X'uder the Lamps at Scarborough.
'I hardly' know how I came to be
Scarborough at all. but there I was.
am an asy sort of man. I am afraid, in
deed that I have been cany, and, so to
peak, the sport of circumstances all my
life, and it haa not been a very long one
yet. At any rate, I found myself there,
on a sweet .September night, leaning oyer
the wall of Sna Promenade, and starinjr
daughter ? And then I wondered wheth
er it might be possible that, for a certain
sura per annum, Lady Nugent would le
mc off. And here the little . rows of
twintdice gas jets in the bands' pavillioo
at i having sprung up long ago, f and the
I ! chandalier glittering inside there came a
crash of brass instruments, followed by
the softest and eweetest of Gounod's
"Arias." . .,
"Ah, well, did it matter much, after
all, how -my life was settled? Vas it
worth while struggling about it?. , All
those dreams of mine were myths some-
out seaward. IJeuiud, me tne .lumps were , ining mac comes in tne springtide ot
only just lighted, but I had seen that the youth when the imagination overflows;
amphitheatre seats were occupied, and by I something dreamed of in all men's lives,
the iucrease of rustling, and footsteps be-: but never realized."
Cecile was fond of me ; ' I had no dis
like to her. 1 would bo crood to her of
hind, I knew that the promenade was
filling. .
Still I stared out seaward listening to
the slush f th j waves in the bay, and
thought how much rougher and grander
they would be on the other side of Castle
Cliff.
" I wonder what I came for ? " I said
o myself. " I don't know a soul here
except the Xugcnt3, and they will think
I followed them, and then"
" So you did follow as, after all, Rob
ert ?"
I confess that my start was more vio
lent than the calm, ladylike tones seemed
to warrant ; the fulfilment of my prognos
tication came upon mc suddenly. It was
my aunt, Lady Nugent, who spoke, and
with her there was her daughter, my
cousin Cecile, csmmonly called Cis, whom
I had an -uneasy presentment that-1 was
one day destined, to marry.
" How are yoTi aunt
wanted to see her j so I said to myself.
There can be nothing wrong in looking
at a beautiful picture : and she could
Deyer be anything more to me, since was
I not already appropriated ? ,
The sentence was very bitter to me
now ; I had lost all of my passive sub
mission to my fate. At times, indeed,
the elements ot stroug lWbellion rose up
within me, aud I said to myself that I
would be free ; and the next moment
there would be the conscionsness of La
day Nugent's voice in my car and a paw
figuratively upon my shoulder. Mean
time I only wanted to see her, to be from
time to time a little nearer to this beauti
ful , unpainted picture, where there was
no harm iu looking at, which I saw in my
dreams, and when I awoke from them,
which I never utterly lost, eren when
? Good evening,
Cis," I stammered, facing round. "So, j " O, please llobert I" ,
1 don't know that I have followed you j I don't know whether I was idiot
exactly ; but I am here, you see. How j enough to take this plaintive " Robert"
do von like it ? " ' to myself, instead of apply insr it to the
course ; we might get on as well as other I Ladv Xusrent and my cousin were with
there me. no was she f V here did she come
after, from? Were her fiiends rich ? I hardly
j know why; but I thought not; I rather
preferred that they should not be. And
': yet,, after" all what could it matter to
me ?
I This was how I came back vith a sigh
;' to the actual position of affairs to find
j myself turning unwillingly from the open
promenade into the Spa Concert Room.
faint cry I thought it was made me i with cousin Cecile and Ladv Nusent I
turn sharply to my right. I saw at first j dare say the concert was very fine that
ouly a perambulator., with a pale, childish j night ; Cecile said it was. I only knew
face looking anxiously over the. side, and j that I had not the least idea what it was
then I was aware of a dog, a little bigger j all about, and that when everybody was
than a respectabje rat, limping about j waiting in intense expectation . for the
amongst the legs that thronged theproui- ! appearance of the great star of the even-
i ing, it suddenly struck me with a sharp
said f pang "suppose they are gone away alto
face. j"gether?"
couples did. Down : at Nnarcnt
would be for me the estate to see
to fay nothing "of hunting, ehootin$r aud
fishing. Oh, no doubt we rniff-ht do very
j well without the enchanted light that
came only iu visions, it 1 could have
had the light, so much the better ; but
perhaps no one ever did have it in reality.
As 1 thought thus, something a little
enaUe.
" The wheel has gone over it,'
the voice belonging to the childish
" We have been here so often, Cis and
I," said Lady Nugent, with a little shrug)
" but 'tis a charming place. And then the
flowers are so beautiful, and the music,
I always think there is something in the
music, and lights, and- the dim sound of
the waves that touches one's tender fcel
in'gs."
