Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 11, Number 43, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 23 April 1881 — Page 6
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HPHE MAIL
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ZfMY MARRIAGE.
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E IX.
CHA.
It i» lAx. o'clock in the morning,-and -the shadows are fleeing away from the earth. The sun is not to be seen, and the land is white with dew, and cobwebs hang like beautiful lace work from Almost every tiny t*rfg and leaf. The spiders must hava, been busy ail night, for the gowswmerahreads sweep every instant across faee aswe paw through the lanes where the dew laden blackberries are-hanging ripe and ludous in the hawthorn hedges. "We" means Bee, Jack, and myself, the three madcaps of the family. We have stolen a march on the rest, and are off on a mushroom hunt while the real pt the world He wrapped In slumber. "Wouldn't Humphrey come?" Jack, ft* we climb the last fence and see field before us. wid Iwhite. and dewy in the morning light. "I didn't ask him," I answer, springing from the top of the fence, and feeling perfectly certain that Humphrey would gladly have made one of theparty but for a certain speech of mine list night. "I am going mushroom hunting •With Bee and Jack," I had said to my &u*barrd.
It wus not the words perhaps, but the tone that prevented Humphrey from volunteering to accompany us.
I am a little sorry to have vexed him tot the luxury of being once more on an expedition with Heo and Jack .is too delightful to let anv other feeling be aught else but nSomonfary. The Brass is very wet, tho air cool and fresh but the mushrooms show their little white button facos in abundance, and we hurry I over the wide Held and fill our baskets, 1 have forgAlten all about Humphrey, all about Carstairs, everything uupleasant is lost in the pleasure of the moment, and I am myself again—myself in every sense of the word, for I attired In one of
Madgie Alison's dresses, and in my old serge I foel happy again. The very Might of tho worn old garment recalls many a ramble, many a madcap chase across the country. uud ob, the sweet, fresh eurly morning, with just a touch of frost in tho air, and the trees and hedges turning yello,w and russet 1 Our anusltrop® hunt is very successful^: our bask'*!* are piled high, and the field is dotted with the little white specks still. "We must come another day and get some for catsup." I lee says. "I am so 4iungry—aren't you, Madgie?" "Starving! Hut look—who is that getting .over tbo stile?It is very liko
Colonel TMvnmiion." "Itinr shouts Jiu-k excitedly. "He Miaa come home!" Let's race and meet him."
Ami oft" wo go, llying like the wind across the dold Jack first, then Bee, myself last, basket in hand and the three of vis reach the other side of the field, flushed, breathless, gasping out welcome to tho Uill old man who stands with a tortile on his dear old face, and with his bands outstretched. "Well, Jack—aud Bee too—and yoa, madcap!"— turning to me. "I thought you were married!" •T wiulono of"thorquU:k searching g. that muida th^&wd leaping to my forehead. -H' "Whfih did you get back, Colonel
on were married! voleaj
Jack puts ibo question, with all the unrewnrved frankness of fourteeu years. "Yesterday morning. And aro you staying here Mudgla?,r-tUopenotraMng dark eyeslooklualnto ii4ineagd«. ''V^i I-W^t we oax&e\oj£c^ week. answer laineTy.
He lays his hard upon my shoulder. "t wish I hiul been at your wedding, mv child but I could not manage to got away. And what is this husband of yours liko?" "I will show him to''yon," I answer, as if It was anew Iwjimet we were discussing.
Col. Trevannion laughs. "And when !»ho to Won ylew, madoap?" "Any tlm©-*~al\vay».
My voice is low uud dreary still. I cannot rave about my huslmud Col. Trevannion must fee him and judge for himself, lie turns to Bee. "W'oll, and how act yon getting along with Hector?" I "Oh. so well!" ertt»s lie©. "I «*n jump ow: and I am sure can ride as well as Madgie. Can't 1 Jack?" "I think von do," allows Jack. "•Old vou* know I had given Hector to Bee?" asks the Colonel. "I gave her somo lessons lefore I away and .•ky—as rtk'k'
I can -ar 1 at mv words. "We ii .ss a sadly, my child*" he say* presently. "Whou I came hornet, am :,l- uro. .Vshur^* »*en»ed so lonely tritl. !:»y llttlem»: -ap, that I was* not worry v. .n lwnu« tO liftlStiwtf." "You 1 is« now,** I remark,
thinking of the present he sent me on my marriage—a gold bracelet studded with emeralds—and the kind letter of congratulation and good wishes in which he said, iAHeaven bless yon almakfe you happy," with the "I shall rieverhave another 'riend like my little "madcap." "Yes, I have Bee," he says quite ebeerfullyituming to my little lithesome sister "and she is nearly as great a madcap as yourself, Madgie."
