Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 17, Number 37, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 5 March 1887 — Page 2

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CHAPTER IV. MATRIMONIAL.

The scene changes. We ore across the sea. Bat it )3 still a school. Aro we never to be done with schools? Well, no! Life is a school, and the wise are never done learning.

The scene, by your leave, is a German university town. Time, several years before the opening of tho humble tale you have done us the honor to follow thus far. On a giant cliff above the town stands the most magnifi­

cent ruin in Europe. Below, the blue Neckar rushes out from its mountains and seeks tho great Rhine beyond. You know the town, Heidelberg.

An American family were spending some months there. With them was tho pretty daughter of tho household, a girl of 17. Among the students at that time was a young man from tho United States. Ho was barely 18, but large, strong and manly in physique, with dark hair and eyes. He was precocious in every way noted for his wide range of study, as well as for his strength and courage. He was, besides, the son of rich parents, who had indulged his every whim from the time ho was born. In brief ho was a fiery youth, who knew no law but bis own will.

Hundreds of parents from the United States visit tho old German town every year with their young lady daughters. The university dates back to the year of our Lord 1386. It is very famous. Hundreds of American boys attend its classes every year. But this particular boy, with tho flashing dark eyes, who loved his own way, met the particular maiden cf 17 one day at tho Hotel Victoria. With the other hundreds wo have nothing to do.

Fate willed the meeting. The dark haired youth mostly decided what followed, the first part of it at any rate.

Tho girl was a giggling, weak willed creature, with poodle dog eyes and forehead, and a doll's red and whito face. Sho had tho simpering, affected ways of a school girl, who cannot for one moment get rid of the consciousness of her sex. The dark haired boy's room mate fancied himself madly in love with 1 m\ His friend saw it with regret "I'll euro yo:i of this nonsense, Frank Broughton," he said to himself. "I'll go and mako love to Miss Myra myself. I'll cut you out. Tho girl will throw you over. Then I'll throw her over and go home for the summer, and you go with me. You'll thank me for breaking you of this blessed foolishness."

That evening, with his graceful, careless bow and smile—tho scapegrace was fascinating—the dark haired youth made his way to the young lady: "Miss Myra," ho said, "it will be a beautiful sunset. Will you and your mother give me tho pleasure of going up tho mountain with your

Tho rod and whito girl simpered. "Why la! mamma," said she, "shall we gof Mamma said, "I think wo may," with that degreo of alacrity, veneered by dignified reserve, which is duo of an occasion when a managing mamma scents a possible son-in-law in a rich and highly connected young man.

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quite took away tho breath of Frank Wrougjiton. In five minutes they wero off, Wforo his very eyes. —IF, reader, you arc of a guessing turn, you will know tho rest Well, tlio girl wa$ pretty, with her JKW'I liko cheeks, and her eyes of that color which tho milliners call "peacock blue." The dark haired youth, who went in for cutting his friend out to savo him from folly, was himself of a passionate, susceptible nature. Tho walks and rides op tho mountain were finally continued on his own account.

What would you have? A month.later the sornothreo wont up tho mountain. Mamma discreetly lingered in tho shadow, in tho groat square of tho magnificent ruin. Tn the shadow in tho smaller square at tho front of tho magnificent rain, tho dark haired youth who lmd his own way, pressed Miss Mya's babylike hand, kissed her o?i her babyliko lips mid whi«ipered in her babyliko ear: "Jn a month I'm coming homo to marry you." "And Ml*8 Myra blushed and said: "Why, In, how could your

That wns tho very question he asked himself many time afterward.- Frank Broughton was avenged! tn a month they wore married, tho boy nnd girl. The youth's parents opposed feebly, but Philip Dumomy !r.ul always had his own way. Miss MyruV mother helped on tho match in nil the hnst« consistent with regard to the bast oppearaaws. Had sho not been IUI American mother of the highest standing it might have even soemel that she feared tin prise wou'd slip through her fingers.

The vou»!T pooploset up housekeeping in Now York. Twin sons wero born to them within a year. Then it was that Philip Dumoray fnml tho great new truth, that a man who has a mother-in-law, a dull, silly wife and ft pair of babies can't always hare bis own way. What could even thunder aud lightning do osnlus* i\JuH of putty*

AN ORIGINAL COPYRIGHTED STORY. X\ sc'C

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Shirley, Carstone.

