Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 7, Number 38, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 17 March 1877 — Page 6

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fiTHEMAIL

pAPER

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OR THE PEOPLE.

GIVE HIM A LIFTI"

Give htm a lift! Don't kneel in prayer, Nor moralize with his despair

,,-}r 2 The man Is down, and his great need „!, Is ready help—not prayer and creed. Jtpt.i i^ig time when the woanls are washed and

J, That

theChrlstly motives be revealed But now, whatever the Bplrlt may be.

words are bat a mockery.

One

grain of aid jnst new Is more

it._ 4 MMA AS rt# BA^nfl (T lAI*/?

than tomes of saintly lore!

Praj, If you mnst. In your full heart

Toh Praj

juu iuubi, m/wui

»mi1

"w*»i

But give him a lift—give him a start I The world is fall of good advice, Of prayer, and praise, and Pfjf^lng nice, Bat the generous souls who aid mankind UULiue Ktjuciuun OVMW Are scarce as gold, and hard to find. ®ive like a Christian-speak in deeds A

noble life's the best or

mm

creeds

And he shall wear a royal crown..

ss s£r

[Scrlbner's Monthly.1^ vJO^

Stella Grayland/J

v«« go Miss Brainard's fathers pone, Doctor." It was the ministers ciear, hearty voice that spoke. I feel verj sorry for Miss Brainard, very sorry in deed. He has been a great care to her and it's a release to both, no doubt but it leaves a great void. She's very good and useful, and she faas been a faithful daughter. She's very much overcome it seems to her as if she were alone in the world."

Dr. Knlield's heart smote him. He knew Cora Brainard much better than the minister, but his thought of her had not been gentle of late. The picture of ber in such trouble affected him witha remorseful tenderness. He turned his horse and drove to her door. He found her alone she had been crying, and looked tremulous and downcast, but was trim and pretty, as always. She 3 ,-• called bim Lawrence, and asked him in. then nestled herself childishly in the corner of the sofa and dried her eyes.

Enfield stood before ber, remembering many things. V* »»I am very sorry, (,ora. he said

Can I do anything for you T" He spoke low and with something like contrition.

Yon're long in showing it," she complained. You've been very unkind." I used to como quick enough and often enough," he rejoined.

Yes, and then you stayed away of a sudden, and when I asked you the reason, you laughed at me and deserted me altogether, when you know I looked to you for advice ana assistance and bad most need of them."

Her reproach stung him. Tbo charge of unfaithfulness to a friend was one he took keenly. There was a mingled sternness and entreaty in his voice when he replied:

41

Won't you let that go now This is no time for bandying reproaches. I think I was your laithlul friend for a long while. If I failed in mydutyto you, I am sure I did not know it. And if I changed, it was because I thought I had been mistaken. I thought 1 had been going for years wilh my eyes shut, and had not seen you as you were. I thought I had been a fool and it ^as Hme_—but that's of no account now, I am your friend still let mo prove it."

But she persisted in her high, childlike complaint. "Was it my fault, then, you bad not seen me, truly. I never tried to deceive yon. I always put confidence in you and talked frankly to you, as I never did to any one olse. And you know I have bad a hard time. I was never meant for the tiresome, lonely life I've had. I never wanted to be a pattern of usefulness and self-forgetfulne»s, but they would have me so, and I couldn't go out in the streets and tell them I was not. I've had to play the part till I'm tired. I've had to walk demurely, and talk and smile to people I despised, and do all sorts of miserable things. But I never pretended to you. You knew I was not satisfied or happy. I used to tell you all my troubles and ask your advice about everything. And you .know you said harsh things to me sometimes. You knew me better than any one else, and I did not think you would over treat mo so. Did you think only of what was due to yourself, and that our long friendship and tberoliance you had encouraged m-* to place in you, gave i^me 110 claim upon you

Her words hurt and agitated him greatly. Was she nght? and had he Tir^een doubly blind? In this grieved, reproachful, petulent humor, she seemed .^different being from the Cora Brainard §he had bad in his thought these last '{months she was the little girl tbat the *big boy, Lawrenco Enflela, had protected and drawn on his sled, the maiden he bad cherished in his heart for many a day aud he bad been purer and brftver for the thought of her.

