Evening Star Newspaper, April 5, 1890, Page 10

| 10 Written for Tue EVRNTNO Stan. WHOSE WAS THE HAND? —_——o—_— BY MISS BRADDON. Author of “Lady Andley's Secret," “Like and Unlike,” “Iebmae!,” “The Day Will Come,” 4a (ALL RIGHTS RESERVED) CHAPTER XIX. Datsr’s HEN I was a child, and eren last summer, I used to think a July day could not be too long, provided, of course, that July behaved as July, and one could bask in the sunshine on the lawn or on the river, and cool one’s self in the shade of willows in mysterious backwaters, where the sedges are full of bloom and the lilies lie in a tangle of loveliness, lifting their milk- white chalices to the warm bine sky. This Year I tind I am growing old, and that we can have too much even of July, 2 monotony of loveliness that preys upon one’s spirits, a per- 2 i t und 7 Petual sunshine that irritates one’s nerves. | him. He gave scry at sight of mee mt an if I i have ouly lately discovered what it is to | }randy. but he said there was no occasion. He have nerves; and since I made that discovery I | i.ad only suffered from a sudden faintness, seem to have nothing but nerves. Mother | which had come over him as he opened the asked me yesterday what had become library door. a ; “Don't teli your mother,” he said; “it woul of my sweet temper. She hardly recognized | atv alarm her caunelessly.” daughter of a year ago in the fretful young | «Put she ought to know,” I told him. “In- person of today. Was lever sweet tempered? | deed, indeed. indeed, Uncie Ambrose, you Tasked myself wonderingly. I know I am very | tau t comsult — — a must "4 7 not go on any longer like this, eeaete Soe. Twas smnpyiel to may Gone | Wall. childs T will dealt w pliskicians 18 aay ola Proomfield this very morning. I snatched a | submission upon that point will make you and my white frock out of her hand while she stood | your mother any happier; although I’ can tell shillyshallying and prosing about it in her dear | you beforehand that no doctor in London—not old rambling way, debating whether it was or | the whole College of Physicians—can do any was not fresh enough for me to wear. good for me. The evil I saffer from is purely “What does it matter?” I cried impatiently. RE STOOD UPON THE THRESHOLD MOTIONLESS, for some minutes it seemed to me as I watched him standing there, rigid asa stone figure, staring into the empty room—then he gave groan of agony, staggered back into the hall and sank into a chair and sat there languid al- most to fainting. wiping the perspiration from his forehead. I could see his hand | tremble as he drew his handkerchief out of his | coat pocket. leame m behind the piliar and ran to | Rervons and no doctor has yet fathomed the mystery of the nerves any more thanany theo- “There is nobody to see my froc! logian has fathomed the mystery of the worlds meet, Mies Tiley, whem Mc Cysil Se | OE We Delind (his Uh ce Dont fe i a mi c this very moment waiting for you?” ‘afresh upon bis forehead. His whole le “Cyril is nobody—a fiance doesn’t count,” | seemed eonvulsed and shattered. I had heard said L “Don't he, Miss? {t was different in my time. A young woman always took pains with herself when she had some one to walk out with.” “Aud you nsed to walk ont with ali sorts of people, I believe, you dear old flirt.” said I, for one of my earliest memories is of Broom- ; field's long stories about soldiers and shop bos who paraded the London parks with her in her previous services, “I always had admirers, Miss Daisy, but £ knew how to keep them at arm’s length,” she answered with dignity. “A young person in service in London must havea respectable Young man to walk out with. or she would never get a breath of fresh air.” “Oh, you cruel Broomfield, to think of the shoe leather your victims must have worn out, You meaning nothing all the time.” ina cataleptic state during those minutes in which he stood on the threshold of the library. “If you will promise to go up to London to- morrow with mother to see a doctor I will not teil her anything about this attack today,” I said; “but if you refuse I must tell her.” “Haven't I'said that I will do anything to please you snd your mother. Daisy?” He kept his word and mother and he went Hariey street came down tor # = day at tennis. I can only say that it was a long day. ‘The interval between launch and tea was a Pacific ocean of time. I thought the blessed break of afternoon tea would never come; but the tea kettle appeared at last and mother and her husband came home soon after. She knew I was almost as anxious as herself and she told me afl the doctor had said. [t did not seem to amount to much. but no doubt | it was comforting. All the wisdom of Caven- | dish Square might be summed up under three | heads—a judicious diet. as per half-page of . | note paper filled with the great man’s writ- “Lor, Miss. they're used to it, and it only | ing—jess intelicctual work—and bromide of serves them right.” said Broomfield. They're | potassium. ‘The diet was the most important all as artful as they're high, and they've al- | point. according to the physician. and I snp- ways an eye toa young woman's Post Office | pose he was right, and that an injudicious help- ing taktea” ing of Aylesbury duck may have been the cause . . | Of that strange seizure at the doorof my 1 encouraged the dear old thing to prattle in father's old den. this fashion while she fastened my white cam- | Cyril took his father's illness rather lightly. brie frock, and I forgot poor Cyril, who had I told him of the attack, though I said not one " Bie i word about it to my mother. been loafing about for the hour waiting “My father is paying the penalty of having = ia Tam getting tired of the | no gixed purpose or pursuit in life; he is suffer Thames. Iam afraid Iam developing @ hor-| ing trom too much money and too much meta- rid. inconsistent, capricious character. How | physics. He has a brain capable of better odd it is that one may go on adoring a place for | Work than he has ever done. and he is begin- years, and then w: of it suddenly in one week of blazing July weather. ning to suffer from wasted energies.” “But he has written books that have made I hope it is ouly a temporary weariness | caused by that very hot weather. their mark in the most