By ELIZA AKCHARD.

(Copyrighted by the American Press Association.]

Myra Dumoray dov2ftped such astounding capacity for emotiou that Philip could scarcely believe bia own senses. Strange, too, but thu emotion was always of a disagreeable kind. Scenes began to take place that thoroughly alarmed the youthful husband, and then"thoroughly enraged him. His household was comfort less. It was something now not to be comfortable. Matters went from bad to wore® between them. Once he had said in:patently: "What in thunder is this mess cook's brought in? l)o you call that coffee, Myra? I wonder why you never have anything fit to ent in the hou»*f* fVrhaps. like a man, this strong-young fellow would not have noticed that other things were so slooehy, if the household had hap­|of pened to have a good cook. But the tender point of the tnrscnline gender fa its stomach. "When you married me, who'd a thought you'd ever been so cross. You would marry nx\ And now youVo always grumbling, and mo r.ot at all nvll! Boo-boo-hco!" remarks Mrs. Dumomy.

He pushed Kt?k from tho table and strode out of the room. Myra sent for mammx Titey counseled together. When the male monster returned both women wore an air of nuirtyrlike resignation thai exasperated him beyond mttwom

It went on so for days and month*. What might have been expected from the self will and undisciplined temper of Philip Dumorayf He was moody and half savage at home, Myra would shut herself up and sulk and cry for hour*. Momma was there to protect her darling, awl aps It was well she was, at titnw. Philip sincerely fond of h5s little toy*. That much at least is to be mid for him. He amused himself and them every" day. One afternoon be mfaswd them. "Where are tb» babies, MyraF be asked hh wife.

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"Oh, I sent them away to speud a month at nnrse's mother's in tho country. I'm not well and they ade me nervous." "Why, woman, what are you thinking of? Have you no natural feelings toward your own children?"

Philip's mother had never let him out of her sight in his childhood, so rare and precious had she held him.

Myra put her handkerchief to her eyes. "I never thought I'd live Co be insulted in this way. And jou would marry me, you knowf' "I didn't know I was marrying a fool," muttered Philip, savagely. "Mamma! mamma!" shrieked Mrs. Dumoray, and fell back in a hysterical fit Mamma came, murmuring, "Oh, my poor, poor darling!" Once moro the man had to beat a retreat. The moment he was out of tho house the abused wifa dried her eyes and sat bolt upright Philip wandered aimlessly to the park and sat down, restless and discontented. Was all married people's life like this? But he had had his own way, to be sure. His marriage had been one of those cases wherein all a wuif'a best friends can do is to stand

back and see him make an ass of himself. And while he was musing on matrimony, he saw a bright little phaeton flash by. Inside of it was his wife, gay and pretty, chatting with one whose polite attentions wero not a compliment to a lady, married or single. He went home in a fury. When presently the wife in all her poodle dog prettmess came back a scene took place which it will be quite as woll not to repeat.

It may be mentioned that similar scenes followed. The discord became common talk. Everybody took the part of the wife. Was she not a sweet, pretty, childlike creature, whom no one could help loving? A man who would mistreat her was a brute and a monster. Who would blame her if she did seek a little relief from the wretchedness at home? There was no lack of those who did not like Philip. His imperious temper and haughty frankness had not tended to draw friends around him. By degrees he got the name of a tyrannical husband and a bad man. He heard the whispers about himself. He saw his wife flirting openly with fops and rakes. Ho became a young fellow fit for desporateness.

Ono evening he came home earlier than usual. Tho light burned low in his wife's parlor. He looked in. Tho man whom he had seen riding in the park with Myra was there. His arm was about her, he was murmuring low words in her ear, her head was on his shoulder.