Did he owe her nothing for that? He •was very sensitive to people's claims upon him. His heart bled and was afraid tor her. He could not see her away. lie knew she had had a very liari tiuie—harder than people dreamed. They thought ber long service and sup- .. port of her invalid father were made easy by a love of duty and by excepttonal ability. Enfield know that, though she bad rare tact and succeeded admirably, all sordid eare and labor were extremely repugnant to her. She bad said she never had anything she liked be would have expressed it, that she never liked anything she bad. He thought that wrv melancholy case.

That she liked ui« society ol spirited young men lie had learned to his sorrow more than once or twice or, at least, that they were very apt to like her but they were all sent (or went) about their business one after another. Enfield bad a iriend named Loramer, who had been one of the spirited fellows at one time, and the episode had been a severe strain upon their friendship. It was a sammer vacation of Loratner's, when be made Miss Brainard's acquaintance, and he found h*r bright, pluuant face, and liffht, laughing chatter

i|^|brought

town,

4

He met her upon rid

Tng^n^^'lingliartiea, sat and "walked and drove with her. Enfield avoided them both awhile, then spoke offensively to Loramer, and got scorn fill laughter in reply. They did not meet again for some time. One evening Loramer

Cora home from a drive. He

lifted her out, and they stood talking there together under the trees. He made an appointment to go rowing with %©r the next day, and they parted, with some reluctance on bis part, and low „, laughter on her'*. He scratched a match til and lighted a oigar, as be drove down the street. As ne passed through the V-J

hesaw some one walking before

liim on the foot-patb. He let bis horse walk and watched the man till be turned a corner. He turned th» barae after him,

overtook bim, and stopped opposite and 'i-Ki add *n! linfield, come and ride.-"

He stood by a tree a minute or two, looking, then came and got In. Thev rode alonu, each in bis corner.

Have a cigar said Loramer. No," answered Enfield. Loramer took bis own from bis month and flung it awav. He struck the bone with the whip, Enfield put his hand on the reins, anal said steadily: "Don't do that, the mare's willing enough she's tired."

Loramer palled ber up, and let her walk a mile or more, op among the hills then he turned ber and rattled back toward the village, and stopped before bis own lodging. He asked Enfield to bold the horse and went in. In a little while be came out and put a valise in the

"Whilst time does the night train pass?" 12.05." He drove to the station, gave Enfield the reins and put the valise on the platform, then stood on the step of the wagon.

Drive the horse to Mltchel's for me and tell bim to send me bis bill." He lingered a moment, then offered his bind.

Good-night, Lawrence!" ., "Good-night!" and they' held each other's hands firmly but gravely.

Will you take a cigar now, Law rence $r ., ,, "Yes!" I /W

Loramer thrust his ciear-case into his band, wheeled round and marched into the waiting-room, holding the valise with a strong grasp aud putting his head a little on one side.

Tbat affair was a part of the long, slow process of Enfield's alienation from Cora, but only one of many steps. He was tenacious and slow to change, afid she held him by cords of memory and dependence as well as affection. But by degrees be came to see clearly that he had been willfully blind, that be had always known but would not regard that she was not all the girl he had shrined. The end was but a trifle proverbial lwjt straw. And though he laughed when she took him to task and felt a barbarous enjoyment in their re versed relations, and in ber show of something like consternation, he more than once afterward felt the yearning of the converted heathen toward his broken gods. Loramer and Enfitld spent a week together on Cape Cod the same summer and took refuge in a storm in one of the huts provided for ship-Wreck-ed people. Listening to the deafening roar of the wind and the surf, they spoke of Cora Brainard. Loramer con' gratulated Lawrence upon his freedom And he went on:

en the

I don't know what there is in the little minx. All the ©Id ladies in Elmtree think her a kind of a saint, but she did'nt strike me in that light. She came near making a fool of me, but I can't remember anything she said, only how she laughed and her eyes sparkled." "I can't laugh at her,1' Enfield answered. She hasn't made herself and she hasn't had a good time. She doesn't care for anything. She has a wonderful tact, an eye for color and an instinct for the current fashion in what goes for lit erature and art. But she has no amjreciation of anything permanent and no lasting enjoyment of anything. I think that is terrible. I can't think of anything mnch more pitiable."

