Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 20, Number 42, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 12 April 1890 — Page 6

TO-MORRO

BylZA DUPFUS HABDY.

HE artist laid his brush aside, and looked from the portrait on which he was putting the finishing touches, to the Original— looked as an artist looks on a rarely bean tiful face—nay, more than that, as a man looks on the woman he loves. "It does not do you justice," he said, half sadly. "Let me be the

judge of that," she answered. "May I oome now and look?' She rose up -from her chair, the one easy chair of which Paul Norton's "den" —he never called it his "studio"—could boast. The folds of her fawn colored dress, some soft, clinging material—she always loved soft Oriental fabrics and subtle shades of color—swept the floor noiselessly, as she glided round to the front of the easel and her own face, life size, life colored, "ripe and roal," looked back at her from the canvas as from a mirror. Ho had not idealized her he had but portrayed with graphic realism those straight and harmonious features, almost purely classic in their outline— the face of a pure egg shaped oval, "lessening in perfect cadenca" from broad, low brow to dear out chin the cream -white skin and crimson lips the hair, like woven sunshine, contrasting with the long dark lashes.

Lucy Williams had left the bloom of her first youth behind, but the rounded oval of her cheek, smooth and clear as the firm white petals of the lily, stood in no need of rose bloom to add to its fairness. It was the face of a woman—and a woman who had lived, not merely grown and bloomed like the lilies of the field—the face of a goddess to Paul Norton's mind—that was framed in the waves of girlish golden hair and those eyes, the deep, dreamy eyes, of a peculiar diark and luminous gray, that were to him the oycs of au angol, another man, who was only half in love with her, had been heard to call the eyes of a sphinx and wished they wore as unfathomable and secret as they wore darkly lovely. "So you think it does not do me jus tice?" she said, smiling. "No. I have missed something—a look you have sometimes—an expression havo not seized."

She cast one keen, subtle glance at him from under her long voiling eyelashes. Yes, it was true that he had missod somothiug but what ho had missed was tho shadow that lurked in the depths of her soft, secret eyes—the shadow of tragio memory, of dark foreboding. "You have missed nothing that I wished to see there," she replied. "I wish I always looked—like that. You havo taken mo with my happiest expression," "I cannot bear to see any other expression on your face," ho said, gravely and tenderly.

A soft, half sad smilo just parted her beautiful lips. "Well, I shall always look my bestaud brightest hero," sho romarkod, lightly touching tho canvas with her linger. "Your brightest is only a sort of soft moonlight. Sunshine—tho garish light of day—doesn't seem to bo tho thing for you the mellow, mysterious moonlight is your light," ho said with a sort of loving reverence. "I am sorry it is finished," ha uddod—"sorry our sittings are over." "Why?" sho asked, dropping the little monosyllable gently as a falleu rose leaf. "They have been tho means of our being so much together. I havo been able to soo so much of you alono." "You can always see mo—whilo wo are under tho same roof." "Yos—while but how long will that )kr "You aro riot going away—yet?" sho asked with a touch of interest, even of auxiety, stirring her habitual languor. "If I could only think you cared a little whether 1 stay or goP' ho exclaimed, seizing her hand. "Lucy— Lucy, mauy men may have loved—must havo loved—you, but 1 think nono can ever love you as I do. I would like to die for you. 1 would far rather die than livo without you."

Her deep, soft, dreamy eyes dwelt with a sort of tender, yet half bitter, sadness on his face. "You say you love me," she replied. "And yet you know nothing of me—not even who I am, nor where I came from." "And I do not care to know. If only you will stay with me," he answered, passionately. "Let mo have a part in your future, and forget your past Let It be blotted out like a dream, if to think of it gives you pain. I know, Lucy, that though you livo so sweetly suid contentedly among my people here, you wo not of them. You oome from a £ilterent world to theirs—outb." "If I do," sho rejoined more Utterly, "I only wish to forget it" 1 "Lucy," he pleaded, eagerly, "could 3*ou not forget it—with me? Ah, you don't know how I would cherish you if you would trust your life to mel You havo bem unhappy, I know. You have suffered—1 can read it in your eyes. If you loved—yet what am I that you should love me?" -Ah. what indcedf site asked, with a curling tlpof tender scorn,looking down, •o that her long lashos veiled her eyes "you ar« only—only tho truest, noblest heart I ever met. "You tay t&uU, Locyr he rejoined, eagerly. '-Say only one word mom. Oh. my darling. If you think so of m* Indeed, say the one word more.** "One wordT sho repeated, with ft mournful smile. "Ah, thors would

many words to say between us If—if

"But only ot& ^I care to hear," he urged, as she faltered. "Say only that you will marry me.* "1 cannot—I cannot—not tit once—not so suddenly,** she replied, with suppressed agitation. "It is not suddenly," he protested, have made no secret of my love you have known it well you