FHotk! ifltfl mv little madcao."
Jack thinks -he has been out of the conversation long enough. Jsntj $ tii»e-vl^v#Me getting
The Colonel looks at bis watch. "Half past eight, and I came out to get mushrooms, butyou yotmg people beguiled me. Cqme^jcbildJnin, and have breakfast at Ashurst. Kate will be glad to see you, and I must have a talk with Mrs. Carstaire." "Don't esll me that!" I cry ont quickly. "Why? Isnt it yourfname?"—in a tone of amused Surprise. "YesJ but call me 'Madfle,' 'madcap' —anything—any of my old names," I savin a pleading whisper.
He stoops down and hid low-spoken words are full of pain. "Child, I am sorry to see you like this." •'Oh, there are some lively ones," I cry, and spring away across the grass to gatner three broad white mushrooms.
I have gained fully a minute to choke back the tears, and then 1 am smiling, careless "madcap" again, holding up my trophies as the others oome up. "took at these beauties rand they were arranged in a ring! I am sure the fairies were hero last night."
All the way to Ashurst I talk and iaugh and set them all laughing at my maa nonsense. And'l think it better to •milewto hide the pain, to show a gay face to the wdrid for lean bear anything but the grate pity in. iny old Mend's face. By and by, I know he will have la serious talk With me but just now I can be as merry as I will, and deceive him into thinking I am in the blissful state of ecstatic happiness that is generally supposed to be the chief feature of newly married life. "Do you relneniber the day you met me first?" I ask, looking up at him as we turn in at the gales of Ashurst. "I remember ft well," he answers, smiling. "And I wish I had a picture Of you standing looking at me,.defiant, pleading, and mischievous all irf one." "I was dreadfully frightened," I say laughing, thinking of that day so many years ago, when Col. Trevannion caught Lena, Bee, and me stealing pheasant's eggs for private hatching. At first sight of the Colonel's face Bee and Lena took to their heels, got over the wire fencing, and flew like hunted hares across the field, leaving mo with iny hands full of peasant's eggs. I turned and stood at
He can't oat me, and he dare not strike a girl,"»I said to myself, is he approach- rejf ed, assuming gigantic prtiportiorfsto my of childish eyes.
rtP
hla
t^iu. as your-
site is so •elf." Hector—my horse—that had lieen mine ever since I wiw» year# old! I feel a {win at my heart to tliiuk he has changed hands. "laid not %no# Qy. "I—I am learuini to rkle.
ta"
A ,p^.dde.!°7lnS m. f.« no^ln'^
I" searching glances vofce Mopped
Hgnre till his face was on a level
n«u Hia
efllai
io# 1 very ulsd that !kn
I l*»long to them.all no longer even my own dear old friend tlie Colonel has transferred his allegiance to Bee. For vaars he kept a hor «o solely and especially for mv use. 1 vm«« be only ©neof *he family* he really cared about now I am forgotten. And again I fee! as if I had cMue from the grave, a '.d vvere neelug mv place filled up. ntv vat^nt chair occupied. It is foolish aud unreasonable but tears lOaud-iu my cvw. lyWIQilSUiQ Ull» tWII" I when I hear Colonel Trevannion tal in, only to me and I awake to the know' a.)mi that I hnvn ewrvthilta 11 ed an
have given everything up
nd giU nothi.ig in exchange—nothing, I have Humphrey"* love and ten Dtouaandnyt!*r: and'l value one about a* much as I do the other.