I believe I muttered internally, "Clap
trap ! " but visibly I asserted with a
sickly, smile ; for you see I was a little
afraid of Lady Nujrent, afraid of her at
. all times, but especially so when she titd i voice such as 1 thought I had never
the sentimental. She seemed, in a met- i looked upon or heard before ; and as I
aphorical sort of way, to have her paw
hid who propelled the perambulator:
an how I dived at once after the little
animal, picked it up" and restored it. I
was thanked; not by the childish face, but
by one bending over it; a face older;
with more color in the cheeks, with blue
gray eyes, and masses of sonny ha;r
drawn away from it not into the padded
abortiou which i3 so general, but into a
coil of sinning plaits, beautiful to look
upon. .
I was thanked, I say, by a face and
upon me.
There was
j raised my hat ana drew, back, my eyes
! met Lady Nugent s in her downward walk
not, and never had been, f and my heart sauk.
iujthing npproachicg to an engagement j' u.
Between Cecile and myself. In the days i " 'Tis jolly up here, isn't it ? Enough
gone by we had flirted a little, and been j to make a man wish life was all sea side
a little silly, perhaps very silly, but j and sunshine." - .
that was over. At least I thought so. ! I "lay on top of tha Castle Cliff with a
Six months ago, however, when I came cisrar in my mouth, and my friend Char
into my property, and became a Nugent j lie Ferrars was perched on the turf bc
of Nugent, my natural feelings of satis- j side me, holding his chin in his hands,
faction were damped in a very sudden and looking, to say the truth, rather dis
' and unloosed for manner by my aunt's ' contented than otherwise. Why he did
proceedings. . so, I did not know. Below us there was
It is rather a pleasant thing to find j the sea, sleeping in a golden haze, out of
.yourself a man of property, independent, ! which the sails shone like little immoVa
unfettercd ; the world all before you, and j ble white dots in the distant. There was
the future, with its nameless hopes and j not a cloud in the sky; and the sound of
possibilities, a book just opened, with its i the waves, if indeed it reached us at all
brightest pages unread. Under such cir- j reached us, as Lady Nugent said, "diui-
cumstaoces a young man will dream, and i ly.
his dreams will be sweet to him. He
will not reliab, any more than I did, the
sudden waking up to find, as it were, a
lasso thrown aboutum, and his fate set
tled. Not that my auut had any hold
upon me at all in reality, but then she
behaved as if she . had. Cecile and I
were treated with a sort of mysterious i lashing themselves against the wheels of his recollection.
petting, it was interred that there was your nacninc tin it tremDies again, anu t0 be sure
Lady Nugent, as I took my place. You
look as if you had seen a ghost.
They were looking at me curiously.
Lady Nugent slightly unquiet and search
ing j and a spirit of malice came upon
me. ; ..: -V; !- " ".' -
"I havo just met with the Vicar of
Nugent and his daughters," I retorted,
bravely,. "We walked about under the
lamps, - and I suppose I'm dazzled . a
bit ; that's all,
I"- . ' ' '
, 1 was holding silk for Constance Pen
ryn to wind ; Gypsy was dressing up
Topsy in a rod shail, much to his discom
fort, and Mr. Pcnryn wrote or tried to
write at a side table.
"I don't believe it sir," said Letty.
" I don't believe (be quiet, Top !) that
you ever wound silk before in your life ;
I dare say it wont be fit to use. Rut you
are so conceited. You know you thought
I meant you. when I called Robert to pick
up Topsy. You think everybody must
be thinking of you."
I laughed, and, the vicar just murmur
ed a WQrd or two of remonstrance ; but
he was busy. ,
You see it had come to this with me.
Lady Nugent never knew where my
mornings were spent. She was suspi
cious, I knew. She would, have watched
nie if she could, but that was not possi
ble; and in this case I was a match for
her cross-questioning.
"Wait till we get to Nugent," I said to
the small owner of the red shawl. "We
shall see if you dare call me names there,
where I am monarch of all I survey."
"Of course I shall," Ehe replied.
"And you won't be monarch of all you
survey, either. Rut Mr.' Nugent, by
the way, I have a great mind to call you
Robert."
"Do," said I.
"It would be fan," said slip. "What
j would they think at Nugent ? You really
mean to come there !" '.)- -"Certainly,"
I replied. ;
I "For good?" she asked
I "Well," said I, "I hope not for very
I bad.' ' l :
j "You know what I mean, sir," said she,
j "to settle down."
i "Yes, to settle down," said I.
j "We want a resident squire dreadful
j ly," said the young -lady, with great
j gravity ; "papa says so, but then papa
has an eye to subscriptions, and flannel,
j and good stuff of all sorts for the poor
( people. Now I (observe the difference!)
! simply think that you will let me go into
eye-brows in wonder at my want of taste, the park whenever I like, just a3 if it weie
but did not speak, and the next moment j my own."