An early dinner was one of the time honored institutions at Hazelmead. The Nortons were good, plain, home like and somewhat old fashioned people, very old fashioned, if warmth and openness and simplicity of heart be out of date. Among*them, Lucy Williams did indeed seem like a creature from another world, with her stately statuesque beauty, so delicate, so dignified, so gentle, calm and reserved. Paul was a true Norton in heart and in general appearance the Nortons.. were all tall, comely and strong, with fine figures and fair complexions but Paul was a trifle less robust and sanguine looking tlian the rest there was more fire and soul in his eye, more intellect on his brow. He was the flower of the flock, the family gemus. They were all proud of Paul, although when first tho boy's talent had pronounced itself, and he had neglected the farmyard in favor of his paint box, and horrified his poor mother by decorating the blank white walls of her dairy with a pictorial representation of the battle of Hastings, his parents had been inclined to regard this development of tendency as a morbid condition requiring medical treatment and when finally young Paul announced his fixed intent of devoting himself to Art as a profession, the family feeling had been much like that of the hen who sees the duckling she has hatched among her own brood launch itself on the dangerous depths of the pond.

-j!

xPU talk to you to-morrow.n

But that first mood of doubt and dismay and disapprobation had passed over long ago. Paul Morton was an artist, and the family admired his pictures conscientiously, albeit without in the least understanding them as works of art. Notwithstanding his having struck out a line apart from theirs, they felt that he was* still one of their own and he was one of them indeed, single minded and simple hearted, the rough shyness of his boyish days not entirely rubbed off by his occasional contact with the great world outside.

It was only occasional he never felt really a part of that vast, busy, thrilling, moving world, rolling on over ths hearts and souls of its votaries, like the car of Juggernaut he never felt that he belonged to it, nor that it entered into and became a part of his inner life. His life was in the fields and lanes, in the-merry green woods" of his childhood, tho broad reaches of meadow and swelling slopes of hill and dale, the clear pure skies wherein tho lark soared up singing. He paid periodical visits to London but be drew no inspiration from crowds and fog, and smote and noisy streets. The great city told no tale to him, though field and forest, hill and river, were full of voices. He felt that be never painted so well as at Haaelmead it was always •home" to him, the only real boms he knew.

His fatherahd mother had died the old homestead was now occupied faj lilt sister, brother, brother* wife aad

was

canAot

be taken

by surprise today." "Give me till to-morrow," she said. "No. Answer me now. If you do not care for me today, will yon to-mor-row? And if you do, why torture me with a whol|»Jong day and nisrht of suspenser "I have often thought of telling you my story," she said, evading a direct answer. "Be my wife and tell me afterwards." "Do you trust me so?' I "I love you!" wasiiis reply? "I think you do," she said, but rather sadly than gladly. "Then give me your answer, dearest." "Ill talk to you to-morrow," she replied. "The morning is gone we hare no time now. I will think over things today, and—and—perhaps"—she paused, then added with less reserve: "You say truly I have suffered—perhaps you may know how much—to-mor-row." /•***,

Time and tide wait for no man, not even for a lover and the Hazelmead dinner bell now clanged out a ruthlessly noisy summons before Paul Norton could utter another word and before the last stroke of the bell ceased chiming, there was a scuffling of children's feet in the passage, children's voices at the door, wrna.ll but energetic hands battering on the panels. "Uncle—Uncle Paul! Miss Lucy! Dinner! Dinner!" and all the Norton olive branches trooped into the "den" and flung themselves upon Miss Williams with ursine hugs, and bore her out of the room between them, Lulie hanging round her waist, Harry pulling her along by her arm, and Amy clinging to her hand.

