Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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Jl YEMfOW JIS-TE^ =^=~ BY © IOTA. = ^ z CHAPTER XXIII. When the two drove away on the first stage of their experi ment, Mr. and Mrs Waring, the Rector and Mrs. Fellowes, Dacre and a few others stood watch ing them from the great stone steps of the hall. Mrs. Fellowes was reflecting with mixed feelings'on Gwen’s good-bye to her mother, which by chance she had witnessed. The girl had already, in the face of every one, bidden her a quiet and emotionless farewell, but just at the last she swept round suddenly, as if she were driven, and had caught the little dazed creature—a deal too young to be her mother—in her arms, and had given her an imperative hug of the volcanic order. As it was a first experience, no one could blame the little woman from shrinking visibly from it, and, when it was over, for es caping with a sigh to the side of her huband, and slipping her hand into his with the air of one who had escaped a danger. Gwen allowed one flash of an gry pain to shoot from her eyes, then walked grandly out of the house with her hand quite prop erly on her father’s arm, which Dacre took good care to have in readiness. “Dacre!” said Mrs. Fellowes, as soon as they were off, “we must get rid of these people. I am sure we have all done our duty by them, and your mother and father have, very obviously, had enough of them.” “1 am ready to swear that Admirable Trowe has had a good sight too much of the gov ernor. He has been hammering into him the life and blow up of that gray rock Henty’s they are always grubbing at, for a solid ten minutes. Now he’s on se lections, and the Admiral has murder in his eye—look!” “Yes, and your mother, see how tired she looks! She is tel ling Mrs. Irvine the most won derful new facts about babies. Mrs. Irvine has ten, two sets of twins among them, and she is the champion mother of the parish. Dacre, you cover one wing, I shall maneuver the oth er, there’s not a minute to lose.” In next to no time they had cleared the field, and Mr. and Mrs. Fellowes were just about to say goodbve and to carry Dacre off to dinner, when to their amazement, after a hur ried consultation, Mr. and Mrs. Waring begged them to stay, and drew them into the library, utterly ignoring the furious Da ere, who betook himself, softly swearing, to the stables, where he wandered disconsolately, scathing the screws that lum bered the stalls a id thanking God lustily that his stud was elsewhere. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Fellowes were closeted together in the library. While the oth er two looked silently and ques- tioningly at one another, Mrs. Fellowes telegraphed despairing signals to her husband. “It has been a most wearing day,” said Mr. Waring at last, “I feared my wife would break down under the strain. No doubt you felt it too?” he went on with his brows raised, look ing concernedly at his guests. “I thought, my dear,” and he pressed her hand, “I thought, my dear, that our daughter Gwen bore it admirably, the girl appears to have much cour age, tne courage of your race, my love.” He beamed softly down on her, and pansed for an uncon scionable time, then suddenly he remembered himself and started. “Our daughter Gwen is a ve ry beau'iful person,” ho went on, musing aloud. “I do not think I ever noticed the fact un til lately,, until that night she went to some h’m—party with Lady Mary. Dearest, do you recollect?” “Perfectly,” said Mrs. War ing, getting a shade paler, and with a troubled look in her eyes, “you saw her, Mrs. Fellowes,” she said with sudden eagerness, “that night?” “I did indeed, Gwen’s beauty was a shock to me. But I didn’t know—that is, I thought you were busy.” “Ah. yes, very busy, I remem ber, but we came out to see Gwen, she was on the stairs, and we got no farther than the door, the lamplight shone on her and cast strange lovely shadows on her white silk—it was silk, was it not, Mrs. Ft l- loy/es?”—She nodded. “And her arms and neck were like- dawn—” “Snow,” murmered her hus band. “No, dear, they looked two warm for that, and her face! We were, I think, a little frightened at its beauty.” She gave a little laugh. “We should have come out, but just then 1 do not think I could have spoken. My bus band thought I was not very well and he brought me back— Henry spoils me. Mrs, Fellowes But to day I shall never for get Gwen’s look, never!” and her small face got still one shade whiter. She tried to say something but she only made a little husky noise, she turned to Mrs. Fel lowes and tried again. “You know Gwen,” she said faintly, “do you think she was happy to-day, as a bride should be.?'’ Mrs. Fellowes looked keenly at her and turned to her bus* band. * “Mrs. Waring must lie down, she is worn out.” she saie. He made ready the sofa and drew the trembling small crea ture down on it. Mr. Waring yielded her up with a disturbed and astonished gaze, and stood aside contem plating events patiently. “Henry,” she said softly, af ter resting silently for a mo- ment, “ask Mrs. Fellowes what we want to know—tell her our —our fears.” He came over and laid his hand on her sunny head, that time seemed to have quite for gotten. “My dear friends.” he said solemnly, “my wife ana I are in some perplexity. The fact is —h’m we have never, so to speak, known much of our daughter Gwen, she is a diffi cult person to know. From time to time we haye attempted to gain some nearer knowledge of her, but she—ahem—in fact, did not seem inclined te encour age our advances. From her very babyhood,” he went on more fluently, “the girl has in terested us, but I regret to say we have never arrived at any very definite conclusion about her, we have never quite under stood her.” “Never!” said Mrs. Waring, suddenly bending towards Mrs. Fellowes, with a look very like terror in her face. “Of course you know more than I, dear,” said Mr. Waring, “you have your woman’s in stincts to guide you, and they, as a rule, are trustworthy.” “I have never known Gwen,” said she, with very unusual de cision. “What is your opinion on this matter?” said Mr. Waring, turning to Mr. Fellowes, “you know our daughter.” It was all cruelly pathetic, his voice, and his face, and his gesture, and the strained hope less look in his small wife’s eyes. “Gwen is not ready yet for complete happiness,” said Mr. Fellowes; “when she is, it will come to her in full measure-” “But—she is a person of in telligence and what is called grown-up,” said Mr. Waring anxiously, “and very perfect in her development—outwardly,” he added, a doubtful look fleet ing across his face. “Yes, to look at, she is per fect, but does it not strike you,” said Mrs. Fellowes slowly, “that much of Gwen’s woman hood is still elemental? Do you not think that some of her sen ses are also still in that condi tion?” “Ah!” murmured Mr. War ing, looking sadly down on his wife, “Ah! I have thought, I have feared this. I cannot see in our daughter Gwen a com plete creature but I thought, knowing so little of women as I do, that I might be mistaken. Do you hope for ultimate com pleteness in our daughter?” he asked suddenly, watching cu riously for the answer. The Rector’s superior knowl edge of Gwen had fixed him very uncomfortably on a pedes tal, there was no getting off it just yet. he had to make the best of the situation. “Indeed I do, no half devel opment will content Gwen when she learns her deficiencies, nor her husband either.” “These elements then may develop to ultimate greatness or wither and die—to reappear, of course, in some form or other. But to disappear from our knowledge entirely! Ah! that would be sad waste. We will hope it may not occur. Do you happen to know if her husband looks on our daughter as we do, in relation to her ultimate pos sibilities of development, or if he has chosen her for the thing she looks—a most beautiful and finished young woman of fair intelligence?” “I am quite sure that Strange loves Gwen strongly and truly,” began Mi. Fellowes evasively Ft was a difficult subject to thrash out thoroughly with this wonderful pair, it might be bet ter to let it fade gradually from their minds, and to aid them to glide back into their own still waters. “Yes, but on what grounds?” went on Mr. Waring with strange persistence. “Have you ever spoken to Strange himself on the sub ject?” asked Mr. Fellowes. “Ahem, no. In fact, under like circumstances,” he redden ed and coughed a little, “I should myself have resented any at tempt of such nature. No, I did not put any question to Strange. But will you not favor us with an opinion, you, who know our daughter so well?” "I think that, in a measure, Strange knows what he is about, and we are bound to trust his judgment. I would be folly to enough. Mrs. Fellowes pricked up her ears and grew keen all over, she got for her pains little direct information but, with a previous experience of the fam ily, enough to go on. “Worse than lovers!” she thought ruefully, “poor little woman! All the same, I am not vhe least surprised he wants to clear—he ought to stay .though! ” “Dacre, your mother will miss suppose that he sees the entire Gwen more than any of us truth clearly, he is under the think, you have no idea how u usual conditions of a man in love. Gwen dominates him as she does even us old married people, heart and brain will al ways fall before our Gwen.” “What is the entire truth?” said Mrs. Waring, pushing her hair back and sitting up. “The truth as it strikes me,’, said Mr. Fellowes