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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1885-11-13, Page 22 THE BRUSSELS POST. DICK'S SWEETHEART, 13y the Author of "Meanie!, Temer toe," "1 114, 1.4010 131.It11nse.a,1.1'' ""'Bettis," " TyM.,LI.11 3311w.t," 1.'e7'. ..e. erah11 r reheats Dolores Softly, Bushing a delicate pink, " Shell I ever bo a bride, eulntie 2 Do yea ever thin% that some day perhaps I`shalI2" " A bride 2 \o, no, itis impossible !" exclaims 'Miss Maturin, with Hidden 011ri0311 vehetuen e. Silo looks aslcanee at her niece, and a quick ' 1"0 ever. spreads her face. One might !Oiliest imagine that it was terror itself that blanched it. She sighs 'wavily, slid sinks back in her chair, as ens emelt who has been touched and l40wiled by a breath of passing fear, " \vitt•, auntie," says Dolores, eying at lior with large startled eves, e whit is it you say ?" Thou timidly—" Wily should: it be impassible 2 Other girls get married." " Ay, other girls!" says Miss Maturin, in a low voice akin to a groan. She seems to have lost all her self•coutrol, and the words fall from 1100 as though in Respite of her will. "Am I then different from all the rest?" qucstlous Dolores, with a 14111110. It is a rather wistful smile. What if Lallio should disapprove of her cng.tge. meds anR look coldly on her Dick 2 " Wily should you imagine that 2" says Miss llaturiu hastily. " Tut, child! You must not mind duo." She is speak- ing more liehtly now, aha has evidently recovered in part 1100 usual manner. "Forget what I have m.fil, or remember only that the very thought of parting with yen ean1e5 the finch pain that words slipped from me that—tbnt were nu. meant To lose you 11011—after all theee years I" We elmel 1 not be part,01," 1011 s Do- lores gravely, "!lave I not ju-t told you that 1 could not live without yon 2 We two :dial! never part, Lallie, ho sure of that." " \Fell, well, sweetheart, the subject grows too lunch for x14, and WO OnrSeh'eS arc needlessly thoughtful over a dream that luay never be fulfilled. ' Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."' Miss Maturin, as she says this; smiles faintly. " Why should it be evil ?" asks Do. Iores, regarding her earnestly—perhaps reproachfully. To oall a marriage with Diek an " evil I" "Why, indeed?" says hiss Matm•in, with an attempt at lightness. "But tell me of your walk, darling child. Where did you go? Whom slid yon meot? Nobody, 1 fear, in this quiet neighbourhood. Sometimes I am afraid you will learn what loneliness really means during your solitary rambles." "I was not solitary to -day," says Do. lores. " I delmeetsomebody." Her pale cheeks glow and her sensi- tive mouth trembles as she makes this oonfession; but to deceive Lallie in au•y way would he not duly abhorrent to her, but indeed utterly impossible. "I met—Mr. Bouverie." She had almost said " Dick," and now feels re- morseful at heart, and as though she has in some way been unkind to her Iover by the use of his more formal appellation. "I am glad of that," says hiss Maturin unsuspiciously. " I like that young man ; he is so bright, so natural Did you moot him soon after you left me?" " As I got down to the river, ho came there too," says Dolores, leaning for- ward eagerly and speaking with glad interest, Her beautiful eyes are spark. ling; she has found a mine of happiness in those words—" I like that young man." Yes, yes, she knew it l Who could help liking him ? " IIe stayod there with me all the time," she goes on nervously, " until I skid I should go home; and then he walked back with me. And he wanted to come in and see you ; but—" Her voice dies away. Miss Maturin makes no reply. Site is feeling numbed and sick at heart. Whatever cruel thing is gnawing at 1100 heart is doing its work effectually; the girl's last words are working late her brain. " Three long hours," she says to herself—" three long hours I" An expression of sickening anxiety grows upon hor white face, and there is, too, a strange, mournful, despairing look about her as she glances furtively at the pretty dainty figure in the win- dow, sitting with Win folclod hands and with a light as of heaven within her happy eye:. Lallie," revs Dolores, after alcegth- ened pause, "410 "1>u think that people —who havo never boon in love these selves—eau sympathise with or mute'. stand those who—who do love ?" Grayer and grayer grows 'figs Maturin's face. Itoluctautly she cnel. pals herself to 'rare upon the girl',; flushed averted features, and. then n great change sweeps over her. 