Philip was like a tiger. With ouo band ho gripped his wife's arm, and flung her against tho wall. He took her companion by the throat, before ho had time to recover from his first daze. He throttled him until he was purplo, and threw him out the door, and down the steps. Ho was a giant

Then ho clasped his hands to his temples, and sat down to think. A crumpled rosecolored object against the wall attracted his sight It was his wife lying there insensible, in tho gay dress she had worn to receive that man. 5

IIo had laid violent bands on a woman Mjvra was in a dead faint. He gathered karjip and carried, her to her bed. He^ent for the doctor. When she recovered consciousness, and her eyes fell on him, she fainted once mote. She was ill for many mouths.

From that night she never could endure the Bight of her husband. Ho wandered about as ono accursed. Her side of tho story got abroad. Philip never told his side, ho was as proud as Julius Caesar.

Hia wife hated him with a steady hate. It was surprising that a creature so shallow and fiikle could cherish a passion so deep and constant Feelings are often easy enough to develop, though, when they aro on the wrong side.

Dumoray was at heart of a chivalrous, noble nature. Ho had used violence toward a woman, his own wife. That thought never left him, night or day. Ho hated himself. Could ho do nothing to mako amends? Nothing. He might livo to bo a hundred years old, and make every hour a period of oxpiation, but he could never bo the same in his own eyes again. That thought was the most agonizing. A noble soul always cares more for its own respect than for the respect of others.

Myra could easily have had a separation. Sho did not seem to care for it, however, lie mentioned it to her. "Von want to get rid of me, now that you havo killed mo, do you?" she said, querulously. "God knows I do not, Myra," ho said. "If there was anything that would mako things right God knows I would do it" "There is nothing that will make things right I hate youl Look what you have brought me to. And you would marry me. What do you bring all those children in here for? You do it to vex me. You know I hat© children. There, I am goiug off again. Give me my drops and go away."

Ho looked at her. Was sho losing her mind? Sho caught the thought in his brain, with a mental keenness she had never shown before her illness, "Yes, I'm going craxy, and you havo made me so. Givo mo my drops, I tell you, and go away."

He obeyed. He went into the corridor, and walked the floor. Ho sent for the family physician, and asked him anxious questions. The family physician answered shortly "Your wifo is an opium eater."

What a life was in store for these two! The high born soul needs only one lesson. Philip bad bad his lesson. He was never the same again, from the night be bad struck his wife. Ho became the gentlest, most patient men. His boys wens growing to be bright, intelligent litUo creatures. He devoted hlmself to them. Ha was in place of a mother to tho bereft infants. All tho happiness of his life ha found with them.

By degrees his wifo quite lost her mind. He would not put the insane woman away in an asylum. He accepted the care of her as

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of his punishment Ho tended her wants and 1 .stored every whim of the poor, crowd creaUu A Sho retained still gleams of recollection. The most vivid washer hatred of Philip. She never forgot that in her most demented momenta. She knew him and her boys. Par the children in her sane days she had had little fondness. Now one of the gleams of remembrance that was left her told ber Philip loved tbem. Therefore she hated them. Her i«an« fancka took shape in one intense idea—rewng® ou Philip Dumoray.

She became a cunning, dangerous lunatic. Philip had ber watched night and day. Ha kept himself away from ber. The sight of him irritated her unoontrollabty.

Ho slept in the room alone with hit boys. He would not permit thooa in care of another at night, lest harm should come to tbem from

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING

their insane mother. It was touching to see how ho tended them and how much they wero to him From caring so constantly for these helpless ones bo came to care for others, too, and think of tbem. He lost himself in self forgetfulness and sweet thoughtfulness for others, this self willed, fiery tempered youth who had always bad his own way

Time glides on alike to the happy and miawahlft- What cares Time Ho will not hold his glass back to give one hour more of youth to a Cleopatra. He will not hasten it to shorten by so much as one second the torment of a martyr in flames.

Philip Dumoray's boys were 4 years old. All the tenderness of his powerful nature went out to thorn. They slept in a little bed beside his own. He hung over them long and fondly one night, studying each child-feature, listening to their softly falling baby breath. How lovely they were, lying there in their white bed! The rosy faces were flushed with sleep, the milk white baby arms were flung above their heads. The rings of bright hair hung damp and warm about their pretty brows.

God H««g them!" mumured Philip. He went to his couch and was shortly in a deep slumber. Ho had not slept so soundly for vcare, ho recalled afterwards.