very gently, “is, that Gwen is at present incapable of loving.” “You refer—ahem, to that phase of the emotion known as sexual love?” said Mr. Waring hurriedly. “Or of any other yet.” “I knew it, we both knew it, but it was hard to speak out,” murmured Mrs. Waring sadly. “She was in no way con strained,” said Mr. Waring in a frightened way. His wife sat still with sad wide eyes. “ It seems a reasonless thing in one in Gwen’s position,” he went on with a fine touch of F ride, “to marry without love. know such things do happen now and again with young por tionless women—women have a feline craving for soft living and pretty things, but our daughter Gwen—ah!” “I thought all this, I knew it,” said Mrs. Waring quietly, “I wished so often to ask Gwen definitely for the truth, but I did not seem able to do so, I wish now I had.” Mrs. Fellowes put her hands tenderly on her shoulders and made her lie down again. “She will love, she will be happy!” the whispered softly, “she is in good hands.” “Too soon, too soon!” mur mured the mother, “she should be in mine still. But they never held her. She should be happy now, now,” she cried with sud den passion, her voice still in soft minors, “not in the future! Why should she have to reach her happiness and her love ‘through much tribulation?’ It should come by divine right. She is so strong, she will suffer strongly, she is so strong that when passion comes to her, it will tear her, torture her, break her to pieces! Henry, Henry,” she gasped, “we are to blame, we have failed miserably! Wc never had any right to have children. While we have been worrying over the dry fossils of the past we have allowed the living—the young—to wither around us. Ah, how sad it all is, how sad!” she sighed, “how sad!” The Rector came and put his hand on his wife.s shoulder soft ly. He well knew how awful this too late awakening of the other woman’s motherhood was to her. with her own so terribly, persistently wide-awake and alive with the throbbing of un satisfied pain. There was nothing further to be said, nothing, altogether un - satisfactory as everything was, Mr. Fellowes felt this and said in his bright frank way: “We are very tired, and you—” he said, turning to his wife, “you are frightfully wash ed out! And, good gracious! Dacre is waiting all this time!,’ To her own intense amazement Mrs. Fellowes stooped down and gave Mrs. Waring a kiss. The other’s tremor went through her like an electric shock and she did not get over it for the rest of the evening. r, CHAPTER The day after XXIV. the wedding Dacre decided to depart in rather indecent haste. The sit uation was too much for him. All the morning he had been receiving a succession of small shocks, but some time after lunch he experienced an awful one. He caught his mother’s eyes fixed on him with such a dumb yearning as would have upset a rhinoceros, not to say Dacre, and he could have sworn to two tears that gathered in them and were so suddenly dried up. He blushed furiously and fled, in a terrible access of shyness, to the Rectory where he astonished Mrs. Fellowes by the heat of his countenance and his greedy consumption of tea. “Good gracious!” she thought, “is he in love—Dacre?” She took up her cup, and gulp iug down her tea in rather an hysterical way, she watched him over the edge of it “The color, and the stutter, and that awful thirst, they are all deadly symptoms. On the con trary, the amount of cake he swallows goes against i t. What can it be anyway? Mercy! Can’t he hurry? I feel worn out between them all.” Presently Dacre recovered t little and began to talk in a de sultory way, saying a vast num ber of things he didn’t want to setting a wedding is, you migl come in very useful just now. Won’t the regiment survive if you stay down for a few days?” Dacre wriggled on his seat, “Mrs. Fellowes, I have to go back, it is absolutely impera tive.” She laughed. “So it seems by the look of you!” “Look at that big fv.llow!” she thought, “who fears neither man, death, nor devil, nor God much to speak of, routed by one flash of feeling from an unex pected quarter. The creatures can’t stand the unexpected at all, they are intrinsically con ventional! If that fool had a glimmer of sense in him, he would have given the poor little woman a hug, and let her have a comfortable easy howl for once in her life. I suppose she is doing problems with the old fossil in the library instead.” Dacre felt his size frightfully, and began to contrast it men tally with the Sevres cup in his hand. He set it down, and towering huge above Mrs. Fel lowes, delivering himself of an other solemn asseveration as to the impossibility of staying one day longer. “My dear boy, I am quite con vinced,” she said, “if you did, your country must infallibly burst up.” “Mrs. Fellowes, that isn’t fair!” “No more it is! Sit down, Dacre, I have to shout to make my voice reach you up there, and yours comes down on me like a thousand bricks. What do you want me to do?” He gave a sigh of relief and settled down comfoftably. “I want you to go and see her, and—oh you know best then what to do. Don’t you think— I don’t know, hut perhaps if you were to take her out for a walk or something.