'first there is passionate regret—and ther desolation—and thou despair, But she masters herself 1 Love, the all-powerful, helps her to do this ; for the girl must never know. It is a won- derful mastery over self however, and proves the strength of the soul within her; but it tears her heart in twain. Her lips are bloodless ; there is how- ever a smile upon them as she turns boldly and answers the girl who is the 5010 things she clings to upon earth, "I do indeed," she says quietly. Alae for the cruel strain that gives this Oahu! "De you mean that I could not sympa- thise with—let us say—you in such a case ? And so you are in love, child 2" She has risen from hor seat, and Dolores has risen too. 011, Lallie—oh, dear, dear Lallie 1" she cries tremulously, turning e, face now pale as a new -both snowdrop to Miss Maturin. Sho makes a step foe• ward and holds out her arms. "Ab. 10ve m0 still1" she (Mee a 11ta13, ince. horeutly perhaps, but with an intuitive fear that Miss Maturin might think her. self forgotten, neglected, thruat from tho first plaoe !n her tender heart. Al- most it seems to her that silo --she has been the ono to inflict a lasting injury upon that faithful soul who has been to her all that her lost mother possibly could be, "It is so," says Miss Mlttnrin; she has the frith little figure in a close em- brace by this time, and is bending over it in spoechless grief—a grief unknown to, unguossod by Dolores. "I amdear Laliie' and lin 14 ' dearest Dick' for the future—is not that it ?" There is no answer—only the soft arms cling to her and the pretty slugs of hair stir uneasily upon her breast. " How did you know it was Mak ?" comes in a little whisper to her pre- sently. "Havel no eves in my head? And yr.t— No; I knew nothing until five minutes ago; your manner told me. Well, I am content to take second place —at least, I am second—is it not 2" " No," says Dolores firmly, throwing back her head and looking earnestly at her aunt, " not that! These two loves I hold now within my heart are so dif- ferent, yob 11ot11 so great, that I could not make one second to the other. He is first in his, yonr aro first in yours ; you shall never bo second, my own Lallie !" " Fond little Heart I" says Miss Ala - train, pressing the sunny head down once again upon her breast. She is, after all, happier when the child's in. nocent eyes are not looking at hers. " And so you love him well 9" she says. " And he loves me. Is it not all quite wonderful ?" She passes over her aunt's question as though it requires no answer—which in truth it does not. " He wanted to tell his mother about— about it all; but I said only you should know of it just yet ; there is plenty of time to—" Yes, yes—time, time I" says Miss Maturin, with agitation. "That is the principal thing. Let us keep it a secret between us three as long as we can ; it—it will be so mach happier for you— for us all—no one prying or askingques- tions—or— Yes, lot it be quite a secret I" She ceases, and laughs almost hysterically. "Don't you see," she says nervously, "how much better it would bo 2" " So I said," murmurs Dolores eagerly. " It seems even sweeter—our love I mean"—shyly—" when only you and I and Dick know of it; you—you are pleased about it, auntie 2" " I havo but ono thought about it, and that is what is best for your happiness." " Dick is best," returns she, with a coy little laugh. " Don't you think so, Ladle 2" " I suppose so, darling ?" " Why don't yon say something nice about him then ? Is he not the best and dearest fellow in all the world ? Is he not handsome 2" " Not so handsome as his brother." " As Bruno ? Oh, auntie, what on earth are you thinking about ? Dick not handsomer than Bruno ? Why, they are not to be compared in the same breath! Jost loolz at Dick's eyes I" She pauses, as though waiting for Miss Matinee to perform this feat, which, as Mr. Bouverie at the present moment is five miles away, would be a difficult one.( Miss Lorne's next remark however would lead the unwary to be- lieve that it has been performed. " Now I hope you see how wrong you were," sIlo says. with a triumph in voice and eves. " Why, Bruno isn't fit to ho named in the same day with him ! Say you love Dick, Lallie, or I can't bo quite happy.„ "I think he is tho most charming young 1.111111 I know. Ho is the cue I would have chosen for yon," says poor Miss Maturin, driven to say this with a sinking heart. Then, the tension .,he has laid upou herself becoming too strong to be longer borne,1h0 gives way a little. " Go, Dolores, go 1" she cries faintly. " Go to your room." A pas- sionatelongingto be alone is consuming her. She spooks with a studied cold• nese that is but a remnant of the depart- ing calm. Then, seeing her darling's grieved surprise at the unwonted se- verity of her tone, she nerves herself 01100 more. " Go, my beloved," she says tenderly; "it is late. You have not dressed yourself, and dinner will soon bo ready. We can discuss your great news later on." Dolores silently obeys her ; but, when she gets to the door, almost as she touches the handle of it, some thought strikes her. She wavers, turns, and finally, running back again, flings her arms round Miss Maturin's neck. " Yon know I love you, Lallie, don't you ? You are not jealous of him ? You are not lonely, or sorry, or any. thing, are