I was out on the almost deserted promcn- 1 "Exactly," said I..
adc. with the cool salt? breeze on my fore-j "And all over the picture gallery,"
head, the stars beginning to come out j she continued, "and the drawi-ng-rooms,
overhead and the moon strarsiin; from and-
I I looked at Lady Nungent ; she was
I calm and pale; waiting; so was Cecil ;
j so was everybody waiting as though life
depended upon a tew shakes and trills,
and runs half a note higher tliau any
reasonable voice eould go. How hot I
was ! how suddenly impressed with the
nothingness and inconsequence of the
whole affair ! My picture !, my precious
unpainted portrait ! If that slipped away
from me, I saw, as I-had never seen be
fore, how terrible a blank it would leave
behind.
"'Tis close here," I sail to Cecile,
"awfully close. I wouder how you can
bear it."
'Is it ?" she said. "Perhaps so ! but
hush, Robert, she is coming on."
"Excuse me for five uiiuutes," I whis
pered: " my head aches." ,
Ccctle just looked at mc, raised her
behind a cloud to throw down a long
silver line across the water to its edge ;
and there, near the little pavillion, which
had no band in it to-night, I saw the
perambulator, the same lad propelling it,
my picture, and close beside her, tall,
black-coated, spectacled, I drew a long
breath. ..
The stars seemed to have come down
and got into my eyes ; the lamps danced
I "To the very store-rooms, if you like,
in spite of cross old housekeepers," I
f exclaimed.
j "Mrs. Crane is not a cross old house-
keeper," Baid Lett', indignantly. "She
I is a beautiful ohl lady, in black silk ?
: and a white cap ? Sh; is a great deal
j more dignified than you are." -;
"Very likely," said I. " I'll tell you
i what more you shall- do at Nugent-
into each other, like will-o'-the wisps gone i Should you like to go on tho river in a
boat r
mad : and the few occupiers of the seat
O, those waves! the delight of the J under tho colonnade became a confused
j sun glancing gold upon them ; the pleas- ' mass of dingy color. In another moment
: ure of the walk to the Northern Cliff, j I was shaking hands vigorously with the
! down the wooden steps and among the l"5lev. Richard Penryn, Vicar of Nugent,
sand t the machines; the forlorn gran- j blessing my memory, which never lost a
j denr of being as it were, put 'off to sea, j face when once seen, and explaining to
: and leu there ; the. white roils ot roam t the cerDlexed ciersrvman my claims upon i you say .'
j Jttty had come up ciose to me Djinis
"our i time, and was looking at me with an
rificed. Lady Nugent was -nothing to me
iu such a case 'as this. A little while
ago, it is true, I suffered myself to drift
sluggishly on in the way she wished me
to drift; but I was ignorant then. I knew
better now. Things are altogether differ
ent with me. I would brave my aunt; I;
would tell Cecile
At this point I stopped. The face of
my cousin came and looked at me from
beside the other one of my unpainted
pictures. It was not exactly like it used
to be ; . it had a worn look, an absent, wor
ried expression in the eyes ; and her
manner to me was .changed. It was im
patient and pettish. In spite of my pre
occupation I had noticed this, aud won-
-dercd. What if Cecile did care for me
after all in real earnest !
It was useless to say to myself, "I can't
help it ; it is not my fault ;" because to a
certain extent it was my fault. - Lady
Nugent had paraded us beforo the world
as lovers, and I had idly accepted the
position. I was to blame.
As I rang the bell at Providence Villa,
libit in myself that I was wretched; and
I felt also that, from a woman like my
aunt, no quarter was to be expected. I
felt this still more strongly when I went
into the drawing-room and saw her sitting
in a chair at the window, with her work
fallen idly upon her lap.
Lady Nugent was too busy a woman to
like idleness ; soruething her fingers must
do to keep up a sort of accompaniment to
the thoughts which she was forever turn
ing over in her brain. It was omi
nous, therefore, to see her this evening
with those same rapid fingers tightly in
terlaced, while : the lips that opened to
speak to me seemed thinner and sterner
than ever.
i "lou are coming to walk with us,
i Robert, 1 suppose V , she said. "It is
! early yet ; but, perhaps," Cecile will not
! go ; and if so, I shall not leave her." .
! "Not go?" I stammered. ."Why ?"
"She has a headache,-' replied my aunt
! briefly.
! "I am sorry," said I, "Cis is not given
to headaches.
"No, she is -not; but Cecile has not
been well lately ; something is wrong. I
don't know whether you know what it is,"
said my aunt, severely; "but I da not.
You might have noticed her paleness;
but I dare say you haven't. I suppose a
mother's eye is the keenest, although one
would have thought "
She broke off abruptly, stiil looking at
me with a sort of contemptuous question
ing, and I was obliged to confess that I
had thought Cecile was looking ill.