We ure walking l«ack slowly across the field, I »m not talking (ust now I an too unhappv to a to be cheerful. "Madcap, hat ba« come over vou
I bmk U| and aH" the olonel dear kind tUl faoa tutnel toward me—the bronml old faefc ^i'h tlm IntigVhite uun»t* he. a*»d theind dark 1 know "Nothing," I aAs^Xm, aJ»9#l»alt» 1ls head. m. 4 "ltcan*t l»e •nolhing.'' when thoM bin* e%-e« are Ailed with tears, nudcux I never saw vour brtght dies before." ••Oh, *se donVIH I »ay imploring ly.and Astlly brush a«*ay unWdden tear dt ,.
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tho mad thumping of my heart, and, when he held out his hand, I put mine into it, and tho stolen oggs found a resting place in the long grass. "Do you like plum cake?" he said next, holding my band in a close grasp. "And Will you come -tip tf tjwjjouse and g*ft some?"- 4 $ Wi
Very gravely half doubting. I went with 'him aiid, before an hour had passed, our friendship had commenced. Before I went away 1 told him my name rv srentlv: ... want of come and ask for them
and he only said very gently "The uext time you are iu pheasant's eggs, mv child."
After that a mossago was often sent for "Miss Madgie," and then a groom with a pony for my especial use and 1 wasalwavsthe dear old Colonel's friend and favorite. We used to have such fun together, such jokes and nonsense and ho was nlwavs «o indulgent and so kind.
B« now 1 am his saucy "madcap" no longer. I Iwlong to Humphrey, and Bee fills up my place in'rny old friend's heart.
I think Miss Trevannion isalittlosurpri*ed when we ail troop in at sttclf an earlv hour. But it is not the iiist time the'Colonel has brought us home to breadfast, and she greets us very kindly. forgive my not havin adsie." she sekion
You will
1
'but
called on you, Ma "om go out now. ... ut whv sliould IuJ«lFcli me?" I im. And then it flashes on me that I am married and I add, in the sad, dismal voice in which I always refer to my present state, "Oh, because I am married. I suppose!" And with these *qt|is I laugh Tiglf merrily, flatter mvsclf. "Io you know, Mi»
,rfrevan-
ulon, I bate all Uiis ceremony, and I fell I ought be formal and stiff. Please forget that I am married, and treat me this morning just as if 1 was Madgie Alison still!"
Kh« laughs, and treats the whole thins as a little joke but 1 catch a quick look from ColonelTrevaupion, and ilusb rosy red*. "KA.e, i* breakfast ready?" he says. "These children are starving, and so am L"
We are all very marry over our breakfast, which Is laid, not in the long dining room, all oak panels, and family pictures, but in the sunny cheerful little breakfast room.
Miss Trevannion is an invalid, and roquents every room that can catch a little sunbeam. She is pale, faded, and sweet looking* *ith that patient serenity of counteruM*'* 'hat comes in the after-.rsyed years th that lu»ve People and has ~..w think it is giose who are married who have the disappointment, after all and I wander at tn® far-away, wistful gasa a a a
iihi «w uu* do not look down at the table at the Col- start.
"Did you bring many pretty things from Paris Miss Trevannion smiles ss she speaks, evidently-thinking the subject a delightful one to me. "I brought dresses that nearly drove Lena wila—long silk things," I answer, "and bonnets and hats. I think it amused Humphrey, my buying them. And I have bracelets and other things he got for me." "He must be very generous."
She Is trying to draw me out. "I suppose all husbands are the same," I answer, with a half scornful little smile. And then something within me cries ont against the injustice I am doing my husband, and I say with a sudden change of manner, "He is generous aud good and—and everything I am not."
It is but right and proper that I, a few-months-old wife, should think my husband a demi-god, and yet, as I look round at them and speak of the nobleness of his character,! am thinking what a wretched pitiful thing this marriage of mine is. "Why did not Mr.
44
He looked at the eggs, at me in my pigmy defiance, and thou said, what tpPgpr
n,y gU!Uy
c0nscien0e'in
vriw:
an
He did not come bees use I wanted to have one day with Bee and Jack and so we ran away." "Very unseemly conduct for a married lady. He has not tamed you yet, Madgie," she says, laughing.
I exclaim, with more truth than prudence: "Oh, please don't remind me that I am married! For one day let me try to forget the fact."