intellectual circles,” aid Fountainhead shows its usual dismal aspect s of closed shutters and blinds drawn down. Mr. Florestan came in a meteor-like manner at the beginning of last week; took tea with mother on Tuesday afternoon while I was wiles and miles up the river with Cyril, yawning myself to death over a silly novel, while he threw his fly for trout. and seemed to do nothing but en- tangle bis hne in the willows. When I went down to dinner that evening mother informed | me that Mr. Florestan had done me the honor to inquire about my health—as if I were ever ill—and, furthermore, that he was to leave Fountainhead early next morning on his way to Seotiand, where he was to spend the whole of August and Septembe “Yes, and therefore books that the British | public don’t care two pence about—books that | interrogate everything and solve nothing— books that leave us not one hair's breadth further advanced toward the comprehension of | the three great mysteries of matter. hfe, and mind than Aristotle and Plato left us three hun- dred and fifty years before the birth of Christ.’ “Some of the reviews said that your father’s book marked a new era in philosophy,” said L “My dear Daisy. philosophy is like the sca, ‘The waves rise and fall. and change their forms every honr: but the shore is always at exactly | the same distance from mid ocean.” I felt that itseemed hard upon Uncle Am- brose that the soz should make so light of the labors of the father’s lifetime. Ob, Iam wicked, desperately wicked, steeped . z to the Lips in falsehood and dishonor. ‘I ought J felt inclined to hate Scotland. . | never to have listened; I ought to have silenced “How will Paris get on withont him? I'm | him in the first’ moment as I silenced him at afraid there'll be a revolution, or at least am | inst. He is too honorable a man to have in- emeute.” I remarked, flinpantly. sieted upon speaking had I been firm. But the J have noticed in myself Istely that when I | crisis of my life came upon me suddenly. feel as if my heart were made of lead £m | ‘Those impassioned words took me unawares always inclined to be flippant. saan Hh 3 Why should my heart be heavy? Why, oh, | 2%4 1 longed so to hear all he had to-say. why? Cyril is so franks. so clever in his own bright, boyish way, so altogether what a young man ought to be. aud yet | am not satisfied: | there is a terrible sense of faiiure and a life | thought of him far away in Argyleshire. 1 goue wrong always gnawing «ut my heart. | . | pictured the barren heathery hills, russet and Mother began to. talk to me yesterday abont | Paiest green under the baking July sk my trousseau. but I be d her not to mention | Flora and Dora—who go everywhere the odious thing for age 3. My drawers and often described them to me: und I thought pccorrenptle | hanging closets are stuffed with how much nicer those wild hills above the clothes of all kinds. and how can { want more? | Kyies of Bute must be than our pretty little True, that { never seem to have the right kind shop river with its willowy eyots, which of gown to wear for any given occasion. but [| jgok as if one conld hold them in the ‘hollow believe that ix a peculiarity of all wardrobes. of one's hand. aud I daresay if I had the most magniticent |“ y felt such a longing for Scotland yesterday trousseau Ishould find before my ho: morning, almost as if 1 were homesick for a Fitatione font must refuse really tempting in- | country I kad never seen. I began to think I Rapp jor ie mee ment. ist have a Ncattish ancestor hidden in some iemlrwiy v= — e = " heal oy corner of the family tree. Al! our fancies and content. Lam engaged to be marrie aaa e . ‘ pp ee apodeme otal agaries are pat down to heredity nowadays, thonght of the future lite I have pledged i selé to lead. [hike my lover with a very cor- @iai hiking and lam bh and wt ese in his i | wanted so much to know the secret of his heart, though that heart could never be mine. Gilbert Plorestan had not gone to Scotland. after all. When 1 woke yesterday morning [ my A blood seething and bubbling in my veins, But he was not in Scotiand. Mother had mi nnderstood him abont the date of his journey, company so long as he des not remind me | oc else he had changed hie mind. At ony eens Set be te my lover sud snat be expects very | ky hed auly gone to Londen to ese choot soon to be m nsband. Whe he does rem: hate him; just i the river, and f ail. % to know one’s self beloved by good and true heart like Cy- ri'sand not to beable to give one’s whole heartin return. If it were not for this good ¥I believe I she guns and fishing tackle for the antumn, and there he was yesterday morning at 11 o'clock coming suddenly between ie and the light, as 1 sat reading alone in the summer house in the shrubbery. ril had left us by an early train for a two days" visit to a manor house near Guildford, in religions observance of one of those college | friendships which young men esteem so highly, | His friend had telegraphed to him urgently. “Come,” and he went, having carefully ascer- tained first that I did not mind. How i wish [ had minded more. I felt @ sense of relief when I saw him drive | away from the gate. and yet I was dull without hita. I missed bis cheerful society, witich gen- exally makes thonght impossible, nhing deeply in the stillness of the shrub- bery, where there were no birds singing any more it seemed. I had books, work, a little sketch block and color box, ample means tor ™ | employment or amusement, and yet I sat idl: stion, and that | thibking. idly dreaming and picturing a lite fltof alarm | thas Was not the life I had pledged myself to ead. In the midst of these vain and foolish dreams Me of that as I hate the the gardens, ghts and feelings, talk even to my dear mother as I can talk to | this book. 1 wonder Mr. Florestan did not stay one longer at Foun! and to tell ust ws of Paris, Poor mother has anxieties of her own. and it would be cruel to plague her with m if I could bring myself to talk about m trouble, which Lam sui rould not. very anxious about Uncie Ambroxc, and 1 don t wouder. He is in very bad heal:h, and I fear that his mental health is in ¢ seems more hopeless and mor for the future than any bodily He came back to Kiver Lawn reiuctently; and i hi im change for