—Oh, good bye, Mrs. Fellowes, and thanks, thanks, most awfully!” Mrs. Fellowes watched him swing along down the drive, then E ull up with a jerk to speak to <-r husband who was coming up, then swing off again out of sight. “Poor old Dacre! Rut why didn’t he kiss her, the fool? I suppose he wasn’t ‘game.’ ” She put some fresh tea in the pot and set her kettle on the lit tle spirit lamp to boil up. “Has Dacre been making you a declaration of unlawful love?” said the Rector when he came in. “He had precisely that air.” “Worse than that a thousand times. His mother looked like crying, and was on the point of breaking out into sudden and condign maternal affection. Dacre fled incontinently. He is going to make a precipitate re treat to his regiment, and he came to plant me in the breach. The longer one lives, the less one thinks of the courage of your sex.” “What if experience makes cowards of us. You couldn’t expect the fellow to face the un known!” “That’s it, you are all tarred with the same brush, you must have brutal sight to steady your nerves. Now, we—” “You! You, my love, have in tuition. Besides, here is a quo tation that might apply, “fools rush in—” “Do drink your tea, and don’t try to be funny, I feel awful.” I feel rather off myself, I have just been at the Park.” 9 ‘Oh, oh! What were they at?” “Waring was lost in some new speculation, his wife was lost in in a bad dream. I sup pose this late awakening of her nature is good for her, but it seems cruel. It hurts one to see her suffer in that still, pa tient way of hers, and it will play the deuce with Waring’s way of life if it goes on. It wasn’t nature, of course, but that absolute oneness of their life was a beautiful thing to watch, and quite unique. I to keep one’s eyes on theeverlast- ing hills; how dreary and hope less work often seems in scatter ed districts, with neither abject poverty nor active crime to fight against, to raise and keep alive in one the inspiring battle greed. But to be obliged to face a level life daily; to spend one’s soul in trying to raise sod den dough; to galvanize half dead things, heavy, dull, sullen hearts, neither hot nor cold, de siring neither good nor evil, knowing neither tears nor laughter, but slogging on to the grave in dreadful patience! And, in spite of exceptions, this is the life of dozens of country parsons, only we hold our tongues about it, or else we hunt and fatten ourselves, or we have big families to blunt our feel ings.” “John, what’s wrong?” she said. He stroked her hair softly. “Nothing except myself, I suppose. You know I was at the Low Church Meeting yes terday, and the fellows tried me, some of them are so intense as regards food—that isn’t so in decent as haste, however. In the hurry to gobble his brown soup that he might have a go at the white, Lang nearly choked himself. Then it went against one to see how they swallowed syrupy port, one could feel the saccharine sediment on one’s tongue, it showed somehow a defective development. Then when gossip, chiefly concerning the gone astray young women of the neighborhood set in, they grew so keen on their sulij ct, that three of them fairly splut tered. W hen this course was removed and religion brought on, one seemed to get a blow at every turn, the meat and the drink had got into our souls and it came out in our speech. “It looks well for me, little woman, me, a middle aged country parson, with a fat par ish, and reputed sane; but I would give it all, and my eyes into the bargain, to be in the thick of the turmoil—I don’t care where, London holds no talisman ior me any more than any other big centre—where men teem and life lives, for it seems even better to live in pain than to doze in apathy. An! if only my brutal health would have stood it!” “Poor John, how the old sore will break out!” she said ten derly, with a short, dry little sob, “and I too, I would give it all, and my eyes to boot, if I had just one little child.—And Mrs. Waring, up there in her fine house, would give it all if she could only grasp her lost moth erhood. Two old sores and a new! “After all,” she added, “when all’s said and done, we are no worse off than our neigh bors. None of us, it seems to me, get any more than the rags and Fragments of their heart's desires, and yet we all manage to make life jolly on them. We do, John,” the said, with a gay little laugh.