Enfield lounged again it the wall Loramer watched him awhile, listening to the storm booming without, as he lay stretched on the straw. Then he went

Do you think she's a good girl, Lawrence It wouldn't be quite safe for her to run on with some fellows as she did with me."

He caught Enfield's eye. No, it wasn't quite safe for her to run on so with me. She's either very innocent, or verj artful, or very reckless, I don't know which. If she is good, she's very, very good."

He laughed, out Lawrence smoked soberlv and silent. Young Harlow, the ensign, was her last capture, wasn't he

Enfield nodded gravely. They say he was over his head, and would have given up the navy and flouted bis people and everything, i?1 she would have taken him, but she wouldn't let him saorifice himself. That vas a strange affair of theirs—being lost on a sleigb-ride and snowed up two days across the mountain. I never could un derstand it both of them knew the country, ami none of the rest of the partv found much trouble."

I don't know," Enfield answered slowly. I wasn't taking as much stock in her just then as I had been. I cut adrift aoout the time she took Harlow in tow I suppose she thought I was jealous. I don't know how they managed it, but he left very suddenly and sbe was sick about tbat time—a mere coincidence, probably."

All these things, and many more, surged through Enfield's mind now, as he stood before her and was swayed by her unrestrained upbraiding. She said that he bad stood in ber way, tbat sbe bad put her trust in him and given him such a near place tbat others bad been kept from her. He found that hard to swallow He turned from ber and threw himself into an arm-cbair, with bis back to her, and chewed their bitter accusation.

Finally she came slowly and stood beside him a minute or two, then said sadly, laying her hand on his arm. "Forgive ine Lawrence, if I have said too much I am in trouble you will help me, will you not?

Yes, I will do anything "Have

I can for you made

you," he answered. any plans?" She shook her head slowly. "No I don't know what I am to do. can't live alone, and there's no one here! can live with. They don't know me and 3»t think they do, and they expect me to be always playing the character they have invented for me. I'm tired to death and I want you to tell me what to do."

He sat with her awhile longer, then went away, and thought of her all night, and went back to her in the morning.

Loramer made him a visit soon atter that. They sat up late together. When they were separating at Loramer's door, he laid his arm across Enfield's shoulder, and they looked into each other's eyes. "Are you going to marry Cora Brainart!, Lawrence?" he asked. "Yes."

They continued to look at each other for along breath. "Are my eyes sound?" asked Enfield, but neither smiled. "Yes, sound and truo," answered Loramer, "but too deep for me."

The wedding came of a month later. Enfield had insisted upon Loramer standing up with him. "This must make no difference between you and me, Harry," be bad said. And Loramfer bad consented with settle hesitation. Cora looked very pretty, and bore herself with a demure dignity which he fbund bard to reconcile with his recollections. Enfield himself discovered an unsuspected capaeity for enjoyment in her. They came back from the wed-ding-jotiroey, and she took command of his bouse. And as they settled into the routine of home life and occupations, Enfield began to think of carrying out certain plans which be had bad in mind.

Two or three months before bis marriage, bo bad meta young lady whom jTJ %!. ,*i* 4".