the worse da¥ | he whose image had i i age mixed itself with all of by day we came here. He spends all his | them stood suddenly before me. I looked up studious hours in the old cotta, tting im the | and saw him standing there, mute and serious. | My guilty conscience sent the biood up to my face ina great wave of crimson. I could not speak, nor I think could he just at first, library, where he has ail his choi and where he did so much good we years. Buteven in his studior Festless, aud comes bac house every | “PS! as se . now and then in a capricious, purpose less wa: Pears ee ee i x Just to say a few words to mother. or to wander = hpawter sae eneate Sbout the garden for a few minutes, and to | stand looking dreamily at the river. xs if he | d some reason for leaving bis books and coming across the road, and had forgotten at on the way. j He will not admit that he is ill, nor will he | consent to consult a physician, though mother has urged bim to see any one of the great men in whom everrbody believes, He declares that | st books. k in past hours he is | He explained and, the sound of our voices having made us both just a little more at our ease. he sat down in tle oniy empty chair and took up my books, one by one, and looked at their titles, “How learned you are,” he said. ‘Cousin, | Spinosa. Reid; i did not think that little girls twoubled their curly heads about philosophy.” “Tam not a little gi id, huffed at this impertinence, “and philosophy is my Uncle Ambrose’s favorite subject. He taught me all Iknow and I like to read the subjects that in- terest him.” “Have you read much this morning?” he he has never in his life consulted a doctor on his own account, and that he begin. | “remember a sleek, white-haired gentle- man with gold-rimmed spectacles, who felt my alse and looked st my tongue every day for a | ight i f jortnignt when I bad the measles,” he said, | sexed Joking me straight in the face, with a aud who dosed me with nanseous medicine | Again the hot blood ruslied up to cheeks and Sree times.a day and with nightly powdéra. | wow, ond I felt that he mart kone ty ay He gave me a poor opinion of the faculty, which | wrote I have never been able to outlive. that Thad just given over my heart and my It is all very well for him to make light of | A ; : his ailments and to refuse all advice, but 1) put,‘ Utterly foolish thoughts of him; profit. know he is ill, and very il, He has s nervous | not ened “aoetat might have been tT had irritability at times which makes him alto- | cello. and if he, Gilbert Florestan, had ha} ther unlike the Uncle Ambrose of old: aad | -on2’ - ' - Something happened the other day which | Soy"dronnas bo eile so ee peal BBY makes me fear that his nerves are in a worse ; ming condition than even mother suspects, anxious aH yw bie tion of salf-ceopoct? though she is about him. i Iwas dawdling in the hall after playing ten- | Uzand for faa ee ns ee nis all the morning with Cyril, who really is | asked again, provokingly persistent, = bys a ——t know. I — — “Not very much.” i ‘acket before I put it in the stand. and; «6. were woul was almost hidden by one of the oak pillars Pes ery a pos conecontive rang bes is too old to | which stood between me and the library door. | pot been able to read Properly for many weeks. An image comes dancing along t! lines and dazalos me: like that secteee en tee ann we see a the ofa have looked tt the sum Mimeetf, I bere, Sean no good for intellectual work for ever so long, The garden door opened while I was stand- there and Uncle ames came into the it looking white and weary, as he so often looks now. ile opened the door of my father's old study, expecting to find my mother there, “Clara,” he said, as he opened the door. She was uct there aud the room was empty. ing | of catalepsy and I could but think that he was | off to Cavendish Square. and my cousins from | ud certainly yesterday morning [felt Scotch | d blushes that I had not read a word; | an Hatreil, for I had been trembling lest he should ca!] me Daisy. It was a relief to find him vs but I did not know how f ite was to be and how soon he was going to shatter the citadel of my self- looked at all the books again, rearranged them methodically on the table, took up ay sketch block and looked critically at the half- finished sketch of a group of sycamores by the bend in the ite shore. don’t sup- —— he recognized them though he must have nown the —— from his boyhood. I took my little bit of embroidery out of my basket. It was one of my numerous innings a new style of in! which don’t often go beyond the preliminary e. threaded my needle carefully with silk of the wrong color and begana bit of ascroll. Every stitch had to come out when I took up my work again this morning. Idon’t seem to have known what color I was using. “Miss Hatrell.” he said at last, ‘when is this marriage to be? I beoeyeece oe he — — my wee jough he put his question rather vaguely. | “don't know. re is no date fixed yet. “Ages in a young lady's vocabulary generally mean weeks. There is no date fixed? But the marriage is fixed,I suppose. The: is ro doubt as to tha’ ‘No,” Ianswered resolutely. ‘There is no doubt; there never has been any doubt; there is no room for doubt.” “You have never felt the slightest inclination to withdraw your promise, Such things have been done,you know,and in all honor, Better to discover now than later that your heart is not wholly given to your fiance—better for you, bappier for him. “ It is not ar honorable act to marry @ man yon do not love, only because you have promised rashly.” “Ihave promised and I mean to keep my word,” I answered, still resolute; and now the crimson finsh, the fiery heat of that fierce shame had cooled, and. I could feel from the faint sickness of my sinking heart that I must have turned deadly pale. “I have many ren- sons for being true to my promise which you cannot know, motives of gratitude, motives of affection. Iam not romantically in love with my fiance. I don't think there are many romantic marriages in our day. Girls have grown more sensible. They ni | their idens of life fro1 a Moore,” | I knew that I rattling on in a most ridiculous way. by€1 felt constrained to talk. | It was ny oniy ryeans of hiding my confusion, a kind of cuttleffish vivacity, by which I hoped to hide my thofights in a cloud of words. Mr. Florestai leant his arms upon the table where my book\ and work were scattered, and watched my fac\garnestly while I spoke, a8 if he was reading ti ughts behind all my foolish babbie. “You are not romantic: future,” he repeated slowly, “buat you have promised to be his wife, and you mean to keep Your promise. You are perfectiy contented with your lot. I think that is the gist of what you have just said to me. Miss Hatrell, That is what you mean,” bis I answered stiffly, ‘that is what I in love with your mean. “Then Ican only ask you to pardon my im- pertinent questioning, and wish you good bye.” e said. rising slowly. and taking his hat, which he had pnt upon the bench beside him, “I shall go to Scotland tonight.” He held out his hand and I gave him mine without a word, I wonder whici was the colder. 