—It was wonderful how she managed it with her heart quivering.—“Look in my face and say we do!” He looked in her face, and he kissed her. suppose I ought to be glad that it has received this check, but I’m not.” “Then you ought to be asham ed of yourself for wanting to perpetuate such a life—nave you forgotten Gwen’s face?” Shall I ever forget it, Ruth? But anything absolutely unusu al in a sober married couple, and in a Midland parish on a clay soil, the carnal mind will cling to like a burr. Let us put the moralities aside for a mo ment and consider the subject with the pagan mind. What would outside life be to you or to me in these smug levels, ex cept for that delicious pair of maniacs? We both know how stodgy undiluted duty grows, how one’s feet stick and stum- sheltered her from the blast that was screeching across the ledge of the mountain. She looked as cool, and as beautiful and unruffled, as if she had just dropped from the clouds, instead of climbing up to them by a most villainous path. There was always a sort of exotic splendor about her, and yet she never seemed out of place. "Are you never tired?” said her husband, as he was pouring some wine into a little silver cup. “Neverl I don’t remember ever once having been tired.” “Looked at from the carnal mind of a chaperon, that was rather a nuisance, wasn’t it?” “It was; Lady Mary suffered a good deal from it. I used to try to accommodate myself to her in this matter and to look tired, but I never could manage it.” “Have another sandwich?” She went on in a reflective way as she ate it: “It is a wretched thing gen erally, for a woman to be abso lutely untireable. A very strong woman is knocked out of half the privileges of her sex. If you notice the stock hovoted husband, he has always a sick ly creature of a wife to devote himself to—or one that poses as sickly—or if her body isn’t sick ly, her brain is. You hardly ever find a woman quite sound in mind and limb and intellect, with an absolute unselfish hus band, ready to think all things for her, and to dance attendance on her to all eternity. Help lessness is such supreme flat tery. I tell you, the modern man doesn’t like intellect any more than his fathers before him did, if it conies home too much to him.” “No! Sickliness and softness of brain don’t, however, appeal equally to all men.” “I suppose not; but the things they carry in their train do. The parastical, gracious, lean ing ways, the touch of pathos and pleading,—those are the things I should look for if I were a man, they charm me infinite ly. Then that lovely craving for sympathy, and that delicious feeling of insecurity they float in, which make the touch of strong hands a Heaven sent boon to them—those women, you see, strew incense in your path and they get it back in service. When one hears of a devoted couple and is called on to admire with bated breath, I never can till I have dug out the reason of this devotion. I hate stxking up people on pin nacles, and then having to knock them down like a pair of ninepins.” “Hero worship isn’t your tap evidently, but if one makes a principle of never smelling a flower or eating frut until one has ascertained the manure us ed in its growth, one gets put off a lot. By the way, I haven’t noticed any marked symptoms of mental or physical decay in you, and yet, God knows and can possibly score up the num ber of your lovers—they cer tainly were beyond all human computation curiously, “and Nature is such a vindictive grasping beast it is as well not to run counter to I er or she will have limb for limb,” “I wonder what limb of mine she will want?” “Oh you, she’ll trip you up in your own coils somehow! Fill you with an overpowering desire to be‘caught and kissed’.” he j said with a short laugh, “and have no one handy to do it.” “Oh, then she must make me over aga'n!” She stood up and looked down over the gloomy valley. “What is it to be natural, I wonder? I don’t know.” “Time will tell you all about it. Now, you want to be down over the precipice? Well, any way, I am glad you are warran ted sound. Come on, my yel low aster!” They were past the precipice, far down the other side when Gwen spoke again. “Humphrey,” she said, with a stronger trace of emotion in her voice than he had ever detected there before, “upon my word, I often wish for your sake I was just a good common frowsy red cabbage-rose.” “Ah, do you?