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

he had known slightly for some years, named Stella Grayland. She was not strikingly beautiml, t*t of very planing appearance, fresh, rosy, and intelligent. But tbe charm Enfield fonnd In her was her manner and what it suggested. Though entirely simple, "her walking,, standing, sitting, speakiftg, her mothink vi ixmic BUIUU.U piece of mechanism which, however ittnrned, or went, stood still, was in no danger toppling over. She could stand still a sit still, and to see her do either was good for tbe eves. Sbe was not fluent in speech, but wben she began yon might be sure sbe would get te the end of what she set out to say and stop when she got to tbe end. Tbe simplest things took a rythmical qnality in her month and clang to the memory with an agreeable tenacity.

Happy, thoughtful, modest, steadfast, Stella Grayland struck Enfield as the reverse of Cora Brainard, and he found the secret of tbe salient difference in the fact that Stella had bad a thorough train ing in one direction. Her father was 1 musician, and his daughter bad inber ited bis faculty and cultivated it by as siduous study at home and abroad Coming away from ber, Enfield had re fleeted how any ennobling pursuit broadens and deepens tbe whole char acter, as a journey up the latitudes on any side of the world, gives one tbe main features of all, and makes the rest intelligible.

If Cora had had the guidance of some strong, wise band, to set her right at the start, and lead her along tbe arduous beginning of some such path, until her feet found their strength and the growing joy of walking, and her eyes learned the delight of the ever widening and brightening prospect!—the thought of hat might have Deen filled bim with strong regret and pity. She had only had the training of sordid care and un congenial tasks and associations. He was estranged from her then, and had been thinking hardly of her but when he heard of her in trouble at her father's death, the pitiful yearning swept away all unkindncss, and brought him back to her side. And that night, after she had appealed to him in such an abandoned humor, she seemed to him quite the child still and fit to learn of one Who understood ber, and had ber confidence and the right to be with her a great deal. Who was there thet knew ber or could help her but he? It was in no proud spirit that he had answered. He wandered under the stars and was humble enough and lonely enough, God knew. He went back through the years, and gathered all the forgotten tenderness and trust between them. He felt again the purifying stimulus of his thought of ber, and perceived how it had fostered all of him tbat was br&ve and of good report. Whether or not he had deceived himself whether she were truly the girl he had seen or not, the fact remained tbat he owed ber, or his thought of her, a great deal. What was truth? Are there not as many worlds as eyes that see them Are we sure there is any world outside the eye? Does not truth consist in standing by what one's eyes report Whac better proof could there be of a thing's reality than that it had held you long, shaped and lifted and led you? Cora Brainard bad been the most powerful modifying circumstance of his life.

It seemed to him that night that God had set before bim a solemn trust, and that there was every reason why he ahould assume it. And slowly and reverently ho took it up.

And now that she was his wife, he was anxious to begin tbe course be had determined to pursue. Cora had received the ordinary schooling of girls, but had somehow missed the true education. Her acquirements were a surface gloss merely, Enfield knew. She had never been touched by the sacred fire. She could not tell a good book from a poor one, be had saidT to Loramer. But he had taken her, and his heart yearned toward the companion of his choice. Yet there could be no true companionship where there was no common view or interest. It seemed to him that she had never learned the right use of her eyes, that the few and little things close to her shut out the sight of toe great and innumerable company beyond, as if one reared among city streets should never see either the earth or the sky. He would teach her to use them, would show her the awe and beauty of tbe world. They would read together he would find anew charm and inspiration in bis loved books sbe would catch his enthusiasm and insensibly learn the delight and true cultivation of all that is great and good.

He found no chance to begin for a long time. She was very, busy and seemed very happy. There was the house to set in order, bis friends and hers to entertain she was learning to ride. But by and by came winter and shut them in more alone. He got out his books and proposed their reading tpgether, and was pleased to find she welcomed the plan. She read with a clear intonation and a careful regard for pointing and pronunciation but somehow as he listened to ber the strength and flavor of bis favorite authors escaped between the words. Her idea of reading poetry seemed to be tbat it should sound exactly like prose. She had apparently no conception of any thing like rhythm, and seemed to think It a special grace to avoid any slightest pause at the end of a line wnen It could be done so that the mind was kept on a strain to catch at tbe rhyme and measure. He said nothing, but one night took the book himself. Ha read things to ber tbat bad made his heart throb and dimmed his eves, or filled bim with delightful laughter, and tbey wearied or puzzled her aud seemed cold and sterile to himself. He began to lose courage, but be persevered. One night he read to her in Kuskin's eloquent prose, and came to tbat powerful aud impassioned, if somewhat mystical, interpretation of the Laureate's noble song: 'Come into the garden, Maud, bat, n"