"Exactly, Robert; she does look ill,"
said my aunt. "She frightened me last
night, and I do not easily take fright. If.
you two had any foolish quarrel, but
there, I must leave you to settle it for
yourselves ; only, if you can pursuade
Cecile to go out to-night, instead of mop
ing at home, I think it would be better
fiTr her. It is useless for me to speak, I
know ; but she will listen to you."
This was pleasant. - I heard tho re
treating footsteps, and could have stamped
my own foot at tbein in despair. I had
a horrible conviction that a crisis must
come, nay, had come already ; and how
tt. ...a 111
was 1 to meet it..:- ir x couiu nave gone
"I should think so, rather," said Let- j Up to Cecile, and spoken to her ealmly ;
ty
"Very well," said I, "I shall have oue
built, a real clipper ; and there shall be
crimson cushions for it; and we'll call it
'The Gypsy,' iu honor of you. What do
he said at last.;
a secret understanding between us, which only tho great waste of waters glittering ; new squire. I'm stupid and near-sighted, i eagerness that had something almost
must lie respecieu, we were not suojeci to ; oeioie our ujjcu uoor ; mcu iuu piuuge ; aner 1 aid nt rememoer you at an. aou paiuiui in it, wuuu mis j-uur muu yci i ioi
ordinary laws at an. kittle tetc-a-tetr mat puts ine into you, ana niaxes you when shall we have the pleasure, Dut L
were planned for us : and others besides feel as if you had no body, to speak of, ; forget, Mr. Nugent, this is my daughter,
my aunt soou began to take it for "ranted ! that is, until breakfast time !
that it was a " case," as people say, be- j Rut I could not be poetical about all
,tween ns. For myself, no poor doomed this to Charlie Ferrars up on the Castle
ercatuTe before a rattlesnake could have j Cliff, where we had met by the merest
been more helpless. , It may seem weak,
but l call any young tellow ot my age
and temperament to testify to the power
of a clever woman when she wills a thing.
As for Cecile, she used to laugh and say,
" Poor mamma cannot realize that we
have done with our toys Roberta You
don't mind it, do you ? "
" Mind what ? " I would ask.
"-Mamma forgets," Cecile would say,
looking hard at me, " that, while I am a
woman, you, being the same age in years,
are yet a boy." -
And then I would be piqued, and
well, say silly things to prove that I was
a man indeed, and manly.
The worst of all was, that I believe
Cecile really cared for me, I could have
been yerj fond of her as a brother, but
nothing more.' ' My hand was passive, if
hers touched it; her -voice, even when it
uttered my own name, sent no thrill
through my heart; her presence was
comparatively indifferent to me ; and yet
a hero I wan, drifting away along the path
to which Lady Nugent pointed, making,
at times, leeDie enorts to break away, but
feeling that eventually I was doomed.
When ihe Nugents left London for
Scarborough, and my -aunt said to me,
with unpleasant playfulness. . Well, if
yea don't follow ns, I shall come back
and fetch you," I felt hopelessly that she
would do as she said, and so I followed.
I would rather have gone down $o Nugent
quiet as it was, or even have stayed in
town to ba -worried by the lawyers about
- leases, back rens, conveyances, and all
the rest of it ; but I could not, and there
it was.'- - '. ;' ' ;;. v.;--. .-.r.-V . , "
, " Don't you think so ? "Baid my aunt.
"Doa'fc I think I beg your pardon,"
I saidr Don't I think what 7 " '
l&aj ri ugent tapped me on the shoul
der good humoredly, ' with a significant
half-glance at CceihV. , - ,,; , 5
. " Moonstruck, Robert ? " said .she.
u Well, come and see us to-morrow. We
are at Londesborougb Terrace, ; Provi
dence ; Villa. - Hideous name, isn't it ?
chance, and where he appeared -: to
me to be doing anything but enjoying
himself ; I could not, for the life of me,
tell why.
Constance, and this poor little weakling
"You are very rude, papa," broke in
the childish voics I remembered so well.
"I am not a weakling. I'm stroug enough
now, if Constanco would let me walk, but
she won't. And I know Mr. Nugent
quite well; he picked up Topsy for me
They say a man pitched himself over i My name is Letty, Mn Nugent, and papa
i. ,.. , j " : j ri i: i i , - i . . i.n i ,i
said Charlie, suJ-
'Poor beggar ! In
"d not quite- the most fashionable part,
either. " But economy must be consider
ed, you know.". Cecile gave me art ab
sent little nod, and two pale kid fingers,
and they passed on. I did not offer to
join them. . . .
Oddly enough, that last phrase of my
aunt's lingered with me, and kept repeafc
ra itself with a certain pathos.. "Kcon-
omy most be- considered, you know."