home with them—especially since

Lucy Williams had been an inmate of Hazelmead. It was by mere chance—a happy chance, indeed, he deemed it-— that she had

come

So it was that Lucy Williams came to them—came, saw and conquered her beauty, grace and sweetness won all their hearts. Mrs. Norton had been thinking of procuring a governess for her children there were five, all in steps, from 10-year-old Tommy down to baby Amy. Miaa Williams was thin king of seeking a governess* place, so she presently confided to her new friends. Her means were limited her health required country air she would like to find a pleasant home in the country where she could make herself useful. Said, and done! The home was foundl both parties were suited: Mica Williams became a resident at flTagoimpqH, and Hazelmead paradise to Paul Norton—a fool's paradise perhaps! but If so, he was a happy fool as he wandered in its flowery ways. Miss Williams was quiet and reticent there was a gentle frost of dignity and reserve about her which he found fascinating, as indeed he would have found any quality in her. Sometimes she seemed overshadowed by melancholy thoughts then there was a strange enthraflment about her, to Paul Norton's eyes at least. She had occasional moods of gayety then she was enchanting and anon she would be silent and abstracted, with a sweet, deep, dreamy gaze in her lovely eyes——then she was irresistible! She told the Nortons little about herself, seldom indeed made any allusion to her past life.

Paul really knew nothing about her but he thought that he knew a great daaL He gathered from occasional words she dropped that she was alone in the world, that her youth had been shadowed by trouble. He knew that she was well educated she could speak languages to hfm unknown. Paul Norton had been sent to a good, plain, middle class school, but not to college he had just that amount of education which makes a vain man boast of how much he knows, and a modest one—as Paul was—feel bitterly how little it is! He had reason to be satisfied with what he had achieved with his one gift but in spite of his success in his chosen career, he felt himself ignorant and awkward beside Lucy Williams, with her grace and talent and ac complishxuents. Ho knew—yes, well he knew! who knew sd well as he?—her truth and goodness. Had he not seen her sweetness with the children, her pa tience and tenderness in nursing them through their ailments—seen her deft light fingers bandage Harry's wounded arm, and comb little Amy's golden curls? Ali, yes—her history might be a sealed book to him but he felt he knew her well. And, trust her? Why, he would have laid bis life down to prove his faith in her.

The short winter daylight was drawing to a close when little Minnie ran up to Miss Williams' room with a message, "Miss Lucy! Miss Luoy! there's strange gentleman in the parlor, and mother says—please will you come. Auntie Jane's making the pudding, and she's got her hands in the fiour, and papa and Uncle Paul are out in the stables."

Strange gentlemen were unfrequent visitors at Hazelmead and it was with a little surprise and curiosity—which, however, her manner did not betray—that Luoy accompanied the child to the par lor, where Mrs. Norton was carrying on an intermittent conversation with tlie stranger, while her knitting needles clicked busily through the work she always had in hand. She introduced Miss Williams to Mr. Beresford, looking up at the latter while she went through the brief formula. Little Minnie had run to her mother's side, and from that safety vantage ground was staring open eyed at tho stranger. Paul was not there there was no one to notice how Miss Williams' eye kindled and her cheek changed color, as her glance fell upon the visitor's face.

He had risen courteously, and bowed low in greeting. He was a tall, dark, good looking man, in the prime of life, with close trimmed hair and beard, and acertain touch of dash and swagger in his bearing—only asoupcon—just enough rather to attract than to repel an uncultivated taste.

Miss Williams?" he said, with a half inquiring accent, gazing full at the Nortons' paragon governess, "Yes—Lucy Williams," she replied, with a ring of resolute meaning in her low and almost languid tones. If there were a flash of defiance in her glance, as it met his like crossing steel, there was no eyo but his that noted it, "This gentleman has walked all the way from Thirltom," Mrs. Norton observed conversationally "he wants to talk to Mr. Norton about that land of Biggins" as I toil him, my husband's the right man to give him Information about that."

Mr. Beresford observed politely that he was assured he could consult no better authority than Mr. Norton on the matter. A little commonplace chat followed then it was the children's tea time and Mrs. Norton, with a few words of excuse, bustled off, Trading Minnfo, to superintend the gathering of her flock In the nursery.

The visitor and the governess were thus left alone. They looked at each other, face to feoe, both of them cool, unflinching of gase but she was white as death itself, "W&Xtfdfaw* he began, "you see I have coma. I have found out your snug retreat."