For the black bat, night, has flown fn Come into the gard«n. Maud, And the wood olne spices are wafted abruad,

R&'

1 am bere at the gate alone

And the innsk or tne rose is blown." Ho read on to tbe end. Wben he stopped be hoped she would not speak he felt by anticipation the jar of ber ciear cold voice. But she did not speak. Her face was in the shadow, but be could see without turning his bead tbat ber bosom heaved and heaved. She was touched,—sbe understood. With a rush came a thought tbat the splendid song symbolized their relation. It was be who stood at tbe gate, alone, and called her out from "the dancers dancing in tune." He had almost wearied of calling, but sbe heard I "There has fallen a splendid tear

From the passion-flower at the gate, .. She is coming, mylove, my dear She is oomlug, my lire, my fate Tbe red roee cries, -She is near, She is near,*

And the white rose weeps,'She is late The larkspar listens, *1 hear, I hear

1

And the lily whispers. -I wait!' There was silence a while in the room: then he moved very gently and looked in her face. There was a smile on ber lips, and bereyes were closed. Sbe was asleep.

He left her there and went out. It

was cold and still: the stars glittered, the earth w« white. He walked far on the frezen snow. wtth a feeling as bard and oold as the bitter air. Some Impish sprite seemed to mook him with the eloaing strain of the song: -1 "She Is coming,my own,my sweet

Were iteVer so airy a tread, My heart would hear her bd beat,. Were it earth in an eartlilv bed My .dost would hear her and beat, rc

Had I lain for a century dead Would start and tremblle and her feet. And blossom in purple and rod." All the charm bad gone out of t] Words. Were such passionate yearnings actual, or at best more than empty delusions He had yearned so toward her she bad been "his life, his fate." His fate, truly, but was sbe not rather his death What kind of creature was it tbat words like those could not move Sbe cast a blight upon tbe noblest things, made bim doubt and disbelieve where beforu !e had walked with firm feet. And sha was his fate be was bound to her by bis own band. She sat there now by bis table, and there she would sit and sit. Thejaicture made bia bouse seem a prison. He must go back there by and by, Tbe thought of living at variance was very bitter to him, yet how could they prevent it who had nothing in common, whose instincts drew opposite ways. He was unequally yoked with an unbeliever.

The village clock recalled bim from tbat dismal reverie. He bad a call to make at tbe Marlakes' the children were all three sick. Kate Marlake had been a Grayland, and her sister Stella was recently come to stay with ber through tbat trying time. Lawrence gave one of tbe children a soothing po tion, and said be would

Tvait

to see the

eflect. He went down stairs, and Kate sent Stella to keep him company. She asked bim about tbe children, and he explained to her the "self-limited" char acter of the disease and the necessity that they should grow worse before tbey could be better, but assured her there was no present cause for alarm. And while be thus re-assured ber, she was unconsciously exerting fully as powerful a counter-influence upon bim. Her steady, balanced carriage, her quiet, straight, brief questions, ber direct glance, her strong but controlled inter est, tbe simple, graceful motion with which she sat afterward, and ber easy, restful attitude, altogether affected him with a great tenderness, mingled with despair. Why could not Cora ba like that Was it so bard to be simple, era cious, modestly satisfied? It seemed very easy in Stella's presence. Sbe did not say much her words were fit and sincere, to be sure, but simple and few, and as like as not to end with a depreciating, low, lapsing laugh. But some how she made all brave and gentle and generous things seom easy and very de sirable. Lawrence looked up trout his abstraction ahd found her Matching him. "Don't you miss your music?" he asked.