' Yes, I did know it. They had very little
, to live upon. The wonder was how they
contrived to liveat all, and keep up the
appearance they did. After all,-was she
, very much to - blame , for., wishing to.se
ueure a comfortable establishment for her
here the other day,
detily. ' ; -
"Did he ?" said I.
i debt, perhaps ?"
Charlie took his chin out of his hands,
and replied, gloomily. "There are other
things that may make a man desperate.
But what do you know about debt, a
lucky chap like you?".
Something in his tone made me raise
myself on one elbow to look at him, but
he had turned his face away. If I had
known then what was the matter with
him, I think I should have put my arms
round his neck and hugged him ; but I
did not know, nd so I blundered :
'fCharlie, old boy, there's something
wrong," said I. " I've more money than
I know what to do with; it would be a
charity " ' ;
; lie broke Jnto a constrained, sort of a
laugh. .:
"Thanks, Rob," said he (I grieve to
say that my old school-chums will call me
Bob); "but it is not that. Sometimes I.
wish it was. However never mind. It's
odd we didn't meet before, isn't it?" ;
-"Well, yes," said I.' "But you see,
the Nugents are here, and my aunt likes
attention, and I've ; been with them a
good deal.. ' AVe steamed ovcr to Riley
the other day.. By the way, you know
them, don't-you ?" . ,
. "A little," he replied. ' -
"A good thought, by. Jove," said I.
"I'll take you to call lo-day.'.'rf ,,; s i
j"My train starts at 1:30," was the grim
response. "Thanks, all , the same. - I
came down for a few days on business ;
can't spare any more time ; and I musn't
stay dawdling here any longer, either; so
good by," old fellow.' Meet' you in town
some time.'-- - :-- -- - y . .-" S--f -
I shook hands indifferently enough,
and after he was gone t ; reproached my
self for it. Rut then I was pre-occupied,
and impatient of anything that disturbed
nie. X'i The world."has changed with - me
since the evening; I leaned over the sea
wall and wondered what I had come to
Scarborough, for(? The train of thought
that had been disturbed then by a stupid
little toy-terrier seemed very far back in
the past now, very absurd and impossible,
altogether not worth remembering. . .: .
I don't think my aunt and Cecile knew
why I was so punctual at the evening of
the promenade,, nor why, at a certain mo
ment, my attention would wander in spite
of myself, and my step involuntarily turn
w one direction: It was no harm ; I only
has no riirht to call me Gypsy, as dare
say you'll hear him do."
There was a laugh at this long speech.
I don't very well know whether I joined
or not. - I don't know indeed exactly
what I did, or said, or thought, or how
the time went. I know, that once Mr.
Penryn said something about the bay,
that we turned to look at it ; and that far
away, a black' spot in the ripple of the
moonlight, there was a fisherman's boat
with a single light in it, which gleamed
red agains the silver. We could see the
fisherman in his boat, motionless; and it
seemed as if in some way this also had
got into my picture, and I could never
forget it. .-.
"It is so quiet here," said the vicar's
daughter, in answer to my stupid remark
"that I hardly expected to riee them
out."
"Then you .don't caret for the gay
promenade?" 6aid I. '
"Indeed, but I do," she replied. "I
like the music aud the lightr, and to look
at all the people "
"And the gossamer dress," put in the
vicar. " 'Tis a fine place for that sort of
thing, which we dotv't get much of down
at Nugent. We are a little out of the
way down, there, eh, Constance l'.'. , ,
Out of the world ! Somehow there
came upon me a rustling. of soft wiud
amongst Uie Nuge&i beeches ; the sun
shining over a ' green lawn ; lights aud
shadows over distant woods ; a river, and
blue hills beyond. Here" was a sitting
for my picture. ,
: "I think I should like to be out of tho
world" I said. "At least I mean to go
down to Nugent as soon as. that is, you
are pot going home, yet, Mr Penryn 3"
"No, not to Nugcnt,'aidtthe :vicar,
"but to the North Cliff." Terribly fash
ionable, I suppose, but it is better for the
Gypsy here ; and -besides, it is less ex
pense. There is a concert in . there,. J
believe," he added, stopping suddenly.
"Some one told ; U3 so." : - su;n
;";'The 1 words roused me into a" guilty
consciousness that ray' five, 'minutes . had
grown into half an hour, if not more.
"I ara obliged to go," I said, hurried
ly. -"ButI-know no one in Scarborough;
that is, scarcely any one.. It would be a
charity if -May'I call upon you' to-morrow
?" '
f'Ancl?-welcome,":; replied the. vjcsr,
-calmly, , "if you will take tho trouble.
Here is the address-: Good night."
"What have you been "doing?" asked
started wistfully out of his- crimson
wrapper, nnd uttered a faint yelp of re
monstrance. - -
"XTou are choking him, Gyp," said
Constance. ...