How long he had been asleep ho did not know. He was suddenly awakened with an awful horror at his throat He only knew something was strangling him, something was being pressed steadily down upon his mouth and nose. He throw his arms convulsively upward. His hands caught a human fonn, which glided from his grasp. With a last effort ho threw the thing, whatffor it was, from his face. It was a pillow.

Ho tried to spring to his fee* but fell back, weak and helpless. He saw bis wifo gliding like a spirit out of the low window that opened on tho veranda. How could he see her in the darkness What was that light

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Flame and smoke burst in through the door from tho hallway. The flame licked tho ceiling and lapped the door. The smoke spread through the room. He was suffocating again.

Great God! His boys! His darlings! With the last effort he could make in that desperate moment, he staggered toward thenbeds, and fell across it with open, empty arms.

Tho children were gono!

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CHAPTER V. THE FIRE.

Where wero Philip Dumoray's boys? A wild glance around showed him they were nowhere in the room. The nearing flame sucked his breath and scorched his hair. He had barely time to save himself by the window through which Myra bad vanished like a spirit

Where was she now? Was she perishing in the flames with the children? Sho was not on the veranda. Firo and smoke poured from all the windows and mounted to tho roof. They drove him from the veranda. Ho sprang down the iron supports to the ground. Ho ran around the burning building crying for help. The cook and the coachman flitted past him. These were all the persons in the house at the time, except his wifo and children. Tho crowd came pouring in from the street, and in another moment tho grounds were full of people. Tho houso was a mass of flame. Heavens! were his boys in there? He fancied ho heard a cry. Ho darted toward tho fire like an insane person. Strong men caught him by the wrists and held him back.

In scarcely more time than it takes to read this tho fire had done its work. Only the bare outer walls of tho house wore loft The inner walls had fallen in. What had they buried under tlieir direl ul ruins? Ono banded Philip some clothing. Ho had forgotten he ted only his night clothes on.

It was a pitiful thing so see him, crying for bis children, calling them by their names, searching for them under the trees, peering into corners of tho outbuildings, if haply they might not be hidden there. All the* night ho went on crazier than his insane wife. Toward morning he remembered that he was man. Ho collected himscif.

Messengers, descriptions of the lost childi en wero sent in overy direction. There were days, weeks of heartache for tho stricken father, but no tidings of his darlings came.

Whero was his wife? It was tho conclusion, at first thought, that sho bad been burned to death, and buried under tho ruins. In his asony that night Philip had not given much thought to her. But next morning a message catnc from Myra's mother. His wifo was at IK horse, and would he, her husband, take her away at onco, and provido for hor? She had iled there in the night, from, tho fire. M:ulam did not feel safe to havo her in the house. S

Philip "had no h$ne for her now. There remained only one place. The poor, demented creature wont to a lunatic asylum.

Tho origin of the firo was matter of mystery. Nothing certain could bo found out. But the day after it happened tho coachman came to Philip with tho air of ono who bad something to communicate. "It don't look well in a man to be telling tales on a woman, Mr. Dumoray," he said. "But Mary, who tended on Mrs. Dumoray, left her last night and went to a balL I saw her at midnight I was out myself, and I don't deny it, and didn't come homo till 2 o'clock. I saw a bright light in tho library, where tho piles of newspapers are. I thought it was you up residing, and I didn't look in. I went by casylike, for I didn't want you to know I was out so late. I put off my shoes and slipped around to tho back stairs. I saw Mi's. Dumoray going along th« ball toward yonr room, with a night lamp in her hand. There was nobody to watch her, and she slipped out, and I think it was her set the bouse afire." ^,

Philip thought so too, remembering what he had seen. But the boys, his children? Had she carried them in their ileep into her own room, or into tho library, before she lit the fire? It was an awful thought

The boys were at first given up to have perished in tho burning building. But Mr. Dumomy had yet to learn the depth of deviltry and cunning of which insane bate is canable. New troubles awaited him. He had

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to whom ho could turn for help. His father and mother were now both dead. They had never been tho same to him after his n:f riage. It had caused than a displeasure and disappointment they were never quite able to overcome. He took lodgings near tho ruins of his borne, resolved to penetrate tho mystery of tho disappearance of his boys. He had had the debris of tho building carefully dugout and examined. A council ot eminent experts was summoned. They seorcfaod the burned remains. No trace of bone or of ftesh cookl be found. After laying their heads together they rendered an opinion of a wisdom and profundity ssch as only medical and chemical experts can give.