Eleven o'clock and we are all getting ratify for the luncheon party at Ashurst. "Put on aomething pretty," say* Humphrey. And I turn with a iauqy %tnile. "What shall I wear, my lord silk or
"Anything you like, Madgie, except the goWH you had on yesterday." "Humphrey"—1 am standing up in front of him,1»ot and flushed with indignation—"I was happier in that old gown, as you call it, than I shall ever be in the future!" "I did not think you looked Very happy yosterday." "li
Ills voioe Is quiet mine Is dangerously unsteady. "I did not mean yesterday. Do you think I have beeif nappy for one moment since—" "Since vour marriage," ho breaks in, still spoa'king very quietly. "Go on, Madgie." ..
I look up and see his under lip quiver? but I go on recklessly. "Well, since my marriage, if you like me to say it. But that old dress that you sneer at was what I wore when I was at home—before I met you, before I spoilt my own life and yours!" bringing out the words with passionate incoherence.
But he understands me for he wearily turns and goes to tba window, and does not speak—be only sighs, a long, weary sigh. "Humphrey, are you-sorry you married me?"
He turns at the question, and comes back to me, and speaks in a low voioe that somehow harti me more than any ebullition of temper could possibly have
^"fam sorry for your sake, child not for my own." "You will get to bate me," 1 whisper sadly, and feel his hand closing quickly and tightly over tnlne. "Madgie, if vou broke my heart must wve yott still 1^' he says? amUiik strong voice quivers. 1 rest my forehead on his hind, and sob out in the bitterness of my heart— "Humphrey, do you care forme so much?" And then I am ashamed of myself: and, when I speak neat, my voice has resumed Its natural tone. **To go buck to the original question what shall I wcart" "The dress vou wore on Sunday," Humphrey suggests, and beads his face over mine, "Give me a kiss, my wife*" "Oh, what nonsense!" I say. but kiss him as he wishes, a laughing little kisa like a butterfly's Usich, as careless and a»ffo*lrig.
Half an boar la or I «ome down ar-
vw...™ |n the ejl^ 4ortg suffering, when eyea the bat ana lwlieriwi«watae bead.
••1
MtmMtmtd fo*a man's sake^ »nd buoorw tbeoi. .. and 1, whose heart has item stirred to man^ voice yet,1 cannot ntidferstand. Tberels no tinn? to follow out the idea no#, lor it hehoovea DM tn talk and make myself and so far tlo sneceed that -*nnion remarks: "Yonr aj^rtts are as high as ever, ly. .. w.jgt.w
me ofl again onel sitting behind the ham, for tlwe A little pw*®? °r discontent Is on sad. searching eyes of his are too moth for me this nunnlng. "1 feel so shabby In this old dress,
TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING .MAIL.
Carstairs come with
you this morning, dear?" How determined she is to harp en this one theme!
ei lie ». laugh as I speak but the laugh dies nl There is a little
I laugh as I
8I
..
suddenly on my lips. stir behind, and I turn and see my hus-
band standing in the doorway. Our eyes meet, ana I know by the patned, reproachful look in Humphrey's fat® that my last speech has been overheard, and that thd careless words have gone home. And when I look away I see another thing, and know that Colonel Trevannion has seen and understood
I hear papa
telling the Colonel that the lodgekeeper informed them we were at Ashurst. Then heintroduces Humphrey, and they are all talking and I feel a weight at my heart, and start when Humphrey speaks to me and I send a look at him, intending to convey a world of sorrowful repentance, which he seems to understand, for a softer expression steals
^^Wa^therinishroom Wnt atmcce$»?" ho nolrn. Aifd I say "Yes" gravely, with the conviction stealing over me that itjs useless to try what I used to be, for no mushroom hunt or country ramble can ever be the same again.