1 thought of Mrs. Browning's simile of the stone in the brook, Ah; if my hand could have lain in the hollow of his comfortably, as his possession, with what wild happiness this heart would have beaten. We parted so, with a most admirable gravity. Sir Charles Grandison and Miss Byron could not have behaved any better in a similar sitna- tion. And then, all at once. aa I heard his foot- step griuding the gravel. Satan got hoki of me and Tran after him, I did more than run flew. He was walking very fast and I only caught him within a few paces of the gate which opens out of the shrubbery into the road close to his own domuin. “Mr, Florestan,” I gasped, too breathless to say more. “OR. FLORESTAN,” I GASPED. He turned and faced me, still with that Grandisonian gravity. “T hope you are not angry with me,” I said, inanely, “Angry! What right have I to be angry?” re- turned he. “I ventured, perhaps over boldly, to ask a question. You have answered it frankly and that isthe end. Whatever hope led me to you this morning is a hope that has van- ished.” Nothing less than the knowledge that you are unhappy in your engagement to Mr. Arden would justify ine in telling you what I might tell if (pasoet would allow. Ob, Daisy, Daisy,” he cried, clasping my hai changing in one insiant from Grandison to the most animated and imp: sioned of men, “‘wny do you tempt me to say what were better unsaid—if—if you have really made up your miud? Don’t trifle with me; don't fool me. Oh. I think I understand you. I know what women are, even the best of them. You are going to marry Cyril Arden, but you wonld like, just for sport, to know bow hard hitiam, Very hard hit. Daisy. The rrow has gone homie to its mark, and it is a poixoned dart that will leave its veuom in the wound tor many and many « year. Is it not n happy you will make another man me. He took me in his arms and held me to his heart and kissed my forehead and my hair - kissed me, Cyril’s promised wife—and [ let him, out of shee broken down with woe to make a good fight for honor. “Dear love, break this foolish engagement; scatter your precipitate vows to the winds. It will be better for everybody--for Arden, whom you don’t care about. for me, who adore you, nd even for your sweet, sweet self. whose | heart beats throb for throb with mine -like the rival engines which will be raciug to Scot- land through summer night, one of them carrying me away trom yo Thad recovered my senses by this time, and wrenched myself from his arms. “How cruel of you to take such advantage of my helplessness,” I said, trying to smooth foun, the Andy curls upon “my poor ill-used jforehead. ‘Sir Charles wouldn't have done j such a thing.” “Sir Charles! me mad. “Tam very sorry that I was so foolish as to follow you, I said. *Thore was really no rea- son for my doing such an absurd thing. Only I wished to part friends.” “That means you are obdurate to both your victims. You will marry Arden—not caring a straw for hizn—and you will break my heart, caring perhaps just a little more than a straw for me.” “Yon are very impertinent for making such a suggestion.” Isaid, with all the hauteur I could summon to my voice and countenance, and it is very difficult for a girl of my dispo- sition to sunimon any, é The tairy wne ought to have snpplied me with feminine dignity and proper seif-respect must certainly have taken offense atmy christen- ing. for I feel myself ey deficient in those qualities, and I really think the want of | them 1s worse thana spindle through one’s hand. Worse than a spindle. Worse than an | after-dinner nap of acentury. What if 1 were | to sleep for a hundred years and Gilbert Flores- tan were to wake me, “in that new world which is the old!” Ab, why have we no fairies new? Why has life no swect surprises? Why has everything in my life gone wrong? He did not notice my reproach. “Is there no hope, Daisy,” he asked, pro- nouncing my name as if he had never been ac- customed to address me by any other. “LT have told you that i mean to be true to my promise," Isaid. “I am ashamed o! self for having given you the idea that I ibly waver, he eckoed, doubtless thinking would have myself by my own | conduct three minutes before. I turned and pica ed Os Sect ates oe ate eee, 2 it - pad ate dryes' most mi ol books table, read and read and read tor am hour ends till mother came to look for me, and to me 20 longer take | Sir Charles | @ pleasure, my sweet one, to kuow that in mak- 4 misery. [ was too completely | lace as Gretna Green left for true lovers in unromantic age.” I felt that he would never more have a good or proper opinion of me. I felt that if he had hada sister turn out like me he would have considered her a disgrace to the family. I'was more completely miserable than I had ever been since those weary days at Westgate-on- Sea, when the cps d of my father's death was anew thing and when I was parted from m: mother, A kind of helplessness and a duil aching sense of degradation had taken hold of me and the worst of all was that for the first time inmy lifeI dared not confide in my mother. We sat opposite each other at the Juncheom table, neither of us caring to eat; she low-spirited about my stepfather, who was buried in his book room over at the cottage, I dumb and despairing. When the silence was at last broken it was that dear mother of mine who broke it in just the way which of all