MYoo

chOr

dra they ooe and all loved Paul, and ha was never so happy as wbsa lis

llillli!

camo hereon purpose, then? Yon

knew I was her*?* "Moat certainly I did. Itoldyou that I should find yoo—when I wanted you." "Yes I thought that yoo would find or later," she said bittozty.

rERRB-HAUTB SATURDAY EVTOTKG MATT,

"You never failed yet to track your prey!" "Though I have been known to baffle those who thought themselves safely on

vmy

to reside there.. She

had arrived at a large farmhouse in tip neighborhood, where she had made arrangements to board, requiring a few weeks' change, pure country air and perfect rest. On the very day of her arrival fever had broken out at the farm. Perplexity! Here was the expected boarder with her luggage it was neither safe nor convenient for her to stay, and there was no hotel near. The Nortons, hearing of their neighbors' dilemma, hospitably went to their assistance, and offered to receive the lady themselves.

track, haven't I? haven't we. I should say," he added with an evil smile. "It is never we again," shesaid firmly. "You think not, my beauty? On my word, Lydia, you're as handsome as ever," he observed parenthetically. "But, if you remember, I told you that .we had not done with each other." ''What do you want with me?" she demanded in a low, bitter tone "why have you hunted me out? I walk my own way now and it Is apart from yours. I have dona with you and your ways—forever!" "We shall see about that," he replied coolly. "I have a good deal to talk to you about, Lydia and we must find some opportunity when we shall be safe from intruders. When and where can I talk to you—alone?"

"What do you vxmt %»ith tn»r* When Mrs. Norton returned to the lor, bearing her husband and her b: in-law triumphantly along in her train, the last idea to occur to any one of them would havo been that the interview they interrupted was anything out of the ordinary kind.

er-

Lucy Williams leaned back in a low chair, just outsido the circle of yellow lamplight, idly screening her face from the fire with one of the big Japanese fans off the mantelpiece. Mr. Beresford, the handsome stranger, stood before the log fire—the Nortons liked a good, old fashioned wood fire—pushing back a "fallen log with his foot he was looking down, but a smile was on his lips as he thrust the wood back into tho grate. "Well, and I hope you've been entertaining this gentleman in our absence. Miss Luoy?" said the head of the household, his ruddy, kindly face, beaming with good nature—its chronic expression. "I have dono my beet," answered the sweet, low, level tones thats wore musio in Paul Norton's ear. "Miss Lucy is capital company," said Henry Norton, who always spoke out exactly what he thought

Mr. Beresford bent his bead smilingly, with a civil speech. Paul had made his way promptly to Lucy's side and bent over her chair, while Mr. Norton entered into conversation with the visitor, and g&vo him information and counsel on the subject of Higgins* land—a good deal more information than was really at all necessary.

Mrs. Norton took up her knitting Paul presently went to the window at the further end of the long parlor, lifted the lowered blind and looked out, and remarked that the moon vtas rising and the sky looked frosty, addressing the remark to Miss Williams. She accepted the hint in her graceful way. She glided aoross the room and looked out of the window with Paul Norton, and listened sweetly while he talked low voiced about the rising moon—and other things.

Mr. Beresford cast more than one glance in her direction, while ho was apparently engrossed in tho interesting subject of Higgins and his acres, and observed to himself: "Just tho same Lydia! The old game!"

But it was not quite tho Lydia he knew, who stood pale in tho lamplight, looking up into Paul Norton's honest eyes, later on that evening—so late, that it was good night that they were saying, that they had slipped apart from the rest to say— yet not very late to those "of the world, worldly," for early hours were the rale at Hazelmead and Mr. Beresford regarded the evening as only just beginning when the Nortons looked upon it as closed.

It was the face of Lydia, indeed, but not the look that Mr. Beresford had ever seen in Lydia's eyes, or on her iips,asshe stood by Paul Norton's side. "To-morrow, Lucy darling," ho said, clasping her band as if he could never let It go, "to-morrow you will give mo my answer? I shall not sleep to-night for longing for to-morrow! It is^Christmas

eve,

you know"