Well," she answered with her low laugh, "it would hardly be gracious to say I do, wben Kate needs me so badly, —and hardly true to say no." .Lawrence recalled a remark of Dr. Kane'show when, on one of bis voy ages, iu their ice-girt winter quarters, the whole ship's company, save himself, were prostrate below decks, and he with incredible strength and fortitude was literally doing everything, not even omitting to register regular observa tions of the instruments —in the midst of that unsurpassable heroism among tbe polar solitudes, he felt at night a dissatisfaction with the day as having been spent to little purpose worthy of bis powers.

Stella listened and was still a moment before she answered: Yes, I can understand that."

That was it. She could understand. She knew what he was talking about sbe knew and cared. He had always remarked her peculiarly melodious, low voice be thought now he had never heard one so expressive. It was never either loud or faint, but exquisitely modulated, like all her motions. He could say things to her when he began to talk to Cora, bis words came back upon him as in an echoing hall, and smothered him with the sound of his own vui«e. Stella Grayland, sitting composedly, raying little, stirred him like noble music,—made bim strong and fervid.

They talked of many things, the dark background of his thought giving a somber undertone to his part. They came back to music.

You enjoy it as much as ever?" te

Ob, yes," she answered "I think it grow constantly upon you. One's deflciences become painfully clearer and bad music seems to increase and become more of a trial. But it is a satisfaction to feel tbat one grows a little, taking tbe years together and it is very pleasant to know that tbere will always be pleasant to know that there will always be plenty to learn and enjoy."

Sbe ended with a little sigh. He was looking at her, but be only Baid: 1 Yes."

Her words exactly expressed bis feeling for literature. He felt as if they two bad been climbing tbe same -hill by different paths, and stood side by side for a moment looking up to tbe heights beyond that rose one above another,— where over tbe dark pine forests the glittering snow-peaks pierced the sky and the rivers of ice sbone gloriously.

Kate came* to tell them tbat Jenny was asleep, and tbey went up eoftly. Lawrence wrote out bis directions for tbe night and cane dowisv Stella accompanying bim. At the door he paused a moment abstractedly.

Don't you think it's a great lass for a person to miss the pleasure and appreciation of a noble art?" he asked, seriously.

Sbe looked at him questioningly, but replied Yes, it makes me very sorry sometimes: it is a great loss. But I reflect that there area great many people who get on without it, and tbey seem quite contented and happy. I think those who have the advantage of tbe finer influence and delights should be very goiod and try to prevent the younger enes from growing up without caring for such things."

Yea, tbat is true," bo replied, and be went on with suppressed agitation: But suppose one should grow blind to all art ana yet not contented er happy, without any true knowledge, or faith, or cultivation but the outward seeming, unsettled, unsatisfied, hungering for one knows not what, despising all tbat one baa?"

He leaned back, and neitber spoke for a moment. Sbe turned either way with a shuddering movement. "Tbat would be terrible," she answered. "But do yon think there are any so unfortunate?"

Yes, tbere are some," he returned I hope indeed not many." Atd can nothing be done for them?"

I d»n't know. I am afraid not." Oh, I think you should not say tbat," she continued warmiv "their friends should ntt despair. It would be like saving a soul from death!"