others jarred upon my irritated nerves. “Daisy,” she said, “it is absolutely necessary to arrive at some definite idea about your mar- riage. Cyril has been pleading with me very earnestly. poor fellow. He is tired of his soli- tary existence in chambers, tired of bachelor amusements. He is reaily very fond of you and he wants to begin his domestic life.” Aud then she went onin her sweet, tender way, which brought the tears into my eyes, to remind me that. though very young, I am no younger than sho was when she cast in her lot with my father. and to tell me again. as sho has¢o often told me. how completely happy her wedded lite was, ‘The moreshe snid about that perfect union the more imiserabie I felt, until ) at last the tears rolied down my cheeks and my | handkerchief became a mere wet rag. and I felt that if 1 was like any bride at all it was the mourning bride in somebody's play, of whom | alll know is that her existence gave occasion for a much-quoted line about music and an over-pratsed descriptive passage about a tem- le. “Do you think you could make up your mind to be married in the autumn, Daisy?” mother asked, at last. I believe she took my tears to be only the expression of a general soft-hearteduess— | there are some girls whose eyes brim over at a tender word—and not as indicative of sorrow, for she asked the question quite cheerfully. “Which antamn?” inquired J. “This coming autumy, naturally.” er, that would be direct! . We are only in July. We were to fix upon Octover for the wedding, That would give us tnree months for your trousseau, Allother things are ready. Your charming rooms in Grosvenor Square, and at | least half this house. Your stepfather and I | will be over-housed even then, especially as Ambrose does not love this place, and would like to travel during some part of every f Yes, there is room enowgh for us | “and as tor the trousseau { dou’t care a straw about it, You have dressed me so well ail my | fe that I never hanger for new clothes. It is | only the badly dressed girls who are eager for wedding finery,” ave the trousseau to me, then, Daisy,” j said mother, “and Iwill take care that it is worthy of the dearest girl in the world. I may tell Cyril that he shail begin his new life be- | fore the end of October, may I not?” “Tell him just what you | swered. with a hi ‘uppose an- “You is right.” ¥ minutes afterward to go back to the garden, I felt a restlessness which made it impossible for me to stay in the house, a perpetual fever and worry which seemed a part of the heavy burden that weighed on my spirsts, And, oh, I had been su happy, so lappy in that very garden only a year ago. want to do what is right. “If I made a mistake about my own feelings at Torcello it is not right that another should saffer ior my thonghtiessness and folly. I gave my promise far too lightly. It never occurred to me how solemn a thing it is to pledge one’s love for a lifetime. I was rather pleased to be engaged, to have Cyril for my own property, and when. ever doubtings or questionings arose in my mind I told myself that as time went on and we grew older Ishould grow more and more attached to him. being reelly very fond of him in a sisterly kind of way to begin with. Only when we were leaving Paris did I. discover how dreadfully I had misread my own heart, for then only did I know what love—such loveas mother felt for her sweetheart—really means, It was just in one moment, im that parting at the station, that the dreadtui truth flashed upon me. Oh, the heartache of parting, the look m his eyes which seemed to plead for pity, to urge me to bo brave and cast off the pretence ot love and own boldly to the reality, He was not openly dishonorable: he waited for me to break my bonds. He could not know how strongly I was bound in gratitude and family love, as well as iu honor, to Cyril. No- body except mother and Ican ever know how much I e to Uncle Ambrose. No, there is no possibility of-revoking my promise, and Cyril is all that s good and true, and I daresay my life will be very happy with him. [ have but to forget those two short weeks in Paris, and this morning in the arbor, and his t when he left me. Not much surely to for, seeing how mnch women do forget nowad seeing how quie mothers forget their lost children, and sons and danghters their par- ents, and the most sorrowfn! widows the hus- bands they once adored. Forgetfulness must be easicr than it seems to one, while memory is still fresh. I went back to the house, too restless to stay | long anywhere, and on my way to the hail | door I was startied by a most hateful appari- | tion in the person of that odions Frenchman | who attacked me in Church stre seemed to have interwoven h: lives by his persistent appea father’s charity. he Uncle Ambrose is: and yet 1 should [have givep him credit for more tirrancss of mind than to allow himself to be hunted down by a ne'er-do-weel of this kind. The man was coming from the gate toward the hail door | when we met face to face, and he looked con- | siderably abashed at encountering me. [os fee! ashamed of yours “Yes, Dam the” lad: “you ARE MISS BATRFLL,” che faltered, looking an absolute craven. “Yes, Iam Miss Hatrell, What do you want at my mother’s house?” “f want to sce—my employer—-your step- father.” He said those two words, “My employer” in Q most detestable manner, for the man for whom he worked, and by whom he had no doubt been liberally paid, “Mr. Arden is over the way, at his cottage,’ Isaid. “Yon can go to him there if you like. { zoe will not be admitted into my ‘mother's jose.” He looked at me from head to foot with a very insolent expression, but as Mis eyes met mine his countenance changed suddenly, and there was more of fear than of insolence in his look, His color faded to a sickly lor and he turned on his heel abruptly, mutterin; something which I did not hear. He walke uickly back to the gate and went out, and the shrug of his shoulders as he swung the gate open might mean anything in the world, My boudoir window overlooks the lane and I saw bim nearly an hour afterward leavo the cottage, He looked both angry and crestfallen; and I fancy UnclaAmbrose had not proved so amenable as the applicant had expected. I wonder whether he mentioned our meet- j No matte OFF