Puck — November 6, 1878 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PUCK. CHAPTER IV. Tue next day Lord Lynn put his pretty Ppony-carriage at the disposal of Major and Miss Estridge. In a friendly little note he'said he felt quite sure that they would like a drive after the fatigue of the preceding evening; and later on, when they had availed themselves of his kind offer, they met him riding slowly down a secluded country lane. He rode by the car- riage during the drive, and then escorted them home, talking all the way so gayly and pleas- santly, that the time he was with them seemed as a brief half-hour, though ‘the shades of night were falling fast” as he bade them fare- well, He came again the following day, hoping that Miss Estridge would do him the favor of riding a beautiful little horse he possessed, gen- tle as a lamb, he assured her, and quite fit for a lady’s use. Miss Estridge thanked him, but had to con- fess, smiling at her own poverty, that, alas, she had no such thing as a habit. “Oh, this is dreadful!” he cried with mock despair; ‘but the defect must be done away with, Estridge, you really must not let your fair daughter be deprived any longer of such healthy and becoming exercise.” The major smiled, and, to Lucy’s surprise, promised that a habit should be purchased as soon as possible... Harry joined, them soon after, and they all strolled out as usual for a lazy ramble through the grounds, Whenever he appeared, it always seemed to Lucy as if some spirit of poetry and music had chosen tls graceful human frame for its earthly abode. Lord Lynn remained with them till dinner- time; and, when he left them, the major, as usual, failed not to expatiate on his many good and charming qualities. Harry and Lucy had never added another word to the stolen sweetness of that twilight conversation at the piano. The girl always felt half ashamed and half afraid of herself now; yet, when the evening sky had darkened, when each small songster in his nest had whis- pered a last good-night to his brethren, when Nature's thousand tongues were all hushed into silence, they wandered into the moonlit garden with a strange thrill of happiness at finding themselves once more together, and alone. It seemed as if the perpetual coming and going of the last few days had been a barrier placed between them. Now the barrier was broken, they could speak freely again. But they went farther and farther from the house, and scarcely a sentence broke the silence of the “dewy eve;” and the short words that came seemed all to have sprung up miles away from their thoughts. At length they reached a pretty garden-seat, overhung by one, great weeping willow, sur- rounded by a light trellis-work covered with jasmine, convolvulus, and a number of winding leaves, that made it secluded and lonely as any lady’s bower in the legends of old. ‘They sat down, and, with hand clasped in hand, remained quite silént still, as if afraid to break the sweetness of Love's spell. “Lucy,” Harry began at last, “do you know that I feel like the base thief who steals his best friend's dearest treasure; like the vile coward who has no heart to fight, but surrenders at once to’ save him from the struggle or the wound?” “ Hush, hush!” she said; ‘ Harry, why will you talk like this?” “ Because I have not been brave enough to suffer, and yet conceal my suffering; because I, a pauper, have told you of my love, and sought to win your gentle heart in return, when there are others with rank and riches—others, I know, who would gladly lavish their golden treasures at your feet.” “Hush!” she said again, placing her hand on his lips, “ Why will you worry yourself with such thoughts, the creatures of your own vivid imagination? | And even were it so, your love is dearer to me than the wealth of all the uni- verse. If you say anything like this again, I shall think that you care very little for the so- called boon you sought for, and—have won,” she added, very low. He placed his arm round her, whispering, as he had done before, “My darling!” but, checking himself, he quickly resumed: “O Lucy, you cannot understand what I feel, I am so happy; too happy ever to be quite wretched again, even though long years of sorrow should come, washing away with their bitter water half the sweetness of this bright hour. And yet I know that Iam acting bascly, selfishly; that I am very mean. Listen, Ihave nothing in the wide world to offer you save a wretched yearly sum, and whatever else my poor hands and brain can add to the paltry pittance. A bright prospect, indeed, for one like you, who might, and should, have thou- sands to command.” “You rave, Harry,” she answered. will you be so foolish ?” “Nay, indeed, it is all true, Lucy; and I can give you nothing, nothing but poverty.” “What does it matter? I have always been poor, Harry. Can we not wait? Some day you will be rich, I know; you were never made to remain poor and unknown. ‘Tell me, will not your love be strong enough to last until then?” “Oh, say that again!” he cried, almost kneeling at her feet; “say that you will wait a little, that you will not give yourself to another unless I fail hopelessly in my attempt to be- come wealthy for your sake. T.ucy, say that you will be my wile if I succeed. O my dar- ling, promise that you will be my wife!” ‘The passionate appeal touched every tender chord in her heart; she stooped down to him, pressing her lips to his forehead; but ere she could answer his pleading in words, a well- known voice, that chilled them like a touch of ice, sounded on the still night air like a strange discord, slow and solemn as a death-knell. “ She will never promise that with her father's con- sent,” it said; “and she is too good a daugh- ter to disobey him in such a matter as this.” Yes, he was there, her father!’ In a moment he was close to them, and, disengaging his daughter's hand from Harry's, he drew her to- wards him, placing his arm round her waist, as if more effectually to separate them. He seldom came to this spot—scarcely ever —unless when anxiety or trouble made him long for solitude, or when some great change had to be planned, some great resolve taken; and to-night Fate had led him here, apparently without purpose; cruel Fate! whose hand seems ever ready to strew the hapless path of Love with thorns. And now he stood between them, quiet and gentlemanly as ever, but with a look of deter- mination on his face that his trembling daugh- ter never remembered to have seen there be- fore. “ Harry ’Estrange,” he began, in a calm low voice, “ your father was the dearest friend of my youth, and I have transferred to you a large portion of the esteem and affection I felt for him; but I cannot allow my daughter to pledge herself to one who is not even capable of offering her a suitable home. I cannot, and will not, let her, in girlish heedlessness, doom herself to life-long poverty and care. ‘This may seem to you very hard, very cruel now, perhaps, but, believe’ me, child,” he added more gently, stooping to kiss his daughter's forehead, “believe me, your father knows that which is best and right.” Oh, the iron strength of those cold words “Why “best and right”! The helpless girl, as if frozen to death, felt unconscious of all save a heavy weight at her heart, and the last prayer of her dead mother ringing through her ears— “You will sadly miss a motaer’s care, my poor darling; but your father loves you fondly; he will be there to watch over and protect you; he wiltknow what is best. O Lucy, that I may die in peace, promise that you will never cross your father’s will;” and the promise was given, and the gentle mother died with a peaceful smile on her lips. And now—oh, irony of Fate!—she bowed her weary head beneath the weight of that promise. Oh, must she surren- der the dearest hope of her young life? If her mother had known, would she have hurt her thus? Harry looked at her, as if to gather from her bearing what she wished him to say; he only saw a drooping, helpless face, a great accepted sorrow, “You are right, sir,” he said; “long ago I felt, I knew, that any father must speak as you have spoken now. ‘The beggar who longs for, and hopes to wear on his poor robe, some glit- tering priceless gem musg be a sad maniac in- deed!” “Do not speak so bitterly, Harry; we must remain friends; we shall be friends always, in spite of all. No son-in-law could have been nearer my heart if—But it is useless talking any more—useless to prolong a painful scene. You must part now, poor children!" he added, with a new tenderness in his voice (perhaps his own young days flashed across his mind just then); ‘you must part now, and by and by, when ‘Time has helped you to forget, you will mect and be good friends again.” Did he feel for them? Lucy wondered, as her dull ear caught the softened tones, Per- haps; but, looking at his firm though saddened face, she knew that no supplications would avail against his strong resolve. “Good-bye, Lucy!” her lover said, with a trembling in his voice that he could scarcely master, She could bear it no longer. With a great cry of anguish she turned to her father: “;Take me away! Oh, take me away!” Very gently and tenderly he obeyed. Once or twice he tried to soothe her with caressing words, but she could only answer, ‘O father, father, you have broken my heart!” She went up to her room with the faltering step of age, and her brothers and sisters stared at her, wondering what could have happened to their “little mother Lucy,” as they fondly called her. They tried to comfort her, to wind their arms about her neck; but she asked them to go from her, and not to make a noise, be- cause she felt so ill. And when they pleaded to be near her, promising to be quite still, she said “no” again, filling them, for the first time, with a sense of weariness. And so the stricken girl went to her little room, with dry burning eyes, and a feeling as if Death had knocked at the door of her heart again, taking her dearest treasure from her. (To be continued.) Can-apa Cavendish go to Montreal if she chews?— Danbury News. ‘lHe cheapest way to settle back rents is to buy an ulster.— Cin. Commercial. Ir is when a woman trices to whistle that the great glory of her mouth is seen without being heard very much.— Andrew's Bazaar. Tug Ohio river was so low last week that pilots had to bore artesian wells in order to discover the channel.— Wheeling Leader, WELL, it isn’t long now before the unsuc- cessful candidate can furnish his 150 excuses why he was beaten.— Detroit Free Press. comicbooks.com