Exeter Times, 1907-03-28, Page 71
x'0+Gill*+Ot+0+G+tt' +440+ 1•C+o+000+
A Loveless Marriage ;
ORS.. .
A !`TATTER OF EXCHANGE.
1ce+o•o 0-•o+o•o-o+o•0+0+ 0EN(4+0+ 0+ 0+0+0+0+6
CHAPTER XIV.
Mrs. Vereker rose to go.
"It is getting late," she saki. "I shall
Miss evening service it I delay any long-
•"
She Joked so wonderfully bright
and light-hearted as she stood smiling
(!own en St. Jam, who was still sitting
on the garden seat, that some of thus'
present marvelled.
"Are you going to church?" said Dor-
0111y. "Well, so am I. Let us walk
through the wood together."
"Why shouldn't we all go?" cried Lady
Bessy, springing le her feet. "I don't
think I was ever nt evening service In
my life. \Vhy shouldn't I and what it is
like"
"Why, indeed! I'm glad you thought
of it before it was tow late," saki Mr.
Blair, scrambling up from the grass
with the evident intention of accom-
panying her.
"Are you going?" asked she, with open
•disfavor,
"Certainly! Have you not invited us
one and all? I, loo, pine to hear the
vicar for the second time to -day. And
ltfi_s Aylmer has just spoken of a wood,
-and woods are dangerous things, and 1
thought, it you %wouldn't mind, that 1'd
ask you to look atter me 1i11 i get to
the other side."
"Was there over steel a fool?" said
Lady Bessy, with a little sniff of hope -
Jess contempt, addressing nobody :n
particular.
Here everybody vowed they would
love a walk through the scented even-
ing woods with a prospect of a vaulted
roof, and very indifferent music. and a
dint religious light (evolved out of com-
position candles stuck in little brass
sticks) at the end of it.
St. John, who had been strolling lei-
surely along with Mrs. Vereker, found
himself presently alone, with her, en
ane of the old paths. -
"Do you always go to church in the
evening?" asked he, presently.
"Always in the summer, and autumn,
and as long as the light and dry weather
lasts. In winter, 1 cannot, sometimes.
bo sure of going. because Mr. Vereker
objects to my taking out the horses. 1
$m always sorry when the winter
conies," said she. with a fide sigh. "Go-
ing to church give.; tree such a chance
fif—I mean" -hastily -"such n sense at
L rest, of comfort - such a freedom
from—" She broke off. and colored violently.
"Yes. yes." said St. John, somewhat
basllly. She was so terribly confused
that anger as well as grief rose in his
breast for Ler. Ile turned suddenly to-
wards her, and compelled her to meet
his eyes.
"\Vhy do you not trust me?" he saki.
' Why will you encourage this con-
straint? You said you would treat me
Mrs. Cora B. Miller
Makes a Fortune
Started a Few Years Ago with No
Capital, and Now Employs Nearly
One Hundred Clarks and
Stenographers.
Until a few years ago Mrs. ('ora A.
Miller lived in R manner similar to that
of thousands of other very poor women
of the average small town and village.
She now resides in her own palatial
hrnwn-stone residence, and IS considered
ono of the moat enccossful business women
in the United States.
as a friend; but do you? Do you think,"
slowly, and reddening perceptibly, but
speaking with settled determination,
"that 1 do not know? I would have you
be yourself when with me. If unhappy.
be frankly so; U happy, why, be that
ton.,'
"It would not do," she said. "It would
be impo=sib'.e. When I am unhappy, I
must be so, alone; that is my fate.
When!" she paused and looked fixedly
before her without seeing, in a little
desperate way that made hint miserable.
"As for Puy happy moments," said .she,
Presently with n faint smile, "they are
se few, it Ls hardly worth while talking
about theca,"
"Yon were happy this afternoon -- I
think," :said he, eagerly, wistfully.
"Yes. That is quite true." she spoke
as if surprised at herself. "1 count tell
you how peaceful it all seemed, but now
-now it is all over, and one has to go
Lack, and—"
"\Vhat I cannot bear is," said St.
John, as she paused, "the thought that
you do not trust me. You trust Dura
thy, and she would tell you that I, too,
can be a loyal friend, and -I think you
need one."
"You muni not thing that -that 1 do
not trust you," said she earnestly. "And
as for wanting friends, who Ls there in
alt this wide world who wants them
more'. -bub, but --what can they do to
enc:' Oh!" she slopped short upon tate
path, and clenching one little whitebare
hand, pressed It passionately against
her bosom. "Can't you see how it is
with me now? I must tell you this -1
must. I am frightened! 1 shall have
lo go home soon, and I don't know how
1 shall find hint, and the dread of it
makes me feel sick -sick."
Her eyes as she looked at him were
actually terrified and St. John's heart
died within him.
"Ile -he would not hurl you?" he said.
He felt choked tis he asked the -question.
"No! Ile has never touched me --
yet." She drew a sharp breath. "But
he will, soon," she said. "Sometimes
1 think that he wilt kill me -in one of
his furies."
"Don't dwell on that, ;