been listening to idle gossip.” “Hasn’t he? Then he is a mean, good-for-nothing, mercenary, cruel—” Nell put her hand on her cousin’s mouth. “How can you, Janet! What have you heard? And do you for a moment suppose I could ever even waste a thought on anyone deserving such insinuations? I could not love unworthily.” Nell spoke very calmly, but coldly. Janet’s heart was on fire. She feared for her cousin, and she was hurt at her reticence. “I know your estimate, your highflown idea of love,” she cried, pushing Nell’s hand aside not a little roughly. “You would believe all things, hope all things, and endure all things.” Her voice took a tone of scorn. “You go too far, Janet,” returned Nell haughtily. “I would never give my love unsought; once given, it would be forever, and I would endure nothing derogatory to my self-respect. Even in friendship endurance has its limits.” “Nell, I will not be frozen out of your heart.” The unwilling tears stood in Janet’s eyes; she felt, if this appeal failed, Nell would never give her her confidence, and her heart was full of dread for her cousin. “You are far, far cleverer than I am, Nell, far, far more beautiful; lam only pretty, and your judgment is clearer; hut, oh, Nell, darling, all this is but in part, all this vanishes away at the little word, ‘love’! Love blinds such as you, Nell, for such as you love transcendentally. They make for themselves an ideal, a fetish, and thus worship with blind idolatry. Such as I, Nell, love through the heart and common-sense, and with eyes wide open, and we are Base. You make shipwreck of all.” With a sudden resolve, Nell threw her shrouding hair hack,, caught it deftly in her hands, and wound it in a great sheaf, -letting it - fall so, semiconfined, on her shoulders. Then, cold and pale, she rose to her feet and said softly, yet sternly—- “ You are right, Janet; I owe our friendship confidence; you must never recur to the subject until 1 give you leave. I’ll tell you all I havo to tell you now, and, believe me, I am stronger than you give me credit for. Lyon Leslie loved me and I loved him—that is all. He will come back some day and take me away.” “Nell, did he say he wouldP” “No; why should heP Love has not many words, lave does not need many words. I know he will.” “One more question, Nell, and I’ve done. Did he ask you to be his wife P That does hot take many words.” “No; why should he? He said he loved me, and he knew I loved him. What else can such love end in but union here and hereafter ? ’’ There was a faint down of color on the girl’s pale cheek, and her eyes literally glowed with light. For the moment Janet was awed. Such faith, suoh love, were beyond her ken. She recovered herself with a groan. Clutching her brush aggressively, she said mentally—“lf he plays her false. I’ll—” What she would do she did not express further; she let the brush drop from her hand, and flung herself into her cousin’s arms with a burst of tears. “My darling, my darling,” she cried, “may he prove worthy of the heart he has won! I will hope with you.” She asked nothing further, and in this she was wise. Unconsciously to herself Nell felt relieved by what had passed; her burden seemed lighter and hope fairer. There was quite a heap of Christmas cards Ofl Nell’s plate when she came down to breakfast on Christmas morning—some gifts more substantial, too. One more than the others attracted comment. It was a massive gold locket, of barbaric design, oovered with raised hieroglyphics, and attached to a slight chain of linked rings. There was nothing inside the locket, nor did word or imitation accompany it It was an anonymous gift The address on the wrapping was in the handwriting evidently of the tradesman from whom it had probably beep bought It want

the round of the table; every one hut Janet had asuggestion as to the donor. Nell, too, was silent here. She did not know—how could she, when there was neither note or initial to help herPPerhaps her new brother-in-law sent it, she suggested; he had not given her a bridesmaid’s token, and had promised to make up for his omissions some day. ; . .. ‘ ‘Yes, some day, ” cried Randall. ‘‘l know what Barton’s some day means; it means to-day. He’s just the biggest screw between John o’ Croat’s and Land’s End, and would as soon think of buying an uninteresting creature like a sister-in-law a magnificent locket like that as of getting himself anew hat; a thing he hasn’t done, his own brother says, since his head stopped growing.' Nell could have boxed her brother’s ears with a will. “I shall have a letter in a day or two,” she said, returning the locket to its case with trembling fingers. “I have a rich godmother, I believe.” “What, Lady Morton?” again put in the unlucky RandalL “Why, Nell, you are making bad shots! Why, she never even sent you a mug at your christening—mother said so! Besides, I’m sure she’s dead.” “No,” said Nell, not a little put out, “she is alive and well. Papa sent her a Persian kitten lately.” Then Janet came to the rescue. “I’ve got something mysterious, too,” she cried; and she showed up an onyx brooch, with a beautifully executed jay in diamonds, set in the center. “Not much mystery in that!” exclaimed one of her sisters. “It’s the Baron, I’m sure. Do get a pebble, Jan, and have, a gander done in brilliants, and send it to him.” -^l- - like the Baron, Cis,” was Janet’s reply, “and I do foind de brooch ver’ lovely.” All laughed at the mimicry. Loyal Janet made no allusion to Nell’s gift. It disappeared from