THE CUAST OF ALBANIA, & Visit to Historic and Interesting Corfu. SAILING AMONG THE BABIES OF THE IONIAN ISLES—THE MAGNIFICENT VILLA OF THE EM- PRESS OF AUSTRIA—INTERESTING COSTUMES OF THE PEOPEE. Special Correspondence of Tax Evexrxo Stan Conrv, March 1% HE day before we left Naples we be- came very much interested in the conversation between an American and an Englishman who sat near us at our table d’hote. The subject was Admiral Walker and his fleet, which had ar- rived the day before. John Bull did not under- stand why the United States, now that they had & pretty little toy, wanted to expose themsélves to ridicule by sending the rattlers all over the world to dare the foreign powors to touch them now. “But,” he added, “that is the way with your government; one set of men save a heap of money and fill your treasury to overflowing, the next set scratch their heads and plan how they can spend it.” The Italian government would allow only three of our beautiful toys at one harbor ata time, so one was sent to Castel-a-Mare. But as we left the city Sunday morning and saw our stars and stripes flying just as gracefally as though under the American sky, we wiped our eyes and shook hands all around. The journey across Italy to Brindisi, twice over the Apennines,was as interesting as it was wonderful, and when we arrived at Brindisi and boarded the Austrian Lloyd steamship for this paradise we most devoutly wished that Uncle Sam had sent us slong in the Boston. BEAUTIFUL SCENERY. Some of the passengers may be able to tell you when we sighted land. I can’t; sea sick- ness is my master, and it was not till 11 o'clock Monday morning that I could get up on deck, and then we were beyond troubled waters and all miseries left us. On one side of us the coast of Turkey rose and fell like waves of the ocean, for the Albanian mountains are very beautiful and the little Turkish villages nestled here and there in the valleys mzde one not surprised that the government is so strict in allowing strangers to step on their soil—the peace and harmony must not be broken, As we steamed along the blue water, as clear and sparkling as champagne, in and out the little islands—*The Babies of the Tonian Jsles” they are called—the glorious present was more than sufficient. After this we cannot be surprised at the glories of nature. Nothingean be more grand, more gentle, more magnificent than the scenery along the coasts of Turkey (Albania) and Corfu, THE TOWN OF CORFU is beautifully situated and is itself avery queer, picturesque city—and the people! Their cos- tumes are fearfully and wonderfully made. The women, no matter how common, are beantiful, and withont exception those who live just out of the city are dressed in the prettiest dresses it has been our fortune to see, ifa woman is digging the earth around the grape vines, whether she is spin- ning her flax with her little hand loom or sit- ting under « heavy-laden orange tree khitting, she bas on the costume of the country and her veil thrown back, or brought across her face below her nose. her hair wound around her bead in immense coils, which in their turn are twisted around wide red ribbons, her little gilt- braided sack loosely fitting over a full white waist, a pleated bine skirt and always a checked apron: well. perhaps their dresses help to make them beautiful, but dress can’t make | a straight nose; and their noses are all straight. ‘The men are perfect pictures in their way, too, with their short, fil skirts. and the beautiful gold-braided jackets, their red sashes and goats’ hair cloaks, ‘Then every man weara a fez, whether he be a gentleman or a laborer. latter's costume differa inasmuch as his skirts are blue and less full and are fastened about his legs so that the effect is more as though he wore Turkish tronsers, THE EMPRESS’ NEW VILLA. The empress of Austria is having a villa built on the top of a hill just outside the little town of Gastouri, and we drove there yesterday, ‘The roads are in perfect condition and we have come to the conclusion this must have been the Garden of Eden, We passed through miles of olive groves, and watched with hungry eyes the crowded orange trees, whose fruit has no equal save in Jaffa, Corfu oranges and those of Jaffa are the best in the world. Upon arriving at the terrace gate we en- countered soldier guards as well as large printed notices, ‘No admission.” Just then an Austrian count alighted from his carriage. Our companions, Herr Hauptman, a D. U., and his wife were recognized. Salutations and a gracious permission followed. We entered the grounds and walked over and around the won- derful place: stood on the marble terrace, leaned over the marbie railing and saw from on high the same view which enchanted us from shipboard last Monday, only this was more extensive and perhaps more beautiful. A BUSY SCENE, 5 There were, perhaps, two hundred menand women at work, carrying mortar, laying bricks, setting marble steps and raising statues, ing out the waiks all the way down to the shore, trimming the rose bushes and training the vines, It was like a little world in itself. The women carried the stoves and mortar on their heads, in baskets or in tubs. Their white veils aud turbans were just as orderiy as thongh they were in their houses tending the babies. Speaking of babies, where are they? We havo ee over the town and suburbs and have not seen one baby. tor at Naples there were hundreds too many. The villa of the empress will, when done. be one of the finest residences in the world. not Jone on account of its unsurpassed location, the house and grounds selves, It seemed more as though it were being done by one of the old Roman emperors, and we w mong, for months past, were ever of more maguificent buildings than this is to be. IN TEN YOARS’ TIME, The empress will be here in November. She may weil be envied this earthly possession, It will be world renowned and wonderful beyond words, Even now as I write there is a great chatter in the street below—loads of long of iron are being taken through the town, the hills, to use in the empress’ villa. Ten years from now Corfu will be a noted and fash- iovable winter resort, Then strangers, like ourselves, will not be stared at, they will be too common, TURKISH COYFER. We