The law has a waxen nose, which the lawyer can tarn to the right or left as be pleases, says tbe German proverb. So has medicine. The verdict of the learned ones was on this wisa "Tbe undertigwd have to report that they have carefully examined different portions of Hw. and embers taken from the ruins of Mr. Philip Dumoray'* bona Tbay havo subjected the same to rigid analysis. In their traces hav* been found of aaab•tanes which may be comtiuad to ba tba of remains. At the ssma thns

they deem it necessary to state that a similar aah Is sometimes tho residuum from the consumption by firo at other organic compounds. "JAMES BEKSON, M. D., "H. T. TOMPKINS, M. D., "J. L. BOYD, Pharmacist"

Here was wisdom. Philip Dumoray was just where he was before. What should he do next? He sought every possible source of information. He examined the newspapers with fear and hope every morning, only to be overcome with the same dull, dead despair. One morning, for his comfort and encouragement, this met his eye: "Readers of The Daily News will remember tho mysterious firo which destroyed Mr. Philip Dumoray^ house on Linden street a few weeks ago. At the time there were many conjectures as to its origin, but none that seemed to offer a solution of tbe mystery. Among the rumors current is the unpleasant one that Mr. Dumoray set fire to bis own bouse. The gentleman^ wife is out of her mind and is now in the Iron Gate asylum. Tbe unfortunate Mrs. Dumoray was before her marriage a young lady of remarkable beauty and accomplishments, and, it is said, was crazed by domestic unhappiness. Sho has still some sane moments, however. During some of these flashes of reason she has let fall rambling remarks which beyond doubt point to ber husband as the author of tho fira Her disordered brain clings to the fixed idea that be removed the twin boys and then fired the house. This opinion was said to be chared by Mrs. Dumoray's mother, with whom tho unhappy woman took refuge when she escaped from the flames. •Such was the rumor, too unpleasant to be ci edited^ Accordingly, a reporter of The Daily News was sent to the house of Mrs. Dumoray's mother to trace tho origin of the •igly suspicion, if possible. Mrs. Bliss is a lady noted for her charitable deeds and moves in the highest social circles. "Our reporter was admitted to an interview, and the following conversation took place: "Reporter—I have called, madam, to ascertain your opinion as to the truth of tho rumor that your son-in-law set fire to his own house. "Mrs. Bliss seemed overcome with emotion. Affliction such as hers should, perhaps, be sacred from the public eya But the public is interested in unveiling the mystery, perhaps the crime, that lies back of the fire on Linden street. The lady spoke at length, with visible reluctance, substantially as follows: "Mrs. Bliss—I would be far from laying any straw in the way of my daughter's husband. He has enough to answer for as it is. My poor darling's mental condition, and what brought her to it, are well enough known. '""{I5 '. 5^ "Reporter—Did you understand your daughter at any time to convey the impression that she saw Mr. Dumoray applying a match to the combustible material in the library? "Mrs. Bliss—Of course my poor daughter is out of her mind. What sho says may be fact, or it may bo only an insano fancy. But when sho has seemed to bo in her right senses sho has insisted from tho first that she saw her husband carry tho children down stairs and out of the door to the rustic garden house. IIo went carefully, so as not to waken them. Ho loft them there, and went into tho fibniry. My daughter watched him. She saw a bright blaze in tho corner of tho room. Then sho ran away and camo to mo. She was frightened almost to death, as well she might havo been, poor darling I "Reporter—What motive could Mr. Dumoray have for tho deed? "Mrs. Bliss—Tho house was heavily insured, though I would not wish to think a man of his wealth would commit such a yiinq on^that account Ho was educated in Germany. Ho has often been heard to reret he over left thero. Ho could hide the children awhile, and then go to Germany and take them with him, after tho excitement of the fire had blown over. It has been hinted to us that ho wished to get rid of his wifo to marry a woman in Germany. You will spare' a wretched mother's feelings further, I am sure. I do not wish to bo forced to conclude my son-in-law was such a monster as to— No, no, he surely would not have set fire to tho houso expecting that his insane wifo would be burned to death! My child has beeu tho victim of crucl wrong. f* "Here tho aidieted lady'? feelbig quite overcamo her, and tho reporter took his leave, after thanking her for her kindness in forcing hersolf to talk on a subject so repugnant to her feelings. "MrsuBliss refrains from making any accusation against her son-in-law, it will be observed. Her delicacy of feeling in this respect can only increase tho sympathy which must bo universally drtwn toward this estimable lady,in her sorrows."