Thank you," be said. "Good-night!" »«.!•••- r. E

'.jr

,*•

He offered his hand and she gave him hers frankly. He came away softened and warmed the night was not so hard and oold now. All that was compassionate and unselfish in him was re-enforoed, and the view of bis better nature confirmed. His feeling toward Cora was only gentle and pitiftiT. Bat there was a difference between tbem thenceforth that he could not equalise. He saw that tbe novelty and excitation of her altered position were going from her and that tne quiet of tbe early winter was growing irksome. She said nothing, but be got tbe feeling of having a child in the house whose playthings were worn out and whom ne felt bound to entertain. It unsettled and fretted him. He was necessarily at tbe Marlakes' a great deal for some time and bis admiration for Stella grew with the sight of ber unwearied and skillful care of the little ones through the most trying scenes sbe was steadfast, though deeply oonoerned sbe executed his directions with exactness. Sbe was never taken at a disadvantage under all circumstances sbe was tbe same simple, friendly, self-respectful, admirable person. He was always tbe better for seeing her however confused and wrong-fcided tbe world might seem, at sight or sound of her all tbings fell into order and marched to unheard music. He did not disguiso from himself that he went to see the Marlake children oftener than he would have gone to others he knew be was glad to go tbere and kneft tbe reason. He knew that he sometimes thirsted to see her, to hear her speak. Why should he not? He did not know bow he should get on if she were away. His wife soon wore out his better feelings sometimes he was in -a rage with ber, sometimes affected with a great melancholy she could not rest at

Dome

Some time afterward Lawrence bad a letter from a friend: "I have an open1 ng here for a young surgeon of parts Rnd character. It wHl be tbe making of some one. Can you send me tbe name of some young fellow you can recommend

Now, Lawrence happened to know that Stella had a cousin, a young surgeon in fact, sbe bad asked bim about bis chauce of success in tbat part of tbe country. He now Invited young Win lock to come down and make bim a visit with a view to recommending him. He was a handsome, lively young fellow, and Lawrence liked hiin from tbe first. He and Cora got on well together, and Lawrence found tbe bouse pleasanter than be had for a long time. Stella came back to Elmtree two or three weeks later. Kate bad felt the leng strain after it was over, and had stumbled and broken down. When Winlock came to see bis cousin, tbe morning after ber arrival, she was struck with the change in bim. He was a frank fellow, and be aud Stella were good friends Sbe made bim oome and sit with ber. She talked to him and watched him. He took out his watch and rose to go. Sbe stood up before him. 'Eagene," sbe said, "where are you going, now

The tall fellow looked down at ber and changed color. I am going to ride."

,4

With Mrs. Enfield?" Yes," he answered, doggedly.v She looked away slowly and then back, till their eyes met again. Sbe spoke In a lower voice tban usual, but steadily. "What do you tbink of Mrs. Enfield?"

He did not turn away his eyea, but his lace grew haggard. I think she's an angel," he said.

She threw herself Into tbe chair beside ber without moving her feet, and sat with her bands together in her lap, and ber face bent out of bis sight. He turned back, shaken and helpless. Her attitude affected bim more tban any words. Presently he came round and took ber head between bis trembling bands.

Don't fret about me, Stel." be said. I'm not worth it." Sbe sat up straight.

Eugene, you must go away directly." He turned away his head.

I can't," he said. ?... She stood up. Come here a moment." Sbe led him to Kate's sick-room. "Awake, Katy? You slept nicely. You ft el better now. Here's Eugene come to see you. I have to go out and Lizzie's busy, so Eogene will sit in the next mom and call ber if you want any­

thing. Good-bye, dear!" She was gone before he oould say a word. In fifteen mlnates she was in Dr. Enfield's parlor. A riding whip and lay on a table. 8he walked from them to the back of the room. Cora came down in Mr habit. She bad a cheerful greeting on her Bps and advanced toward Stella, bat stopped half way and Stella backed a step. "Will you take a seat, Miss Grayland?" Cora said, with cold politeness.

No," she answered, only half conscious of ber words, a burning shame and aversion enveloping her like a cloud and shutting out nght and sound. "I have come to speak to you about my cousin, Eugene Winlock. He's not comto ride." ra was staring with a horrified ex11a

ingt Co: pression past Stella's head. Sbe answered hoarsely:.