"That shows - how much you know
about it," was the retort. "But Mr.
Nugent, do you mean it really ?"
"Yes, really," I replied.
"Then I'll tell you what," said Netty;
"you are the, very nicest man 1 ever
knew. Shall we get as far as the old
Priory, do you think, and Norveu
Wood?"
I don't see why not," I replied.
"And Constance there never says a
word," continued Letty. "But perhaps
you dou't mean to take her ?"
Involuntarily I looked at the faqp op
posite me ; and somehow the silk got
tangled. " I had to give it up from my
clumsy fingers, to say a few words of
apology, aud then to find by my watch
that it was time to go. t -
J"And I haven't heard half about the
bronzes, Gypsy, nor about the. yellow
drawing-room at the Hall you were to
help me to alter," said I. . 'Never mind;
I shall see you to-night."
r ' That's no use, even if we go," retort
ed Letty, promptly ; "which, perhaps, we
shall not do. You will be with Lady
Nugent and your cousin, then. I wonder
if you are very food of Miss Nugent. ; I
know papa thinks " - . ,
"Letty," called but ' the vicar, rather
sharply, "you are an incorrigible chatter
box ; shall have to shut you up. Going,
Mr, Nugent ? Good by Wo shall see
you soon, perhaps, down at the Hall."
"Tho Hall?'-' said I. f'You are not
going home?" ; v r
4iYes, to-morrow," he replied. I have
been three Sundays away already ; and
this Gypsy ot',mine is getting all right
now ; so there's no excuse tor" staying.
Good by." . V . p
I 'went away with a strango sort of
sensation of haying the ground cut from
under my feet,' thoroughly -bewildered
and miserable. Hitherto 1 have been in
a dream, cheating, myself, from time to
time into the belief that it was real ;
now 1 had got to wake up. . I knew I
was going to Providence Villa, and should
need all of my self possession. And yet
behind nie lay the romance, the very ex
istence of which I had pursuaded myself
only a month ago was a myth, before me.
I tried to think it out. I could see
again the eager little facejnot so pinch
ed now as it was when I saw it first,
and hear Ihe'chiHish voice say ,:I vwon
der if you are fond of her. I know papa
thinks" . : - -SK. y':r:
" What was it the vicar thought I Did
Constance know?-Did she think it too ?,
And, if so, how did it affect her I I began
to form desperate resolutions in my im
patience. Because (! had been foolish
and weak once, ;there was surely no ne
cessity that my whole life should bo eac-
it'I could h.nv? su:d, "Let all thii farce
be ended ; I do not love you ; I never
did love 3'0U, except as a brother might
love his sister ?" But then I could uot
do this. If she- cared for me, it would be
brutal to do so
I heard Cecile come in and close the
door, and I confess that my heart beat
uncomfortably. '
"Robert,'' said she.
I turned round with as good an affecta
tion of carelessness as I could command,
but it broke down into an impulsi.c ex
clamation when I saw her.
"Why, Cis," said I, "you have been
crying !"
, She tiied to retort, but it was rather a
failure. i
"You have been crying," I repeated,
and I don't believe you are well. We
are cousin?, you know, Cis. Is there
anything"! can help you in ?"
"Yes, there is," she replied : "I want
to speak to you, Robert. We have been
good friends always, haven t we : .
'iJo bo sure we have," said I.
"I want to be good friends still," raid
Cecile. "I want you to promise that you
will think nine the worse of me for what
I am going to say."
'"l think," I ?aid gravely, "that you
can have nothing to tell which would
lessen my respect for you."
"Thanks," said Cecile. "It is about
myself. We are ueither of us blind,
Robert, though we have been acting as if
wo thought each other so. You know as
well as I do what has been, and is, in my
mother's mind respecting us. Must I
speak plainer?" . 7 -
"No," said I.
"Well then, Robert," she continued,
"I don't think you have dealt quite fairly
with mo." - .
I felt as if a big hand was rising up
behind the airy castle. I had been
building only an hour ago, but I did not
answer. ''',''.'....'
: "You know you ucver cared for me,"
she said : "at least in - that sort ot way.
If you will not speak, Robert I must."
The hand got nearer a'nd bigger.
"But -you have behaved as -if you
cared," she continued. "You have led
mamma on ' to believe that things were
turning as she wished to havo theia turn.
Jiy fits and 6tarts, in a languid sort of
way, you have tried to make me care for
you, Robert ; you cannot deny it." fi j;
A sparkle of excitoment had risen to
her eye, and tho traces of tears were all
gone. .. . .-..: 3 ;i,-t,.4
"Well, Cis" ' -
u Don't say anything yet," she inter
rupted. "I repeat, you have' not dealt
fairly by me. -. A girl , con not refuse or
accept a man until he has offered himself,
can she? In plain ' words, you would
neither retreat nor come forward, and
what was I to do ? If ever I seemed, to
draw you on " - .., 'i;V .