It fell liko a thunder bolt upon Philip Dumoray. It is n4t too much to say that at this point his feelings also quite overcame him. He bad not wholly learned, at that time, the self control which is tho first duty of man to himself, Ho roso slowly to his feet, in a white rage, he tnutSercd:

" — — , I'll murder that old woman."

He hurried out to the street and away. Ho rang the bell at the Bliss mansion. "Whereis Mrs. Bliss?"

Tho grim old colored serving man answered: "Yer mother-in-law's got the mewks toa "Wha-a-tr "Yer mother-in-laW*s $ot the mewks." "What do you mean?" "She's got one of her spells, sir, when nobody can do nothing to please ber. If you ask her if she'll have the carriago out she snaps your head offhand says we're try in' to torment her into her grave. Then she draws her mouth down at the corners, and says shell bo in her giave soon enough, dear knows, with all her I sufferings. Better not go in to-day, sir." I

Tbe man was an Old familiar, and spoke his mind to Philip. ButtPhilip strode past him. On a sofa up stairs lay tho lady with tho powerfully emotional natsre. Sho had a wrinkled nose. It was red and shiny to-day from much rubbing. Her ^jres were as tbe leaden, lifeless orbs of a mackerel in pickle. Tbe good dam* had an inexhaustible capacity for tears. Her mouth was drawn down at the corners habitually, lixiay it was very far down, Indeed. She looked up when she heard somebody coming.

She saw it was her stn-in-law and put ber handkerchief to ber etas. Ho laid a heavy hand on bar shoulder. He held the paper toward her. I "Woman, what devITi lie Is this?"

Instantly she removtd the handkerchief and stand at him with try, spiteful eyes. «Go on," the said. 'It's liko you. You want to beat mo black nd blue, do you? and drive me crazy, as yoa did my poor darling? Go on. Pm on% a weak, helpless woman."

His hand dropped. A crimnoo flnsb, turning to purple, slowly dyel the cheek of Philip Dumoray. "If people will talk, IYn sore I cant help It," she w«nt on complafcingly. "Idootaee why you come here to intuit me in my own bom* and my poor darikig insane, and me with my nerves all shattered.* "8bo put up her bandkeschtef again. 1 beg your pardon,* laid Philip. *Buf you must know you set IWs Us gotaf your­

MATT.

self, by your insinuations." Down went tho handkerchief. 4^,, "The idea!" exclaimed Mrs. Bliss.

Have you over noticed how a woman looks when she says—the idea? A man never says it Into these two words she puts all the emphasis that should go with those stronger expressions, the use of which is denied her on account of her sex. She may not swear, she may not firo a bootjack at tho candle, she may not oven go off and drown her sorrows. Rhn may only say—the idea! In that one expletive sho must vent all the venom and vinegar of her gentle nature.

Mrs. Bliss sat bolt upright and remarked— fThe idea!" Philip Dumoray sighed. His mind was settling into the coldness of despair. He saw the disadvantage he was at The lady saw the advantage which was hers. Up went the handkerchief. "You came here to bring me down with sorrow to an early grave," she whined. "As if I hadn't got enough to bear from you now, with my poor darling where she is, and my nerves all shattered—boo-hoo!"

Philip turned away. The lady had left a corner of one eye uncovered to watch him. She saw the movement, and sat upright again. She became majestic. In the consciousness of injured virtue and superior sufferings, the estimable lady fairly towered, at that moment With a scepter-like wave of her hand towards the door, and in a toploftical tone of voice, she said: "Relieve this mansion of your odious presenco instantly!"