That will do, Miss Grayland. Lawrence, yon had better come in." Stella turned. The door behind her into Lawrence's office stood open he had come in unheard and was leaning against the door-post, white in the face. Stella was startled, but she only bowed distantly and came out of the house. This was not altogether new to Lawrence he bad felt vaguely fearful before Cora turned her back to bim and looked out of tbe window the prospect was very sunny and bright with spring's

E[e

unless there were

people there she wanted to be at all meetings, fairs, parties, lectures, concerts. She would talk with most people glibly en«ugb, catching the clue of each with wonderful adroitness and echoing each after bis kind. Most people thought her charming when sbe carea to charm to be confirmed in one's opinions by such pretty, vivacious eyes and lips few men would find distasteful. To Lawrence she had nothing to say. She knew that he knew tbat sbe had nothing worth saying. Sbe resented his penetration she resented his pity and pity was the only light in which he found tbe thought of her tolerable. He bad thought to show her through his eyes widening vistas of beauty and grandeur and instead he oaugbt glimpses through hers of awful heights and depths of vacancy, peopled only by thinly veiled phantoms of darkness and horror. But she could not lcok with his eyes, and if she caugbt sight of such dismal pros pects n*w and then she could not be expected to want to look that way iwas as if sbe sailed with a strong swim mer to whom she instinctively looked for help and succor wben storms came, but wbo could do nothing in fair weather but steer the boat. A cloud or a breaking wave might remind her of tempest and dark depths full of cruel creatures, but while tbe sun shone and the sea was smooth sbe could hardly be blamed for preferring merrier company tban one who was forever on tbe lookout for foul weather, and whose grave aud very reserve power of succor were suggestive of distasteful tbings. Tbey came to no open rupture what was there to say? His prevailing mood toward her was compassion as for a :ost soul. But many times that mood broke down by its own weight. Her light, child-like laugh, her high, clear voice talking so glibly and cheerily to people whom, as like as not, be knew Bne despised, came to bim with a hollow, heartless ring tbat was maddening. He could not study be could thing of nothing worthy. He would rush away from the sodnd tbat he was frightened to perceive was becoming hateful. Should he not go to Stella then He must go. He believed be should never have married Cora but for the stimulus to his compassion that he got from Stella. He did not know what he should do now but for her stimulus of his forbearance, his tenderness, his whole better nature. He put confidence in ber. He spoke to her again and again with increasing frankness wben lie found her alone. And she took his confidence with concern and respect, kept bim steadfast, and by ber refined and restrained sympathy made up to bim part of what be lost at home. But tbe children got well after many weeks and Stella went away. When sbe was gone he missed her very taucb.

romise, but it did not look so to her. came forward and stood up beside ber. "You cannot deny this," he said.

What do you suppose will be the end if^ou keep on answered without even turning or lifting ber head, and in a bard, bitter voire:

I neither deny nor admit anything. You are both jealous. And it does not become you who wore such along face because she went away. I suppose you can see now that she cares more for some ene else."

She caught sight of his face and would have slipped past bim, but he stood before her. Then sbe was afraid. He was afraid of himself he had to keep back his bands from taking hold of ber.

If you ever speak to me like that again," ho said slowly, after a little, "I cannot hold myself responsible for tbe consequences. Y011 are not fit to take ber name between your lips."

Stella sent Eugene away the same evening. After that she avoided Lawrence there was something abhorrent to all ber instincts in meeting him now with tbat repulsive understanding between tbem. And, fer his part, Lawrence found tbat detestable suggestion of Cora's ooining between bim and Stella at a time when he stood more in need of belp than ever. But the effect was to throw him farther from Cora, and in tbe end the more strongly toward Stella. Sitting down one night to write directions for her care of his sister, a great longing came over him to say something to her from hiniHrif. He wrote on another slip, "I want mlock to have the place. Can you halp mo to do it

The next day sbe followed him downstairs and asked him into tbe parlor. A new timidity bad sprung up between tbem they spoke only of the one subject he had suggested. She had already written to ber cousin. In a day or two tbere was an answer, part of which she read to bim. Then Lawrence wrote they were a week arranging it. He could not but admire ber conduct of the affair. She read him a grateful letter from ber cousin and expressed her own thankfulness they were both intent a little while.

IContinued on Second Page

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