sight and was soon forgotten in the divergencies of Christmas-tide—forgotten by all but the recipient and Janet. A close scrutiny, when by herself, revealed to Nell a secret spring within the apparently void ease. She touched it and a thin layer of gold flew back, disclosed a tiny ring of dark hair, fastened with a gold thread. With passionate kisses the girl re placed it in its hiding-place, then laid the locket to her heart and looked upwards, her eyes radiant with joy and her bosom heaving. Before putting it away, till she could devise a plan of wearing it unseen, she examined the delicate chain, holding it up to the light, and within each ring she discovered, in fine but clear tracery the words “Dinna forget.” No happier eyes closed in rest that Christmas night in Nettlethorpe’s overflowing Hall than beautiful Nell Thanet’s. The last day of December was the twins’ birthday. On that day they were nineteen years old. They had wished to return homo to spend it with their parents, but the cousins would not hear of it. In the morning they rode into Thorpe, a merry party of four, received felicitations and loving offerings from their family, and returned, little loath, to the luxurious Hall. There had been an arrival in the interim, a most unexpected and awkward arrival—the Baron von Melkenburg. He had followed quickly in the wake of his messenger bird, the brilliant jay. In Mrs. Nettlethorpe’s boudior there was not a little commotion. Mrs. Kennett denied having given any special invitation to the gentleman. He had seemed to be an admirer of horses, and she had once said, in quite a casual way, that, if he ever cam#to England, she would like . him. to nee her brother’s stud, never dreaming that he would take her at her word in this off-handed fashion. “If he were not a foreigner,” said the lady of the house, slightly molified, •T should give him his conge at once; but foreigners have different codes of etiquette to ours, and, according to his, he may be quite en regie. Jasper” —alluding to her husband—“will be in shortly, and I shall hand over the intruder to him.” At this juncture, Janet, followed by Nell and Randall, joined the conclave in the boudoir. She was even more surprised than her mother and sisters at the occurrence, and much more irate, for it had been she whom in* Baron had honored with his addresser, and she was conscious that she had shown him in a plain enough manner that they were distasteful; she had been amused, and perhaps just a little flattered. It was a most awkward situation. “Where is he?” she asked much distressed. “In the drawing-jroom,” said her young sister Polly,* not a little mischievously. “He has been there all by himself, for the last half-hour. He came in a carriage and pair, like a grand seigneur, from Thorpe. And Calton—their maid—“says he has brought a lot of luggage, The good-natured squire, when he heard of the Baron’s advent, desired that his unbidden guest should he entertained, promising that in the meantime he would endeavor to ascertain more of his statu* in society than the Kennetts appeared to know. The Baron appeared quite at his ease. The Squire had joined him in the drawing-room, and had given him a courteous welcome, if not a hearty one. But he, at first sight, disliked the man. There wan an effrontery in his ease, an affectation of equality that sat awkwardly, and a certain sharpness of glance that repelled the simple downright Englishman. “A man to guard against,” he thought; but nothing more. At dinner the Baron appeared in an elaborate toilet, with much jewelry and profuse perfume. Nell said very little; but she made him her close study the whole evening. She was in better spirits than she had been since

Lyon Leslie’s departure. Her wtt was bright to-night lh the drawing-room later, Andrew Cached himself to Nell; he had lately shown symptoms of succumbing to his beautiful cousin’s attractions. A hint of this he ventured in .her ear, resting by her side in the noble conservatory which, this night a blaze of light, opened out of the drawing room. The girl was in no mood for whispers of that sort. She felt as or e feels when estrange foot approaches a spot sacred to some cherished memory; but Bhe liked her cousin, so warned him off gently, but firmly. “Now, be sensible, Andrew,” she said; “if you want to keep your hand in, there is Lady Bab”—indicating with her fan the Lady Barbara Merville, a neice of the Squire, a large blonde, handsome, and an heiress—“she is always ready, you know.” ••Nell,” he said, fairly turning his back on the lady in question—“ Nell, we have always been good friends.” “Always, cousin mine; let us remain so,” “I have the lock of hair you gave ijie two years ago. I was looking at it this evening before dinner. Your hair has changed Nell; it hasn’t the true golden tint it had—is it a symbol of your heart?” “I have yours too,” she said, lightly and evasively. “It was done up in 4 sweeping sheaf with Lucy’s, Polly’s and Janet’s, and set in a gold-rimmed brooch. Tibbs”—the Thorpe jeweller—“did it, and I kept it for home adornment.” He bit his lip. “Do you know,” he said, “I think you country girls are much more accomplished flirts than town belief You make a fellow feel awfully smaA I’ve thought so much of you, Nell. Do you remember the kiss you gave me one Christmas under the mistletoe? I do.” And he looked into her averted face appealingly, imploringly. “And so do I, coz”—meeting his love-lorn eyes frankly. “And, if you’re good you shall have another this