Theu Miss Trevannion draws Humphrey into-tiQiiversaUowImid hear her extollingttteis*reetffil®iSmturalness of my efiavacter and ItWhgJt poot Hii mphrey has ikotaeen muctrfw the iHteet side of my nature as "vet. Woreestill, she rtpesU w^iatl said about hlmselfband I wish ailMbaa not for Jit looks like 1 not for -it looks like hy
8W"Lto
Todlfvu'^ray'nanw tneant disgrace Shadedihewriouslalk with thedolonel t\ the whole family so I lookra up at to-day, bu he makesus promise to coine him and answered firmly, "I won't tell and take luncheon with hi: .» r« -i x. IaaI antA fthall nnt you," and then cast a look behind to see that mykcompanlons in mischief had escaped. xhoy were out of sight, and I breathed freely.
but kill me!" Then he made the following remarkable observation "Upon my soul, you are the prettiest little girl I nave ever seen, and the most daring!" And then he smiled aud bent
cy his
round of parish duties to attend to, and all walk back with him. 1 have
wu .m to-morrow, and I feel sure I shall not escape theu. I plant myself beside papa on the j&omeward walk and Humphrey walks Hrith Bee and Jack. The mornlntr has 0been a
Take me to prison, sir, if you like— {Inot been a sucoew, after all: the day is I won't tell my name, not if they brlght and lovely still, but the dew is oil anrt mii niAaaiifA IM ffntlA.
tig
inot been a success, after all the as 'bright and lovely still, butt the fields, and our pleasure is gone.
CHAPTER
x.:
my
nice youare lookliig, Madgie!"
observes fmm hcad to ftst. "And *ht prMty
-iVsft drawing on W»«»button gloves. Hmnphrty comes over and buttons them, hokifng WfjTj hand verv affectionately as he does so. darling* yon ai%'4ookli»g quite ttn&f!"he saysin a whisper-, and I .jk'upatbtasand teugh. I
ntmsant, Then I catcb Bee watching us, taking m«Ti«I stock for her next attem^at novefwriting so I withdraw my hand muklen-
"Are we all rwKiy* I remark, look
"Higher, 1 think." I aay. amlUng.and Ing round. "I think that we ought to
.4.. _...
ahe whispers, as. we all file down the avenue^ "Ahd my gloves aren't fit to be •sen."
Lena and Bee have on their last sum mer's dresses—some soft gray material their freshness has worn off, and the pink roses in their hats look the worse for wear. "You look very neat, Lena," I reply. "And what does it matter how one is
Everyone knows how poor we
dressed. are." She makes a hasty rejoinder, raising rather than modifying her voice and Humphrey hears every word. is aul very well for you to talk, "It Madgie"—taking a quick survey of my costume. "You are beautifully dressed. You have everything that you want, and then you oome and preach contentment to us."
Lena's passionate little outbursts am well known in the family but no words she ever spoke hurt me as these do now. It is new for me to turn away my head and give no answer.
We have reached the gate. Humphrey is standing at one side to let us peas out. I go ont last, and he stoops and whispers— "That was hard on you, Madgie, and unjust." umpliof us
I look up into his face wistfully. "I am sorry you heard It, Hu repr you must have a niee opinion
He lingers yet a moment, and speaks again. "I wish I could think you cared for my opinion."
And then the white gate slams, and, we follow Bee and Lena alongthesunny road. I think Lena Is sorry for what she said, for her manner is soft and gentle during the rest of tbo walk- ana the vexation at being badly dressed seems to have worn away. Bee never cares one straw what she nas on, and walks along with her free, graceful step, and her merry gipay face wreathed in smiles, though her nat is shabby and her boots and gloves are not all that might be desired.
We take the footpath through the fields In preference to the dusty road, and Bee sings careless snatches of song in her rich, sweet voii^e, and takes the tumbled roses out of iter hat, twists a bunch of scarlet berries in Instead, and leaves the old roses swingiug high and dry on a bramble-shoot. Oh, my sweet, light-hearted sister Bee! In- the after life we shall yearn to hear your voice in the dear cadence of old. With her bright, sparkling eyes, and the red berries in her hat, she looks like a picture. Humphrey tells her so, and Bee blushes and laughs. And so we reach Ashurst, a pleasant united party.
The Colonel Is watching for us on the hall doorsteps. "Would you like to walk In the garden?" he says. "And, children, the tennis court is ready, if any of you care for a game."