"Which you did," said I.
"Which perhaps I did," said Cecile.
"I .cannot tell. If I did, it was in order
that you might ask for your answer, and
ret it, Robert. You made mo ' very un
happy, Robert."
I felt my heart leap up into my throat,
and my brain grew hot. What was corn
ing next ? -
"Now for tho truth," said Cecile. -" '
"Stop one moment, Cecile," said I
"let me tell you "
"I wiH let you tell mc nothing," she
interrupted, f Robert, I cm engaged to
Charley Ferrais. Do you think, (hit
while you are acting as you do now,
mamma-will listen to one word abqut
him?" -;. :v: : r-r,: r,:,.v l .
In the new light that had fallen upon
me, I think I was nearer falling in love
with Cecile than ever I had been in my
life. ' ; --'- :! v.-"-
"Charlie Ferrars ?" I cried ;: "and he
came down here to plead his cause with
my aunt ; and she told him she had other
views for you, eh ? Wouldn't let him see
you, perhaps ; so that was why he bad an
idea of throwing himself over the Castle
Cliff. I see it all. O.Cis I"
"You are not vexed with me V said
Cecile.
"Vexed !" said I. "If you could only
know what it is to me. So I am to draw
back for Charlie, and all the "onus is to
fall upon nie ? I am to pretend that I
won't have you ?"
"Robert!" she exclaimed.
"Do you really love him Cis?" said
I. "He is the best fellow in the world."
I began searching about for my hat,
which was in my left hand all the time.
"What are you doing Robert ? she
asked. "1 thought you would help me."
"So 1 mean to, so I will," I replied.
"Go to the premenade, Cis ; you must.
Tell my aunt I am too meet you.: I will
do that anyhow i only don't keep me now
please."
In less than half an hour I was out on
the balcony of Mr". Penryn's lodging, and
Constance with me, very close to me ; I
might even confess that my arm was
round hor. And casual passers-by-could
look up if they choose; they (could see
nothing for the heavy curtain over the
window behind us. ' Even if they could
have seen. I don't think, in my then state
of mind, that I should have cared ; and
Constanco was saying, "But you" never
mean that ? You could not have had the
heart to stay away from Nugent." -
"But I should, though," said I. "If
you had said anything else, L would never
have gone near the place. Are you sure
I am quite awake, that 'tis a real 'you'
I have here, or only -a dream ?"
"Do I look like a dream ?" she asked.
"Yes you do, very, I replied." "I can
hardly believe, that you are not one.
Why do you move away? I don't want to
go. I am content. The world has been
very good to me to-night."
"But Robert, you said "
"Ah, poor Cecile !" said I. "And you
won't mind helping her, for my sake?
Come then."
. ' ' :
' Once more under the lamps on the
i promenade. The band was playing, .the
i seats under tho colanade- were full, and,,
passing along the sea wall I saw theHsh
I erman's boat in the ripple of the moon
; light, just as though ho had never stirred
j from' his post but stayed there to see the
i end. And there amongst the upward
j Stream of people came my auitt and Ce
; cile, Lady Nugent, pale, stern displeased;
i Cecile with her. head bent down. My
i heart gave me one great throb of antici-
pation ; then I put the little hand within
j my arm a little tighter and went forward
boldly. I saw niy aunt's eye fall upon
! me, upon us, rather, I saw the little start
which she could hot repress, the sudden
haughty questioning, and the
herself up. Then, I spoke.
"Aunt," said I, "lot me introduce Miss
Penryn, the daughter of our vicar at
Nugent. Constance, thi3 iifLady Nugent,
my aunt." ' .';
The color that was so seldom there,
flashed red over Lady Nupent's cheeks;
one single withering look fell upon me,
and then all sign of emotion was gone,
and she making her little cold, matter-of-
j fact speech to my future wife, -accepting
i the position. She ' was a clever woman.
I But, better than this. I caught a glance ;
1 from Cecile, strangely bright. I had
! seen the hand clasp with which she greet-,
j cd Constance, and vague pictures of fu
ture meetings at Nugent before us all be
gan to flit before mc. I miht have tried
to catch what the two girls were talking
about; but I was busy giving m aunt a
-f summary" of Charlie Ferrar's prospects,
which grew very fair under my handling,
and claiming my right as Cecile's neatest
male relative, ot giving to hero marriage
portion. ' - -- - '
Perhaps Cecil heard Charlie's name,
and was wicked enough to listen. I don't
know. At any rate, when I bade them
good night and good by, for of course I '
was going to Nugent with the Penryns,
Cecile lingered a little behind the others,
and came up close to mc. , ' '-
"Good by, and God bless you Robert,"
said sha. ;. "If Isaid anything hard to
you this evening, forget it. , I hope you'll
be as happy as I am. ;
NEW TO-DAY.