She burst Into a. laugh that almost startled him—not aloud laugh Lucy's laugh was always low and soft—but with a ring of bitter mockery in it that he had not heard from those lipe before—and did not like to hear. "Yes, Christmas eve," shs said, 'the season of mirth and happiness—of pewpe and goodwill to all men!" if 'Why do you laugh, Lucy?" he asked, grasping her hand with unconscious force "aro you—noljrou axe not playing with me? you are not that kind of woman! But why do you speak like that? and why put me off until tomorrow? If you have nothing but 'No* to say to me, say it now—now, this moment I will not endure suspense, ona—unless it means hope. Oh, forgive me if speak roughly to you, Lucy. 1 am not worthy of you, so delicate and gentle a flower!" "Do yoo think you are not worthy of meT* she rejoined, with a pale smile, and her eyes dwelt on his sadly, even tenderly. "Well, I told yoo—I would talk to you to-morrow. So I wilL But now— good nightr •Call me by DaiM to-nlgh*." he pleaded "say good night,

Froir

•PaulT she murmured, and a

deep convulsive sigh heaved her bosom and caught her breath. "Good night, dear Paul!" "My darling!" he exclaimed, enraptured. "Oh, Lucy love, before we part to-night, maynt I say 'My own?*" "If the words please you," she answered, with a curious and, to him, most unaccountable bitterness in her tone, yet not shrinking from his enfolding arms.

Then, with one of those sudden revulsions of mood which had always characterized her—and those quiok turns mid transitions which were part of her fascination—she softened, sighed, and her golden head sank on his shoulder. "Oh, Paul—I am tired, so tired!" she whisperedJS"Let me go now: and tomorrow"—^ "To-morrow, dearest?" "Yee, to-morrow, Paxil, if you still care, you shall call me your own!" The words were sweet, and in their sweetness he tost note of the under current of bitterness and defiance in her tone.

She raised her face to his. He lifted her hands and gently clasped them round his own neck as he kissed her. They closed and clung there—as if in him she were clinging to peace and safety, to very life itself! Happy Paul! He did not see the fixed look of anguish in her eyes as she hid her face u)xn his shoulder ho believed that embrace was the dawn of a life long day of love.

The long winter's night wore away and all the Nortons slept the deep and dreamless sleep of sound health and easy conscience ami Christmas eve morning came—a white asure morning of silvery frost nnd oold dear sunshine.

Concluded next week.

"Don't stand on the order of going"— but go straight to the next corner and buy a bottle of Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup, if you want to cure your cold.

Farmers and Horsemen read this!—I find Salvation Oil a most excellent liniment among horses, and take pleasure in indorsing it as a certain remedy for scratches. JAMES THOM AS,

Franklin Road, near Baltimore.

The First Step.

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Failures in Life,

People fail in many ways. In business, In morality, in religion, in happiness, and in health. A weak heart Is often an unsuspected cause of failure in life. If tho blood does not circulate properly in tho lungs, there is shortness of breath, asthma, etc. in the brain, dizziness, headache, etc. in the stomach, wind, pain, indigestion,faintspells,etc. in tho liver, torpidity, congestion, etc. Pain in the left side, shoulder and stomach is caused by heart strain. For all these maladies Mr. Miles' New Curo for the heart and lungs is the best remedy. Bold, guaranteed and recommended by J. & C. Baur, Treatise free. __ (8)

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A Hei Method of Treating Disease,

HOSPITAL REMEDIES. IS

What are they? There is a new departure in the treatment of disease. It consists in the collection of the specifics used by noted specialists of Europe and America, and bringing them within the reach of all. For instance the treatment pursued by special physicians who treat indigestion, stomach and liver troubles only, was obtained and prepared. The treatmentof other physicians celebrated for curing catarrh was procured, and so ou till these incomparable cufes now include disease of the lungs, kidneys, female weakness, rheumatism, and nervous debility.

This new method of '"one remedey forgone disease" must appeal to the common sense of all sufferers, many of whom have experienced the ill effecft, and thoroughly realise the absurdity of the claims of patent medicines which are guaranteed to cure every ill out of a single bottle, and tho use of which, as statistics prove, has ruined more stomachs than alcohol. A circular describing these new remedies Is sent free on receipt of stamp to pay postage by Hospital Remedy Company, Toronto, Canada, sole proprietors.

For the cure of the inflammation and congestion called "a cold in the head-" there is more potency in Ely's Cream Balm than in any thing else it is possible to prescribe. This preparation has for years past been making a brilliant success as a remedy for cola In the head, catarrh and hay fever. Used in the initial stages of these complaints Cream Balm prevents any serious development of the symptoms, while almost numberlms cases are on record of radical cures of chronic catarrh, after all other modes of treatment have failed. 42~2t

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deartre IVthU recipe, in

For Dyspepsia

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An Important Matter. 1

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