Well, he went He resolved to 80 what ho could to right the wrong ho had wrought He set aside a portion of his property in the hands of trustees whe would use tbe income for tho care of hi* wife. Thus she was surely provided for.

The rest he would devote to searching the earth for his sons. He could nf fa(

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He spent all his fortune in the his boys. At last ho gave them ne returned home. No comfort there. lie found himself looked upon with coldness and mistrust Men who had broken his bread in better days passed him without speakiug. Women who had been his mother's friends gave him a glance of horror, and huiTied on, in the common belief he had fired his own house with tho monstrous intent that bis insane wifo should perish within. Thus skillfully had malice wrought its work.

Tho girl wor»i bright red roso in Jfcid, thus prov hair was no longer intrt^rs wore in wreathed around and arounu^nies InJToJ her noble head. Sho was beautiful Jongl' for a young goddess, as she threw liei^iead back in an attidue full of spirit and natara? grace. Was she expecting anybody, sittirfg thero iii her whito dress, with tho red rose to her hair?

Two strong hands su'ddenly covered her eyes from behind, and a voice said: "Guess who!"

offers Xvrfo.

It was a dwp. sweet voice. Shirley Imrl heard it almost overy day for two yearn. Ono is not certain but sho had heard it in hei dreams, sometimes, lately. A kingly face, with starliko eyes, bent low beside hers. It was a serene face now, not restless and dark and bitter, as when we saw it first. It was full of peace, if still a sad face ot times. "I know. It's tho cross, tiresome old teacher," replied Shirley.

But, her face, aflame with gladness and welcome, belied her words.

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ch for dead.

Ho hail uow to earn his bread. Ho looked for work. Wbo would give employment to ono suspected of so foul a crime? No man. At length he was driven to say: "I will go away, where no living creature has heard my name. I will shut this hateful world out of my sight"

Were not theso hard linos for ayounft man who had always had his own way?

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CHAPTER VL

rw TWO SCENES. Once moro, as on the first day of this story, the sun was smking low on a summer afternoon at tho stone houso. Once more, too, Shirley sat beneath the willows down by the millrace. Those old trees keep rising before us constantly.

But now it was two j*ears laterxniineher* the story began. It was the day after Dhir ley had read her poem and been crowned wit£ tho silver laurel wreath. School had ended for tho year.

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Mr. Morrison leaned Ins arms across the back of tho rustic seat beside ber. "How gorgeous tho sky is," ho said. "See that cloud ship," said Shirely. "It is perfect, with sails all set. It glides noiselessly toward tho Islands of tho Blest We livo there, all of the nice people, and you, when you are good Matured*? Sho marmum*:

The Islands of tho Blest, they say— "W Tbe Islands of the 1: •t~ Are peaceful and hap-/ by night and by day,

Far away la the glorknw west. Tbcy need not the moon in that land of delight They need not the pale, pale star: For the sun he is bright by day and by night,

VFhere tins BOUIS of the bieascd are. "Romantic dreamer!" exclaimed Mr. Morrison. "He calls me romantic. I shall never got over it Take any shape but that!"

4

"Well, you are romantic." jjfj "I am built wrong, somehow. I am drawn so many different ways. I don't believe there is a single imputed or affection of hnmnn nature that I don't feel, at one time and another, within my own breast You read to me about Spinoza, despised of the world and persecuted, living on a crust of bread, thinking out his sublime philosophy. Then I know there is nothing in this V. so grand as devotion to an idea. At such times I could march singing into tbe flames of martyrdom. It soems to me ft would be nothing to wear sackcloth, and live on black bread for life. Bat again, when I wear my bine silk dress, or drive with papa, and go flftAlng down the road and pass everybody else with our new horse—I take such delight In it that Pm ashamed of myself. I am certain the life of self denial Is tbe sublirocst life, and yet I worship all the pretty things of tfe9 world. I cant understand it atalL I have felt too, sometimes, us if I could commit murder. What does it mean, Mr. Morrison?" "Thite: you tall me you are drawn so many dtfbnntwajr& Sottabould ba Only those

But the girl quite passed by the bit of philosophy, though she heard it "Are you going away, Mr. Morrison?" she asked. "Yes, in ten minutes. Jim Sweet will be waiting for moat tho gate, to take me to the stage."

i^'^£

H*F

who are thus drawn should over write. To the true singer it is given to be all things, to know all, to love, to suffer all in his own soul. Only then can ho interpret to the race the divino music which is everywhere, but which it hears not, neither understands. Divine indeed is his calliug. Such a ono was Shakespeare. Such a one I believe you will be, you a woman."