NEW ADVERTISEMENTS.
NATIONAL LIFE ,
Insurance Company
OF THE
UNITED , STATES of AMERICA,
WASHINGTON, X. C.
Chartered by special Act of Congress,
.Approved July 25, I860-
Onsli . Capital,
$1,000,000.00
DIRECTORS t ,
CLARENCE II. CLARK,
JAY COOKK.
Vf. a. MOORHEAD,
OEORGE F. TYLER,
J. HINCKLEY CLARK,
K. A. ROLLINS.
HENRY V. COOKE.
.Vf. F. CHANDLER,
JOHN I. PEFREKS,
EDWARD DODE,
II. C. FAHNESTOCK.-
OFFICERS :
CLARENCE E. CLARK, Philadelphia, Prei-
dent. "" .. :
JAY COOKE, Chairman Finance - A Ezeontira
Committee. .,--7 , -
HENRY D. COOKE, Washington, Viee Presi
dent. EMERLON W. PEET,, Philadelphia, Secretary
t Actuary. '
E, S. TURNER, WaaVragton, ' Assistant Soe
' retary."' ; '-
FRANCIS 0. SMITH. M. D., Medical Director.
J. KWINO MEAR3, M. I)., Assistant Medical
. 1 Director. -'..-:-:,.: -- -.. j t '
T
HE attention of persons contemplating in
suring their lires, or increasing the amount
of insurance they already bare, is eslled to the
special adraotaffes offered by the - NATIONAL
LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY.!
the: advantages offehed
ARE: "
The National charter, the lan;e capital, the
Low Rates, the common-sense plan, the definite
contracts, the honoralilo and fair dealings, the
Non-Forfriting Policing, the perfect security,
the liberal Terms of the policies, etc.. etc., rend
ers the NATIONAL LIFE INSURANCE COM-
drawing lPANY of the United States of Amerioa worthy of
This company, dnring the sixteen months of
its existence, has issued --
8,825 POLICIES,
. COVKBIKO .-.. ;
$26,800,000 INSUBANCS.
- The extraordinary rapid projrress of the com
pany attests the estimation in which it is held by
the public, anil the larqe amount of new business
transacted it is the boat evidence of the popular
ity of its principles, nnd its adaptability to meet
the requirements of its Assurers."
CHEAP SEWING MACHINES.
HOME SHUTTLE SEWING efi (S O
Machine. A doable-thread fjjj
iock-stitch Shuttle Machine ; switch alike on both
sides.
&f(5f Celebrated Common-Sense
JnjKJ Family-Machine. Both iu-
chines fully V arranged for 5 years. Machines
sent to any part of tfie coast by express; C. O. D.
Agents wanted in every town on the Pacific coast.
Liberal commission. -
Home Shuttle Sewing Machine Co.,
2y . 11. O. TRAVER,
- 131. First St., Portland.
S20
22 MAKING THE
jEVHIY VARIETY OFffe--f
rSARCE30WN,ACT.IS-
ITS POLICIES ARE NEGOTIABLE.
By the Charter of the Company, certificates of
obligations will be issued, agreeing to purchase
its policies at their vnlue which, when accompa
nied by the policy doly assigned or transferred,
are negotiable, and may be used as collateral se
cur ty, in making loans from tho Company or
fmm other nsrties. . . . m.--. .1.. .-, . ;
The lion. Jno. K. Snnford, Insurance Commis
sioner of Massachnsetts, in his Report for 1868,
speaking of Dividends in Life Insurance Compa- -nies,
says , The sooner such guarantees cease
to be made, and such expectations created, the
sooner Life Insurance will come to rest on its true
motive, and men insure their lives for- security,
and not for dividends. Tho best and' the most
popular companies will then be those that prom- .
ie only equity, and rendeT all thnt tbey promise,
and furnish the best security, with the most up '
right and" jadiciou management." i
"By the Stock plan the fo eash effect of the
premium is immediately secured to the insured,,
the Company taking all the risk. By the Mu
tual plan, the full value in insurance of the pre
mium paid, is not secured tis the policy-holder,
who takes a portion of therrisk himself."
Policies Issued In -O-old
oi Currency,
VM. E. HALE, MANAGER.
' ' t ' - Jf . .-' iV' j 0 ''
- . . ' - - . " ' 1 1 " '
WELIsS, FAIICJO Sc CO.,
"; ' ' GENERA " AGENTS
FOK THE PACIFIC ' COAST.
; 4
t 6m
GILBERT ERO., AGENTS
SALEM, REUON. J
J. . jrXC2YDsQR13AE.I .i :
TBAVEUSO AGENT :
Tor Oregon suad WMhingtoxv Territory.
; Albany, September It, I8? " ., ;
u 4