you? That would break my heart. You feel quite sure of my love 2" "I do, my dearest ohildl" Ear voice is low and broken with emotion, " That is what I am to you—your child ?" " My own child I Truly I feel to- wards you more as a mother than an aunt." " And I am sure," says Dolores softly, tthat, could my mother be given back o me now, I should never learn to love her as I love you." When the door was closed behind Do- lores, and she is indeed gone, when the very last echo of her light footfall 1184 ceased noon the polished boards beyond. a orange comes over muss Maturin. Her hands fall to her sides, her face grows ashen. All in one pitifully short mo- ment she seems to have becalm an old woman. Despair shines dully within her oyes, and gives a desolate curve to her lips. Despair, too, is in her heart, and a terror that has long lain dormant —the fear of discovery. 'Po 11055055 a eleret—a sinless one so Nov. Ili, 11 S13, tar as she herded 31110 the mature ails loves !lest ou earth are concerned—has boon Miss Maturin's doom—a ()reel se• drat that has touched hor—though from without—and burned into ker and made her life for many years a burden almost too great to be borne. 011, the days and long sleepless nights of anguish, mid the years of Litter grief, filled to overflowing with a vain regret 1 Thom had been, too, wild moments in which passionate anger Made havoc of her strength, 1411d In which prevailed a longing for revenge —lamest() be fulfilled, And then Marl cotyle calm 1111d a strange now love exceeding all that had gnus before it, born of the 1111111 .lg arms and the innocent kisses of a little (11111,1 W110 had wound herself retied her heart• strings, and in process of years lied grown into a' chilli with sad oyes its a heritage, and a 5011,111110 mouth, and a beauty exceeding that of most, and a spirit too great for hoe frail bo-ly. Pure, tender, loving, possessed of a heart that had learned "that more exoellont way" and know no guild, and a soul that truly thought no evil of any living thing, the child—Dolores—had grown into a girl touching upon the borders of woman- hood. As a little one, she had been gentle and—for a ohild—wonderfully unselfish. As a girl she is still more gentle, "be- lioviug all things" that will help her to revere11014 her kind, and " hoping all things" for thele—a little reserved iu manner perhaps, 110013.0ee of her perils. tent isolation in hor childhood from those of her own ago, but nevertheless loving, calm and restful in manner, and with au unknown—boc4ingo untried— but terrible capacity for endurance. " 0 most swept spirit, wheat place is there for you in this cold sneering world ?" is Miss Ilaturin's thought. Miss Maturin, with a little indoscrib- a1,43 gesture, rouses herself from her lethargy, and fn an angry fashion—as thengh impatient of fate and its sad do• creel—paces up and down the long ,ira'.viug•room. Memory, glad. and bit- ter, troubles ler; but, above all, the girl's beautiful face and still more beau- tiful soul sadden her, "Ie thorn no grace ? Is there no remedio 2" Miss Maturin, coming to a standstill by the lower window, gases out absent. ly upon the glories of the dying day. Are all hor hopes to die as dins the sun, or is there still a promise for her in the thought that he will rise again to -mor- row ? "IIave pity upon me now, kind Hea- ven, in this my hour of need!" she whis- pers foverislrly, brl11glldg her palms to- gether. "Yet it is for her I pray—for her, not for myself. Spare her 1 Let me be forgotten ; but have her ever in merciful 00melnl)161100 I Let me suffer; but save her 1" She raises one hand to her head in e distracted fashion. The agony of her mind is reflected upon her face, which is white and drawn. "If he mast be told—if all is to be opened up afresh—what am I to say— to do ? And she—ignorant, unknowing, it will kill her I Alas, alas—my lamb— my innocent one I" A sob ohooks her. " Why need he ever know ?" she mur- murs, her pale lips growing still more pallid. " Why not conceal it to the end, and trust to chance to befriend her? 31110 is there here to betray us? Aud yetif at any time fate should throw in her path one who knew 1 But they are so few who know. Aud, once his wife, she would be safe, even should the truth come out. But as to her mind ? Know- ledge of that sort comiug too late would destroy hor—would break her loyal heart. No; she could not endure the shame to him ! Oh "—stretching out hor arms to the darkening heavens— " how difficult is life I With what torn and bleeding feet the pure must tread the world! How can I help her—how 'P' Her head sinks upon her breast, and for a little time she remains lost in thought; then she sighs wearily and sinks, as though overcome with bitter conclusions, into a lounging•ohair. "The truth—the truth is best I" she murmurs brokenly. "He shall know the worst before 110 weds her, For hor sake I will run no risks. There shall ho no after -discovery. To him Ishall con• fide all; but she shall never know; I will not havo her sweet life darkened But, when he boars hor story, how will it bo with him? Will his love b0 6toong enough to bear the strain ? If so, all will be well; if not—" Her voice sinks, and a shadow coming from the gathering night falls athwart the room. ' If it must bo, so be it l" she says at last faintly. " For her sake I shall bring myself even to the betrayal of my dead. After all "—wearily—" old griefs are never buried ; they a01n0 to us again and again when we believe ourselves free from them for over. And yet I should havo expected this. With her angel -face some day it should bo. Well, I shall speak whoa the right time comes ; but not yet --not yet 1" A clear voice rings through the hall ; the refrain of it gay little French song echoes through the air ; the door is sud- denly thrown open. " Lallie—lazy Lallie! Here still ?" cries a ringing voice. "Como—come this instant and ret yourself ready for dinner 1 I shall be your maid tonight. A fig for Elizabeth and her old-maidish ways 1 I alone havo tbo power to make you as lovely as nature intended you should be. Come—unless you want cook to oast maledictions upon your head 1" ' Go before mo, darling," says hiss Maturin, in a low voice. CHAPTER X. The village choir has mercifully ceased from troubling the congregation for the time being. The ancient and much dil- apidated organ has sunk into a fitful slumber, out of which it wakens every unw n,nrl then to give way to s dismal BRUSSELS PUMP WOFU(S. WILSON S' PT.GTON Tltke much pleasure in announc- ing to the people of Brussels and surrounding country that having Purchased the Business of ttr. C. Pike, ou IlMill Street, opposite lir. P, Scott's Blacksmith Shop, they will keep a Good Supply of PUMPS ON HAND And are prepared to fill all orders at Reasonable Prices. Repairing neatly and promptly done. Please call and examine our stock before purchasing elsewhere, WILSON & PELTON. 15—ti. MONEY TO LOAN. lgc.noy to loan manna property at LOWEST RATES. nRIVATE AND COMPANY FUNDS W. B. DzcicsoN, Solicitor, Brussels, Ont. Money to Loan. PRIVATE J'U.NDS. $20,000 of Pr.vate Funds have just been placed in nay hands f or Investment AT 7 PER CENT. Borrowers can have their loans complete r three days if title is satisfactory. Apply to E. E. WADE. NOW IN STOCK The Famous ROYAL PARLOR COAL, The Famous ROYA.J The IJ WITH OVEN, IVERSAL COAL STOVE, Cook Stoves, Parlor Stoves, Box Stoves. Stove Stands, Stove Piping. 19112311111510303111,?....... 3.7177t1MIN TIN WARE. STOVE COAL At Coal House or delivered as re- quired. Call or send your orders. B. GERRY, GUELPH .BUSINESS COLLEGE. UIUSLI'll, _ •-, Oi'1'. r111112 SECONDYEAH01UOLASTIO YEAH aolumeneed Sept lot. Moll department le h1 charge of a s000iallat. '1'o impart a prat• tioat training for the elnelent oonduet of I111sl. noes affairs i5 tha sphere anti work of 111e insti- tution, Its evaluates are already holding rc• epaaslble posliloll o1n the cenuaureial centres el the Dominion, energetic young anen and women aro 111010ueh10yroparod for positions us nooh.lcoopers hhort.band writers. eorro- 5pondents, or Telegraph operators, Students received at any time, For elreolar incl cate- Mew, whiz lull informetie r, address 18-11ur" Id, Al tl0013a110K, Principal 1\1'ONEY TO LEND. Any amount of Money to Loall ou Farm or 'Village property at 6 & 6; PER CENT. YEARLY. Straight Loans with privilege of re- paying. when required. Apply to A. HUNTER, Div. Court Clerk, Brussels. FARMERS ATTENTION ! Tho undersigned has the following goods for sale : THE DUNDAS CORD BINDER. Harvest Queen Reaper, Front and Rear Cut Mower, Hay Rakes, Hay Tenders, Wisner Seed ')rill, the Bain Wagon, The Guelph Bell Organ, Raymond Sewing Machine, General Purpose Plows, Sulky Plows, three kinds of Souftlsrs, Horse Powers, Grain Grinders, Mow - or Knife Grinders, Harriston Fanning Mill, 1 second hand Buggy, 1 second !rand Wagon and other implements too numerous to mention. We would just say that our Binder is considered by competent Judges to be the Best in the Market, being simple iu construction and eas- ily worked by one span of horses. l'Farmere will do well to Give Us a Call before investing elsewhere. GEO_ ]LOVE, BRUSSELS, ONT. BRUSSELS WOOLEN MILLS. I beg to inform the farming com- munity that I am now prepared to take in Carding, Spinning, And Wectviiig, at my New Brick Woolen Mill, and promise to give Satisfaction to those favoring us with their trade. I havo on hand and will keep constantly in stock a full as- sortment of Cloths. Flannels, Tweeds. HBrnggets, Blankets, Warns, knitted Goods, Dress OOft et,s, Uotton Skirtings, Grey Cottons, &c, Also Fine Canadian Tweeds, PANTINGS & SERGES for Suits which we will get made up on short notice and a good fit warranted every time. Highest Market Price PAID FOR BUTTER EGGS, c''c. GIVE ME A CALL at my Now k?.ills before [Ding elsewhere. Geo. Howe.