Christmas, under the mistletoe;” and she held up her face playfully. “I would rather have it under the rose,” he said, pulling forward a branch of a Marshal Niel in bloom, and arching it between them. She laughed, ignoring his more serious intent. “You are such*a boy, Andrew!” she said. ‘ ‘Do be sensible, that’s a good fellow. I wanted to ask you abput that baron, and here you are rehearsing a flirtation with me.” Andrew’s jealousy was fired. “Oh, I’ll tell you all you want to know!” he cried. “He’s rich—that’s the main point; he says he’s been in the Prussian Guards, and he sings like a nightingale—not one of which recommendations I possess.” “You dear old goosey-gander,” said Nell, with frank affection, “do be Sensible —this is the third time of asking, I like your little finger better than his whole baronial corpus ” —she made a gesture of dislike. “It is so hard, when I want a friend, to find a-a spoonand her laugh rang out merrily. Poor Andrew was in earnest; he showed signs of sulks. “It’s all that recruiting fellow,” he muttered. “I know him; he has fooled no end of girls.” Nell was equally determined not. to quarrel with her cousin; hut she bit her lip, “There’s the piano,” she said; “they’re going to dance. Come, I’ll give you the first.” He seized her hand. “Wait a moment,” she cried, “I want to say something first—that man who calls himself a baron is no more a baron than I am a baroness, or, what’s more, he’s not even a gentleman—never- was—in. any country, civilized or uncivilized.” “Well, there are not many gen lemen in Africa;” and, a little mollified by the depreciation of a possible rival, he laughed. “I beg your pardon, Andrew; some savages would put many of our fine gentlemen in the shade.” •‘Naturally so, being dusky,” he replied, teasingly. “He’s not even a foreigner,” she continued, taking not the slightest notice of his facetiousness. “His broken English is put on. Don’t you notice, when he’s off his guard, how Bhaky his 'hV are?” “Very likely; fellows of that sort never turn up trumps; but he’s a first class lady’s isan, and he’s rich What doe# it setter? Gome, the Walt> will be over.” •‘But it does matter, Andrew. If he is not what he represents himself to be, he is an imposter, and I advise you to give the Squire a hint to look after, his silver spoons.” “Nell! Are you off your head?” “No, sir, my head is as sound as my heart, and likely to remain so; only I have eyes, and know how to use them”—Andrew ventured a suggestive nod—“and ears, which are often to more purpose, and not open to idle gossip”—Andrew winced. “Besides, I have one gift—l have a second sight Janet owns I am a witch.” “So do I; but you won’t listen. Don’t I tell you you are bewitching?” ‘ ‘Andrew, you’re a foolish boy—there, it’s out! That’s my plain unvarnished opinion of you—just a foolish boy. Come, we’re in time for a couple of rounds; bi£, mind, I’ve warned you.” It was strictly a family party, the only foreign element being the intruding Baron. But, by the time the second daneewas over, he had ingratiated himself with the entire oompany—all excepting Nell. Hi# air had assumed the familiarity of an established and approved intimate, and even MrslNettlethorpe acknowledged that he was an acquisition. “I wonder whether aunt Kennett really gave him an invitation to the HallP” Nell asked of Janet. “It is mere mistake. Mamma often says civil things, and I knew ahe liked him,” replied her cousin. “She prob-

ably said something which he mlscon. s trued—he speaks English pretty fairly, but doesn’t catch Tfhat you saj weß.", “You don’t like him, Janet?” “Good gracious, no!, A young man would be preferable;” and she walked away with a laugh of contempt. Nell was standing under a crystal chandelier,- festooned with mistletoe. Suddenly from the distance came the sound of a band playing the National Anthem; it was a village band; it came nearer, and clanged out the melody under the windows, and, as the air rose, the church-clock struck twelve, and the bells, taking up the story, rang the Old Year out and the New Year in. It was the signal for a general commotion. Forgeting the presence of the stranger, each member of the family flitted from one to the other, giving and receiving the kiss of welcome. Fired by the example, the Baron came behind Nell, and, before sbs could defend herself, stole a kiss from her lips. Quick as lightning, she raised her fan, and dealt him a sharp blow on his cheek. “That was hardly fair!” cried the Squire, coming for his kiss. “It was under the mistletoe, Nell;” and he kissed the girl, now rosy red with anger, on either cheek. “Strangers have no right to family privileges,” she cried, her eyes flashing lightning. With his mouth set in hard a line, his face livid, save for the red mark across his cheek, left by the avenging fan, the Baron came up to the irate girl, fronting her, and said, bowing low—‘‘‘Some day I will give you your privilege bapk. I have a very good memory.” “A very convenient one, you mean,” she answered, turning contemptuously away, “for you seem suddenly to have remembered your native tongue.” “Are you dangerous, Nell?” asked Andrew, as she paused a moment in a doorway arched over with the suggestive plant. “Everybody has had one but me.” She smiled as she lifted her face to his, and let him kiss her on the lips; but she neither flushed nor looked shy. He might have been her brother, and he knew it. ‘Tit bide my time,” he said to himself. * ‘She is proud and he’ll forget. ” (TO BE CONTORTED. I