took coffee ala Turk. It was brought to us in tiny cups on little trays and we swallowed the stuff as we would mud pies, and soon we realized why the cups were so small. The coffee is 80 pure, so strong. so unadulterated with water, for only enough is put in @he cup of powdered Mocha to thoroughly wet it, that it acts as a stimulant, and we felt as though we were under the influence of opium or some re- viving drag not at atl ‘heady,” but so satisfy- ing. We don’t want to leave here, but we are due | at Athens Sunday, the 16th, and the fourteen hours’ sail through tranquil seas will take us only to Patras, from there via rail to Athens, We have a Danish count in our hotel here who has brought his invalid wife, hoping the mild and beautiful climate will give her new life. He is much agitated, however, not on ac- count of the illness of his better half, but be- cause he cannot, through his consul here, the Russian emperor, orsome other influence, get permission to land at Albani, for he wants to xo over there to hunt. How easy it is for men mplying contempt | to reconcile themaeives. to the inevitable in hai some ways, and when a wife is provided with a maid, a trained nurse, medical attendance, the best rooms in the best hotel, who could be mean enough to wonder why the husband | would rather spend those last days of his countess wife with the wild animals of the Albanian mountains rather than with her? L.M.D.C. ———+e+ — Written for Tur Evenrxe Stan. Seaside House at Sunset. Tho balanced sun and moon in heavens retard ‘The ebbing tide of daylight in the red Sun galeries of the inn, with its home-bred Comforts and luxury to a wandering bard. ‘Two lovers pacing the long colonnade Gaze on the blue and tumbling sea ahead, Heediess of ali the loungers, who, instead Of firting, ct a sea-coal fire wink hard. Here men remote from the great fields of strife, Find ease’and comfort, freedom and repose, Here, too, the gentle maiden and the wife Both read and revol in luxurious woes, And childreu racing through the halls are rife ‘With all enjoyment that mere childhood knows. The | It seems strange, | dered if, the ruins we had been wandering | AUCTION SALES. FUTURE Days. FS SALE AT PUBLIC AUCTION OF Tie No BUS EASY CAPITOL virtue of that certain Tiber No. 30, foie No. Oct seqr ef aie aod tee gords of the District of Columbia, we will sell st pub- The ig frout of the premises on WEDNESDAY, ALP Pee pond DAY OF APRIL. AD. 1890, AT 2) of Grant's seven AUCTION SALES.__ ELLING OUT. 8 ‘The entire Stock. consisting of Purnitare, Storm, Matting. Out Cloth, Campers, Greceri-n Re uel os Sm Tine of New snd Second-band oo carry ine of New on whit sit soll for whatever they prin Once and take sdwanuage of such tance are too late. = i G W. STICKNEY, Auctioneer, 036 F st, TAUSTEES SALE VER) TENDED AND “APuING STRELL. IN THE COUNTY OF WASHINGTON, D.C. Ry virtue of a decd of trust onded 1 ber N 1348 follo $56, oneof the land Rreonde nf the Disteeck and theses, t will offer & DAY, the 1 AD! 1890, fol EDWARD oe ap4-d HALBEKT FE. the request of the party secured Urentes, FEB: GALLAUDET, iAL _PalNe, a ALTER B WILLIAMS & CO, Auctioncera VALUABLE IMPROVED PROPERTY FRONTING ONG STREET BETWEEN FO) . errs STREETS NOKTHWEST ar AUCTION, dO. THURSDAY, APRIL TENTH, AT HALF-PAST Fite OLLoCR B. + We shall soll, in frout of the Premises, TI nt Brick Dwelling, with back building, containing tweive rooms and_bati Toom, with all modern upprovementa. Lot 26 fect inch by 100 feet deep to alley, making it desira- ‘those in. b uable property, Sale. 13 front of the TY-FOUKIH Day pumbered from’ ove Lewis’ subdivision of part of on the north of Spring union jrith 14th street extended, excepting the portion of ‘1 inclusive, heretofore ai . benny Esho S08 end Gy deed of eaie: One. gne (2) and two (2) years, with interest at the ra ai Der anvnim, or ail cash,at the opt a deposit will I required at the p int of notes interest from bya a ding et par da: ‘sale and secured deed of trust on property | ¢: 8 2 selon Ail couyesancia Rey at purehesers "oom | Guan’? front, Term FOALS down on day of eud if terms of sale are not | erty will be resold cr ot defaulting pure complied with within 10 days trom day of sale the p tf ay i erty will be resoid at risk and cost of defaulting pi ry} wal chaser. WALTEK B. WILLIAMS & Co. at-6t Aucthoncers. oz Te ABONE ®ALE 18 POSTPOXED bunt of the weather to SATURDAY. MARC 1800, AT SAME HOUL AND Pach. s2outhat ©. MUARMSTRONG, Trostes, ON Ac. FURST, 1, US00. a! Se-THE PURCHASES AT THE ABOVE ADVER- AM, wo shail seil, at o tined male having taised tocompiy with the terms ot room, corner of 10th st and Peunsylvania avenue | ils hehe wall be 4 north west, a xtock of the shove named articles par- Taos ay ThE cable Boece SPAN tally @uumerated, damage: Bre and wat ud re- _ “y mavedo ‘OUF salesfooIn Tor convenieuce of su! ot CM. ABD ING, Trusten, OF TRREF STORY BRR erms: Cash. WALTER B WILLIA&S & — ESTRUEL NOKCHWEST ad-4t Auctioneers, On FRIDA NOON, APRIL ELEVENTA, RUSTEDS BALE AT PUBLIC AUCTION OF | )Qup et reanes i Tiwetixd Wobatt FEBS ACST APITUL | goontons poy ca” a F ‘virtoe of that certain deed of trust to as, re- | Fronting 16 seesiy ton eee —_— corded in Liber No. 672, folio teeq., of the Jand | AN fet G irene. Thien So Sum at d by a thrre-mtory pene weer tee Peet, where property is records of the District of Coluunbia, we will sell at mablic avction an iront of the p AY the SIXTEEN Brick with business cei mises on WEDNI:3- AY OF APKIL, OCK P.M. at HALE-PAS I FC > ie “Jerme! Oued eae thirteen (13) of Graut's recorded subdieisi years. to bear numbered seveu Buudred and sixty (100 scoured of Washington, D.C. | large snd desirable Brick dous requirsd at purchaser ays, oth Terms of sale third cas rh from, the day of will be taken, or nition hy resale 1m poIue mews; 2 D.C. DUNCA! at Of sw ashingte api-d&ds y At the Option of the A deposi archaser. 