And yet,"— said Shirley. "You mean if, after ail, it was not to be. But it will be, I think. There may be storm c: trouble that we dont know of in store for you. There may be hindrances that will prevent for awhile, though I cannot see bow. Yet, if it should bo so, do not give up. Patience will wear out everything in time. Let me give you a bit of philosophy. I have upheld myself with it when everything else failed. I have learned it at last, made it a part of my life. Think of it in tho time to come, when—when I am gone. It is this: 'Reconcile yourself to the inevitable.'"

She was silent a little. Then she counted on her fingers. "You will not bo back till tho vacation is over. That will bo six—eight—ten weeks." "Shirley," said tho master, in a low, thrilling tone, "Shirley, I am not coming back."

The blood forsook her face and fled back and settled around her heart The master looked away. When he opened his lips, presently, the words came-broken and with difficulty, at first as though by powerful self command ho compelled himself to speak. He said: "I only decided to go to-day, suddenly. I

must go to-night I must not wait till to^* morrow, even, for fear the temptation to remain here would be stronger than my will. I dare not tell what you have taught me— me, your teacher. I had lost all desire for life when I came her?. Yoj» gavo me back hope. All the labor of me a weariness and a back tho desire toworh -V tho common herd by "I was a soul in torment poet pupil, and you brought mo peace. You gavo me back courage and faith in tho right I go to join the workers. Perhaps you will hear of me, child. All that my life might have been before it shall bo now, and more.: You will mako it so. How can I thank you, O, my angel, my blessed inspirerf' "But—you—you go away," she gasped. "I dare not' stay," he said. "I go because it is best—best" "But you will writo—write to papa?" "When I can—if ever I c^n, I will write to you I will come back to y«"*i. you to remember that ahv*

brains was to

1

You gavo mo

lise myself above action. I met you, my

I would liko

was too pain-

Both faces wero pale. fid. Shirley tried to vns a weak effort. She had^ySHfPcauK'n the iron discipline tha^-^^^WI^r strength to smile when hor he?.iSJ^fis breaking, to laugh when hot*] sotAV eyes overflowed "with weeping. That camo later. Sho covered her face with her bands.

But tho master had learned they' lesson already. A flash of infinite paini of infinite Iqco ami-Joining, flitted across was^gono in a i^oment The fa bout down so clofco to Shirley's OUR ov£s were steady,\and bright /(S^yTiA Ho drew her hanrlsVway froi j^ held them caressingly inb»R«njis own for ono monicnt. Ho step to go, then paused and turned baSpk, and said lightly: "Do you know Shirley, now that I i«a» going away, and may never seo you again,. 1'vo half a mind to kiss you?" lowered hfs face agnin, and kissed her 0 lins. Then ha was gone, in a moment. !io turning of tho path lie glnnccd baric er. IIo stood an instant and Iowed with hat off. Sho never forgot his countenance as sho saw it then, tho serene, lofty brow, tho faco so full of inspiration. In all her lifo sbo never met another faco GO full of power r.nd lijht nnd liopo.

face. It was tb*

And ho was gone! Well, Shirley did not faint or w»ep. It was never her way to do either. Sho covered hci' faco with her hands, and sat as if tnrnwl to stone. Tho shadows longtheued in the west till they sliroudod tho earth, but sho sat there still. «,

How could Shirley know what, was passing meantime, five miles nway? It s^enied to her in a dumb, blind,way, that for her somehow existence had been torn out from its fastenings by tho rooh when tho teacbor left her. How could she, hapless child, know* that at tbut very moment ber future, which'' looked Eosuro. was indeed being torn loose from its fastenings. t, [TO BE CONTINUED.]

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