The Colonel is very fond of tennis, and plays very well so wo assent joyfull^ and an hour afterwards throw ourselves down, hot aud exhausted on the warm grass. Bee's truant locks aro in wild disorder, and Lena's face is many shades deeper than its usual rose-leaf tint. "It is impossible to play i» a long dress," Isay looking at my flowing draperv. "Bee you have improved amazingly.'^
The Colonel's eyes twinkle. "Bee and I have been practicing," he says. "Many an hour's hard work have we had." "Bee has cut you out, Madgie," Lena remarks, leaning back against a tree and fanning her flushed face with her hat.
I'tum awaj flower beds
bitterly and look over the ore I speak, with an at
tempt at carelessness. "•Out of sight, out of mind.' It is the way of the world."
Humphrey's voice breaks In softly. "It is not your way, Madgie your world was always very present.witli you. I think with you 16 was tne other way —'Absence makes the heart grow fonder.'"
Colonel Trevannion has never spoken one word, and I am bitter and resentful still. '?Jt* Is a mistake to think anyone will remember you. I consider it is great vanity on anybody's part to consiner sucji a thing."' ^Aud I," replies Colonel Trevannion, "think that a true friendship should never be forgotten."
The Conversation is getting personal
you to play points." He gets up off tho grass and picks up a bat. "I have never played in my life. You must show mo wnat to do." "Oh, it is very easy!" I reply aud forthwith the lesson begins.
So apt a pupil is he that I amignominionsly defeated, or perhaps I am playing badly—anvway, Humphrey wins and then we all go to luncheon.
It is la'd in the long dining room, and the table is made beautiful with fruit and flowers, the Colonel's own arrangement for Miss Trevannion is too much of an invalid to look after anything, and he sees to everything in the house himself. During luncheon he improves his acquaintance with Humphrey. I hear them talking about pictures, and Humphrey's face lights upas he talks of his beloved art. I do not understand anything about it. I know what
piBases
me, and can tell when I like a picture but it is beyond me to talk ably on' the subject.
Lena gives Mijs Trevanuiou a full, true, P.no particular account of my Paris finerv, the possession of which ought to make me delirious with happiness, according to Lena's creed. Miss Trevannion is greatly interested, and I am sure is wondering why I disfigured myself with mv hideous old serge yesterday. Bee and'l talk to each other until Lena has come to the end of her catalogue, and then Mis# Trevannion turns to me.
When are you going home, Madgie?" "To Carstairs? r?ext week, 1 believe," I sav, still unable to malm my lip* call anv other place bnf one home. "I suppose you are longing to be mistress of your own bousef^heTwys, smiling: and" I answer quietly that I have not thought about It.
I feel lonely and forlorn at the prospect of these few month* that I am to spend alone with Humphrey until the time that Bee and Lena can come to me hot some barely-developed feeling of lovalty to my husband, ikpensstion parllv* born of pride, makeiOae put a good &ce on the matter andrf am sure that by the time luncheon is over Misa Trevannion thinks I stall be as happy «i the days are long ft Car»tainm-my new hostTthai bartT iiftrer Mfetl jwt By, Mid by, when we are in the drawing
nei's voice kimvean "Come to the library, Madgie I want to have a talk with you."
Tbo time is come. I harden my heart,
Git
on a careless exprawrfon, and follow to the library, the abady precincts of which I know well. Many an hour have I spent in the deep windows, sitting on the floor in a b*r of golden sun-
light, listening to the kind, gentle voice, 1 would a great deal rather not listen to to-day for something tells me the courting conversation will be fraught with pun. "Well?" I say. with a smile, throwing myself into the depths of a brown leath er'arm-chair, so large that my slim prson occupies but a very small portion it.
perof
His remark does not call for any swer. -My eyelids fall, and 1 twist wedding ring round and round and and down my small brown finger gold band looks too large for it.
anmy np the
Colonel Trevannion stoops low takes my left hand in his. "•For better for worse, for richer poorer/ 'till death.' Ah, my child," vow is registered in Heaven!"
and
I catch my breath suddenly. death." That means till either Hi
The kind, pained tone goes straight to ray heart but I close my lips and try to look my old careless self. "Ob, Colonel Trevannion. pleasedon't make matrimony such an awfully solemn thing! After all, it Is only an aflalr of arrangement and convenience. Humphrey and I are perfectly satisfied to go on as we have begun and I suppose, if we live on in jog-trot stupidity to the end of our days, it will be all the same In the end."