—Well, 'die Zeit bringt Rosen!' ” [to be continued.] Bucklen s Arnica Salve. The Best Salve in the world for Cuts, Bruises, Sores, Ulcers, Salt Rheum, Fever Sores, Tetter, Chapped Hands Chilblains, Corns, and all Skin Eruptions, and positively cures Piles, or no pay required. It is guaranteed to give perfect satisfaction, or money refunded. Price 25 cents per box. For sale at Willcox & Co’s drugstore. quick untrans- him and smil- M y, but on the whole lucidly I ble in it, faithfully m one trie* CHAPTER XXV. When Strange set out on his honeymoon, it was with a dis tinct project simmering in his brain. He meditated a good three months’ loiter through the byways of the Tyrol, on into Switzerland, and then home through the towns of the Neth erlands, and all by routes best known to himself. It becomes, however a moral impossibility for a man to loiter with any comfort by the side of a newmade wife, into whose very bones and marrow the spirit of unrest has crept, and so, by intangible gradations the loiter has developed into a tum ultuous forging on. Gwen seemed posessed by a very dignified and quite calm- seeming devil; he was a gentle manly creature and made no untoward fuss or excitement, but movement he must have, he dared not rest. In spite of herself, Gwen found growing in her from the very day of her marriage, a craving, full of subdued fierce ness, to be in the very middle of the hurly-burly, no matter whether it raged in a fashion able hotel, or in the market place of a country town. She had, besides, other uncomforta- pie ways. In valleys, where the sun shone and the wind res ted, and where ordinary mor tals were bathed in a soft en- trancement of delight, she seemed to lose half her life. On the contrary, she lived, her voice regained its timbre, her eyes shone, her mouth laughed, her very hair sparkled with vitality, as soon as she got high on a mountain—the bleaker and harsher the better. One day they had climbed to the top of the D’Auburg, a dour- looking mountain in the Ty rol generally avoided of tourists, But for some reason Gwen took it into her head to ascend it. She now sat glowing and tingling with radiant health, leaning up against a rock that BROWN'S IRON BITTERS cures Dyspepsia, In digestion & Debility. li. S. HACKER 1 S0i\, Manutacturers —OF— Doors, Sash, Blinds, JVEOTTLlDIlSrQS —AND- Building Material. ESTABLISHED 1842. CHARLESTON, S. C. April, 2(] 1893-1 She flashed a latable look at ed. “My lovers? They weren’t lovers at all, they were explor ers, experimental philosophers. They had the same strong yearning for me that a botanist has for a blue chrysanthemum or a yellow aster. If a man could succeed in getting this thing he would go mad over it and put it in the best house in his grounds for all his neighbors and friends to admire, but do you think he would love it like an ordinary sweet red rose that he can gather, and smell, and caress, and bury his nose in, and wear near his heart? Not he! “Do you think one of these men ever wanted to touch me.” she went on calmly, taking lit tle sips of wine, “or to ruffle the hair round my forehead which is their invariable habit in nov els, or to lay his hand on my bare shoulder—they do that, too, I have read—or to clasp me to his breast, the climax to these pretty little customs of theirs? Goodness! And imagine my feelings if one had! But they didn’t want to; and yet they were my slaves, to do with pre cisely as I liked.' “When I was in the thick of it I thought l could not live without all this, yet it was dis appointing on the whole, I be lieve. I remember wishing now and then that I could flirt like other girls, and make men make palpable fools of them selqes for my sake. It looks such a delightful pastime! I have seen plain girls look posi tive beautiful when engaged in it. The under-current of heaps of girls lives, upon which it seems to me all the rest is built up, is a sort of simmering, un confessed, vague longing for the sensation of being ‘caught and kissed,’ like the little brown maid in the old rhyme; not in a general way, but in a well-bred particular way. It is a quite incomprehensible sensation to me.” “Probably. It’s natural all the same,” he said looking at her eyes which regarded him Wives and Daughters Often lose the benefit of life assurance, taken out for their protection, because of ill-ad vised investments. Again, the intentions of the assured sometimes fail of realization through the prodigality of a son to whom the sudden pos session of so much money proves too great a temptation. The Equitable Life has provided against these contingencies by offering The Tontine Installment Policy. The premiums per thousand are much less than under older forms of insurance, and thcamount is payable in 20,25 or 30 annual payments, thus securinga comfortable income for the beneficiary. Write to W. J. RODDEY, Manager, For the Carolina*, ROCK HILL, S. C. •iMlSittet CAN bo CURED; ; We win SEND FREE by maQ a large TRIAL BOTTLEj «■ also, a treatise on Epilepsy. DON'T SUFFER ANY LONGER I Give Port Ofc fice. 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