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Cromwell Argus, Volume XXVII, Issue 1372, 13 August 1895, Page 2

course it is kind, yet I wish lie had not paid the bill. God knows, I have small cause for pride; but this is what any man must feel a humiliating obligation. If it had been his father, now —many a kind deed he has done me, —but this young man, with his curls and dandy air, is quite another thing." "But, father dear," returned Mary, gently, " consider ; the man could not stay here, and he would not go unless he was paid, so what was to be done ? I think it is a great relief to have the bill nettled." " It is a loan, of course we must regard it as a loan; we shall pay it back in time," said Elsie, in an earnest, pleading voice, which no one understood. Mary looked at her, smiled, and shrugged her shoulders incredulously. " True, Elsie," said her father, always ready to seize upon a hope, however visionary; "of course I will pay him ba.ck. " Yes," he added, straightening himself with an air of relief, " I shall be able to pay him before Christmas." Dismissing at once the unpleasant subject of money, Mr. Vere then began to ask questions about the picnic, and, falling into an antiquarian vein, was soon deep in the ancient history of the Priory, bringing forth proofs in defence of his favourite theory, quoting the opinion of this author or that; so that in less than half-an-hour he had apparently entirely forgotten all the annoyances of the day. Elsie looked at him fondly, rejoicing to see the lines of pain and distress pass away from the beloved face. How could she be so selfish as to regret what had brought him so much relief! She even found it in her heart to be grateful to Sam Dodd for his kindness. Surely no one could be unreasonable enough to expect her to marry him in return for the obligation; that would indeed be carrying gratitude to an absurd extent. Sitting at her father's feet, Elsie listened to his talk of those far-away times when the Priory, and many another similar building now fallen into decay, were peopled by monks and nuns, living their quiet, saintly lives; while outside those cloistered walls gallant knights, in clashing armour, wrought many a doughty deed. This conversation soothed Elsie's agitation, for it carried her far from the painful present; so she fell into his humour, and led him on from one old legend to another, well knowing that, mounted on one of his pet hobbies, he was perfectly happy, and glad, too, to be beguiled out of her own uneasy and perplexing thoughts. By-and-by, however, when she joined Mary and Bertie in the drawing-room, this peaceful mood forsook her. It was far easier to listen to tales of old romance than to hear the praises of Sam Dodd. Bertie was bubbling over with enthusiastic admiration and gratitude, and even Mary, who did not in her heart of hearts like the young man, was on this occasion warmed up to eloquence in his praise. Both Mary and Bertie knew that Sam wished to marry Elsie, but they were almost as simple and guileless as their father, and no suspicion crossed their minds that his kindness could be otherwise than perfectly disinterested. Elsie listened in silence, feeling for the first time in her life that she was alone. Hitherto, Mary had shared her every thought; now an important crisis had come into her life, and she would have to face it by herself. A sudden desire for the long-lost mother filled her heart, and brought unbidden tears into her eyes. Mother would have Understood —would have told her what to dobut alas! there was no mother, no one upon whose judgment she eould rest. Pleading headache and fatigue, she soon went to bed, thinking herself-far too miserable to sleep; but the varied emotions of the day had indeed greatly wearied her, and ere long, "Natures sweet restorer " sealed her tired eyelids, and wrapped ber in the peaceful, restful slumber which is one of. the many privileges of youth. Chapter IX. O, how my will is hurried to and fro, And how niy unresolved resolves do vary! I kuow not where to fix ; sometimes I go This way, then that, and then the quite contrary. I like, dislike; lament for what I could not; I do, undo j yet still do what I should not, And, at the self-same instant, will the thing I would not. . , ' —PHiLir Qua The next day was wet, and a chill wind brought down the golden leaves in showers; but, dandy as he was, the weather did not keep Sam at home. The church clock had but just chimed ten when he arrived. Elsie shivered and turned pale as she heard the study door open and shut. " He's come, Mollie," said Bertie's voice in the hall, *' and he says " —here, in obedience to a warning gesture from his sister, his voice sank to a whisper. " Yery kind of him," replied Mary, in a low tone. " Oh, Bertie ! what a happiness if you should really be able to go to school, after all! You have ability, and I feel sure you would not be lazy if you had such a chance." " That's just it," returned Bertie, his voice rising excitedly. "I never have had a chance. It's all very well for you f;irls to say I am lazy; but how can a ellow be expected to grind when there's nothing to grind for ? " " Don't make excuses, Bertie," said Mary, gravely. " You have always known that your future depended solely upon your own efforts, and yet you have not worked." " Well, I shall work fast enough at school," said Bertie, confidently. "We are to have our choice, Mollie; what do you say, Rugby or Harrow ? " " Time enough to settle that, when we know you are rea'ly ...•ing." responded Mary, quietly. " You forget, Bertie, everything depends upon Elsie's consent." "Elsie's consent!" echoed Bertie. "Surely, Mollie, you do not think it possible she will refuse him ! She could not be so mad— so utterly unreasonable! " " Hush, Bertie, you have no right to say that; Elsie must please herself. I wish you would not talk about it so confix dently " Mary went on her way upstairs, and Bertie followed her, talking eagerly. " They neither of them seem to think much of my happiness," thought Elsie, bitteidy. " Mary has set her heart upon this school plan for Bertie; she does not consider the cost. Iwi 1 not do it." But this reflection was quickly followed by another. " Elsie must please herself." " Oh! How I wish Mollie had not said that," thought poor Elsie ; " I do not want to please myself—to study my own happiness—and yet this is too much, it is too hard for ine. I will tell father. He will never wish me to marry any one I don't love." Anxiously she waited for Sam's departure. His interview with Mr. Vere lasted an hour ; to Elsie, listening in feverish suspense, it seemed like three. At length the study door opened. Once more there were voices in the hall; then her father's footsteps, coming towards her with rapid strides. In he came, looking happy and excited. '■' Why, Elsie, my daivlmg," he cried, clasping her fondly in his arms, " what wonderful news is this I hear! God bless you, my precious child, and grant