I speak very fast, aud do not look at him, but past his arm to the wall beyond.
•Oh, my child. J, my child!" he says, in a low voice. "Little madcap, are you so very hatdeded, so world-weary, already?'"
He doos not know how sad and sore I am, how nearly the tears are falling. He sees his "madcap" grown from a gay, light-hearted child, iuto a bitter and despejpfc woman, and he does not know the, reason of the cliange—He cannot guess' that "madcap" is breaking her heart because of the gulf between the old life and this, that sue has married a man sho does not care for, and is eating out her heart with regret Hardened ana world-weary! Perhaps I am and I wonder how soon my husband will find it ont.
The Colonel sits down, pulls his moustache and sighs, while I twist uiy watchchain and look at him from under my eyelashes. "Madgie," he says suddenly, "have you any idea what effect beauty like yours has on a jjerson? Do you know your husband worships every feature of your face and watches your every movoinent? I have neyer seen a mau so thoroughly infatuated." wish that I were hideous," I say, passing my hand over the full freshness of my face. "If I had bsen ugly no mau would have wanted to marry me."
He leans forward, his words aro grave, almost stern. "You have been givpn the perfection of beauty, see child, that you do not abuse the gift. You have your husband'slove, theentireloveof agood, true man, a possession not to bo despised, and you plav fast and loose with him, my child. I am sorry to say it but I am greatly and bitterly disappointed iu my little madcap."
Two tears roll down my cheeks. Iu all the years we have known each other these are the first words he has over used to me but I do not lot him see how deeply they wound. "You nad an ideal madcap before," I say in a low voice. It was the real madcap who stole tbo pheasant's eggs and wouldn't tell her name. She was always frolicsome." And I smile dismally through my tears. "Nav, she was her o'»n true self in tbo old days," he answers kindly "a«d by-and-by the old madcap will return again with her merry saucy sinilo, loving and light hearted, and the old dayswrtll come once more just as they used to be." "No, they can never come back again" —and my tears fell fast. "I am going away next week, and perhaps you will never see me any more it is bettor for you to think I am changed and hard hearted." "Hushj mv child, you pain mi! Do vou thin* your old friend could ever Jorget you or put anyone else in your place ?'f
I bide my faco on the arm of a chair and make no answer. "Listen!" he says. "I wiil tell you a storv of something that happened once to—a friend of mine."
He is fond of telling stories that bear on the subject, so I force back the tears and listen, with my face hidden from him, and in a few moments he begins. "The part of the story that I am going to tell took place in an old garden, with roses all around and a girl amongst them, smiling, beautiful, and defiant, and a man with her. He is not smiling, but angry and passionate. Sho throws ban! cutting words at him, and laughs when the blood rushes to his face, and says more cruel taunting things to him, not ono of which She means but be believes every cutting speech, and thinks, if her lovo was true, she could not wound with every word. She maddens him with her beauty, and her eyes sparkle and his flash. She is trying him too far. She knows how he loves her, and so she wrongs herself: and every word she otters strikes home like a sword thrust. She has gone too far, and it Is hard to go back, and she Is proud. She utters words that goad him to madness. "'Madam,' he cries at last, and his voice is not like his own—Mjefnre Heaven I will know the truth! Do you lovo me or not?' "His whole body trembles as be watches ber scornful red lips and awaite. her answer. It comes soon enough. The red lips smile mockingly the eyes thused to be so soft look np Into his own. 'Sir,' she says, and sweeps a curtesy down to the grass, 'I eoold never care for a man with such a tomper/ "•Farewell then!' be says rand bo bows as hattghtily as herself. 'Good-bye forever!* v"Jnst for another moment he watches 4m «oe sign of relentiug-^and none will ever know how his hot young heart jnreils to bunting at the stony scorn on
tbemMSL akmeu "'He will come back,' sbe says, and watches in the rose garden every day .... and she and all the longs with
passkm
au herb
longs with all her heart to »ee her lover again, to whhqper a request for forgivs-
"But he has taken ber at ber word, comes no more. Three weeks afterhe mils for India with hia regi-
and wards ment
HK
„. and, when be Is gone, there icsrhini the proud lady In the rose gar-
w, den^ a little packet containing all the to fetters she has written to her lover—but not «oe word of explanation or regret."