4 will be required of the purchaser at the tue 0 EDWAKD M. GALLAUDET, apa-d HALBE PAINE, rpromas DOWLING, Auctioneer, aier pul BUS Bi . otek Auictioneeia. USE NO. 468 N STREET _— 1WO BRICK BOLsts IN OON, APRIL TENTH, il sell im iromt of the 503, with a depth of ey. improved by a lance 46 Nstevet, co sel at pabine rod atten Rc on TUr Ge r. v sare anoane — years, AP LAKT OF beer aul Payable sen Lot NUM 6D oe AN SQUARE FoOUw dsecured by dead of i. HUNDKED AND FIG. EVEN (297), being the pure ‘haser. A t south 19 feet 23g in a of said Lot Uy’ the dopt 4 thereof, improved by # 4 wo-stozy and Basement Brick we How Tomiie of sale: One-third cash; balance in two Met Mh sole, abie in one dod two years from » deed of trust on the property, S., nets jo fon. Depoait of $200 - {rau of sae are not com: Satin, weal at rimk and a STAPLE GhoceRtrs. W. iL. SHOLLS, Trust Cort 3-dkde E u \HOMAS DOWLING, Auctioneer, VALUABLE RESIDENCE STE FOUND iN Flist EVERY CLASS F. Atso USDA, Bh ABOUT TEX CORDS WoL, LOT COAL AND Lot FIVE O'CLUCK P.M, i froi pr i . Meta bay AL ull bel, the West iwinty-ahe eet ch bot i, ia Fe ae SEVESTE, DAL ve Square 215, by a cepth of Lud feet 1d hes, 1 + ’ A 4 4 . Proved by siuail Frame diouse, now renung ior @z0 | #4) MGM sskeET SOUTHWEST, per Month. Ss ‘Terms: One-third cash; iulance yeais, with interest, the property, or ail'c uw . i. AT TWELS & O'CLOCK M, aa cg Bear pyr gend LARGE SORKIN. HOKSL, SUITABLE FOR DELIV- | pAND TO THIS SALE THE. TION OF THE TKAL -4t T HOMAS DOWLING, Auctioneer, — ATTES- veks. . This proy s beautifull f cur best nelanborhoods and should ention of those in search of Vaiuabie THOMAS DOWLING, Auctioneer. USTEES' SALE OF VALUABLE TRAC LAND ON THE FAST SIDe OF THE EAS BRANCH OF THE POTOMAC FRON LING ON CATALOGUE SALE or MISCFLLANEOUS BOOKS, AG T p39 tain deed of 7 et we trust duly recorded in the jand records of the request of the holders y secured, we will sell ut public © valuable CONFEDERATE PUBLICATIONS AND OTEEB AMERICANA, Comprising sc nd att mises, on TUESDAY, THE And also the istriet of Coin , 7 Kuo as Spring Vale" oF Basley"e Par. ne: eee bevinuing ata stone on the west side of the b 2 Brauch road, being the siutheast corner of the f , Cn enceent-ommatiion) Goxtoes oust 24 and 28 200 ee ee OF THE LATE JUDGE CUPPEY, Soociens: Cemee asain ‘nd & portion of the Library of the iste FATHER McNALLY, To take place at my AUCTION ROOMS, ELEVENTH STREET aND PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE, WASHINGTON, D.c, TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY AND THURSDAY, APRIL EIGHTH, NINTH AND TENTH, 1890, AT SEVEN O'CLOCK P.M x West 2S perches: thence. ‘nor = and 68-100 perches to the cet rack of the Baithinore and Potomac railroad: thence with the center line of the track of suid railroad south grees west th perches; thence south od! degree G perches: thence south 62 degrees wes By dexress West G perc ves west Gperches: thence south Gexrees west 6 perches to the bastert Brauch ri thence foliow nue the line of the river sont ezrees West 10 perches Y degiees weet 10 perches, thence su | thence somih 4 de | Ista degrees west ¢ — THOMAS DOWLING, om ae a Auctioneer, JV ALTER B WILLIAMS & CO, Auctioneers VALUABLE IMPROV “PROPERTY Firdat £ NOKTH VES? APKIL NINT Ag dexrees west ime of Che Matson’s line. nh y line south 61g cagroce east 120, on the west side ot Cot Lexi On WEDNEST PAST FIVE 0 ase money in or Within tweuty days there. awd pact o three equal payments in six, epnoveRd Hse Ab Uuesection, Term ~ apodids e | avcurr:, DARK RY BRIC K HOUSE f NORTHEAST o a WILLIAM WE HENKY A LING! f orien *S SALE OF VALTABLE UNIM ber cet PERTY, BEING SUBLUT Ao. 4 gpm pene j Ot ale arte not com By virtue of adeoree of the Supreme Con District of Columbia, passed in Pquity. € 12261, im which Wm. H. Powell et al. pisinents and Sarsh A. Wolhaupter et al. cre a Jerdants, I will seil at public suction, in front of SIX. advertiaen Paper publisued 8200 Upou acorpta St the cost of purchaser. the premises, on WE RYON, ~ TEENIH, 1800, at FIV the tei. BULK R. TRacy,s Trustees, lowing dgreribed “real ot 45 of | BATCLIFFE, DARK & CO.. Aucts apzdicae Lot No. 27, in square x0. beginning tor che same | ——~ 5 aixty-thi Auctioneers, (63) feet irom Pierce sureet ou the west i eunny lvanie ave, B.w, ATCLIFFE, DAKK & NE North aionz the R oF TRUSTEES: SALE oF ABLE ILDING a LOIS IN ALLEY Be AND 1 SiXiME ‘Lerms of sale: Ov ind oi the purchase money in b UU A MEAST cash, end the balance in two equal installments in six uly recorded 10 “Liver (ahd twelve’) months, with mverest at six (G) Per wey..ote of the lat forthe | posit or Sit Tequited at tinie of sale,end the | rout of the preuises, on MUNDAY, Lilt POUR | trustee reserves the rizus to resell at the risk akcee OF AYE, Asy), AT FIVE Ocoee FA Parts of original Lots numbered forty-one (41) and forty-two (4%) in square numbered elit bundred and seventy-eight (87S), begining for the sane at the southwestern corner of smd sot numbered forty-one TULMINg Bort cloug the line of tue pub- ~#1X (46) feet aud three (3) inches; thence mared ced, Shirty-2wo ) feet inc! of the defaniting px com pled with on tel ‘after sale. SAMUEL C. MILLS, Trasteo, 617 La ave. nw. (41); thence MINISTRATOR'S SALE OF HOUSEHOLD FUR- | pust one: bu NITURE, CARPETS, &c. i four “and ‘ove-ulf, (434) 3 By virtue of an order of the Supreme Court of the Dis- | forty-ai (46) 1eet aud three(3) inches: thence west ole trict of Columbia biulding a special terui for Orpbaee | busied una thictetwe (Ss inet atl heat aod weet Guart pustues{ will alt at public auction on 1ULS- | balf G9 inches to the’ place of bewtiniug, to-etbee PAY MOKMING, LIL RICHIE, commencing at | with ail ad singuiar thelnprovemscnis, rit, Ac, 00 EN 1 y ctoR rvoms: Darr same belousing oF in y Wise appertais Fy 920 Pena venue aurthwest, ot House: | "Terms: One-thin casks balance sax and twelve hold Furniture, . mon:hs: 6 per cent: secured. by ot trust om ‘Vers cas. Droperty sold; of all casi, at option of purchaser. If Administrator of Bphralia French neoreesa, | Sones maser ee Shae eal dhe promerey ee of Ephraiia Frenc Trustees Teserve ve ‘ RATCLIFEE, DARKE COnt | the rick aud cont of the deteuitine purchaact- efter ave ‘a ae Woon ne. ‘h depoatt of 100 rapon acceptaD HOMAS DOWLING, Auctioneer. ci bad All Souvegamcings ae econ rrchamer aoe = . Hoey VALUABLE UNIMPROVED LOTS ON CALLAN, K Gui REPEriLs Trustoca Ae ee rat SYNDICATE. contests) On MONDAY, APRIL TEE! 890, BALE PART FOUK OCOCK 2 Miz thous of ene cas Sanaa fie qua DAY ibs. Aa PAST Th Ee newn as Lot numbered bor ision of revervstion numbered OL, having & front om eeu Feu ‘treet between by depth of 100 feet