his my
The Colonel stands opposite me, ray head beut a little, his eyes on ace. "Madgie," he says at last. "I like your husband, and I am glad he is the sort of man he is."
of
for
that
death." That means till either Humpl rey or myself is dead and buried ana Will be 110 longer in our power tokeepor break our vows. "Madgie, do you love your husband? "Don't ask me that," I cry piteoush "for it is nothing to anyone but Humph rey and myself. Tearless and mlsera ble, I lift my head and laugh, and say, with reckless desperation, "One would 'tis think tho old rhyme 'is true, and love that makes the world go round.'" "Madgie, this to me!"
The Colonel's voice trembles a little, and I lift my head and look at him. "Did they, ever meet again?" I ask, and he sighs.
Never on earth. Six months later there came to 1:1m a letter with a few words—his love's last message—just to say good-bye, and with the pitiful confession that she had loved him always. Long before he got that letter all wet
with her tears, she was in hor grave, and his life was all before hini still." He pauses again, and I ask in a low voice— .» "Did he die?" "No, he lives still, a lonely old man. ^h, my little Madgie. she was like you your eyes are oftou like hers!"
But, as the question leaves my Hps, I look into his face, and know that he has told me his own story and silence falls upon us.
1
And then he gets up, and, coming over, lays his hand on my head. "I have told you the story, madcap. I leave you to make out the why ana wherefore your-1 self."
I only sigh wearily in answer, and turn my head still farther away at his next words. "Take one word of advice from an old an no us band too far. Hearts aro but human, I® and constant disagreement will wear away lovo."
I look up, with tears on my cheoks. "Colonel Trevannion, three weeks after our wedding I told him just what I was and we perfectly understand each other?" "Aftertheweddlng? Why not before?"
My cheeks flame suddenly, and then the truth bursts from my 11(18 vehemently, as I alt straight up and face him, my hands claspod tightly together in my lap. "I am worse even than you think. If I had told him before, he would not havo married mo. Humphrey would hardly havo cared to make mollis wife,,, if ho nad known I married him only to shift tho expense of myself from pa{a's 1, shoulders to his."
The tears fell thick and fast but through the blinding shower I can see tlie pitying eyes grow stern, and tho pain deepen in my old friend's face. "Is this true he says at last. "Then Heaven help Humphrey Carstairs!"
He has no word of pity for me, 110thing but grave, stern blame—only condemnation. Choking sobs riso to my throat. I gulp them down and look up—. just one pleading glance—for a word of sympathy. 3 "My little Madcap, the chfld I loved!" ac he whispers, and holds out both 1i1h% hands. Clasping mine tightly, be bends low, and Iooks into my tear tilled eyes. "Madgie, you must give up your life to make your hutband happy. You must live for him and study bis tastes, his wishes and in striving to bring happiness to him, believe me, it will come to yourself. Of all the sad sights on oartlr,^ a loveless marriage is the most miser-.. able. You have done your husband a reat wrong, It is in your powertoatono or it. Oh, my child, listen to what I say! Love begets love—and you little know how much he cares for you."
I
He rouses, himself first and
smiles—not quite his own genial smile,
passed my lips ous you pu of her to-day, Madgie. Heaven forbid "however, that you snould feel or know the sorrow that she endured, the remorse aud regret that wore her life away. It Is forty years ago, but her face and voice are fresh in my mind and memory till."
So I give him my promise and I mean to keep it. We have along talk together jr after that and my life looks brighter and gS more hopeful. fp "Fou will never tell anyone what If have said?" I whisper. "Not a word of what has passed shall over cross my lips." "But sotno day. |f, Madgio, you will tell your husband yourself—and that will be abetter way." -ff [TO BE CONtlKUKD.]
attorneys,
Wis., and appears in th# La Crosse,^ Chronicle. .Sometime since, I with pain in and below one of my knee joints. A few applications of St. Jacobs Oil quieted the pain and relieved tho inflamnintion. 1 regard It as a valuable medicine. —Elgin,
in.,
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