Short Story.

Lake County Press, Issue 905, 5 April 1900, Page 2

Short Story.

The Cottage at the Corner.

TM2TIT Noble was a landscape painter. He was a slight, handsome man of about 30. A lonely man, with no relatives ami few friends ; lie had always been too poor to make many friends, he said, but his artistic temperament supplied his needs vf companionship, and he was seldom, if over, conscious of his loneliness. Passing once, ou a walking tour through tlie Loudon suburbs, the little village of Heston, lie was struck with its pieturesqueness, and made up his mind to find lodgings there and make some sketches. There was one cottage that greatly attracted him. It was a little rod brick, lattice-windowed house, covered with romantic honeysuckle and roses, and surrounded by a delightful old-fashioned garden where pinks and sweet williams grew. It stood at the corner of a road where three roads met, and yet it always seemed the most secluded spot in the village. One day he determined to make a sketch of it, and he brought his stool and easel aud planted himself against the wall opposite, and got just the view that lie wanted. It was early morning, and the iiii-sts on the fields yonder had not cleared; but gradually the sun broke through the clouds and flooded the little cottage with golden light. He begun to whistle and wonder vaguely if the occupants of the house ever meant to stir. Presently one of the lattice windows was flung open, and he caught the sound of a woman’s voice.

“ Mary, don’t forget the mushrooms for master’s breakfast.” This wan followed by a low, sweet singing that seemed to awaken the birds aud insects, and immediately the aiiuas full of life and vigour. Then the lower windows wore opened, and a maid came to the door to shake her duster. Smoke began to ascend from the crooked, picturesque chimney, and the artist caught the smell of cooking. It reminded him that he was getting hungry, and he looked at ins watch : another hour before his landlady would be ready for him, so heworkod on. by this time mildly interested iu the occupants of the cotta^e. A girl in a pink print dress came to the door and stood humming, with her hands behind her back. She evidently did hot see him. and ho gazed at her without 'disturbing her attitude. She was small and dark, with full rich lips, and innFtfdvo brown hair that oscapod In tiny curls from the pretty coils. He guessed her to he about 20. Suddenly a little stout man, with a bald head and a wrinkled face, appeared behind her. and. reaching on tiptoe, bent over her and kissed her upturned face. They went into the house together laughing. ITalf-an-honr later, just as Noble was packing up his things, the pair came to the door a sain : the man was carrying a bag, and she was brusb-

Ing his hat. “Thank yon. darling.” he said, 1 shall he home at the usual time.” “ Mind you are,” she answered cheerfully. tripping down the path after him. and standing at the gate to wave her band as he turned at the corner to k.ss his own. Then she saw Noble staring at her. and. with a slight blush, she shut the gate and went indoors. He came again late in the afternoon, and found her sitting In a basket ehair in the garden, sinning as she stitched. He had told himself he had wanted fo put in a bit of the foreground, for the linht was. of course, all wrong for his sketch. But he ended by watching her every movement, and his brush was idle. She got up to water her plants, and from time to time she came to the gate In look for her husband's return, but (slip did not glance at Noble again, and he began to fed Ins presence an Impertinence and went away. But he came dav after day In the early .mornings. And once after she had seen her husband off to town, as Noble was moving away, she called tn him. “Are you painting our cottage ?”

He crossed the road quickly and came up to her. “Is it a liberty?” he stammered. “ Perhaps T ought to have asked permission.”

“ Oh. no ; of course not !” she smiled. “TYe are flattered. May T see your Sketch ?”

He brought her ids canvas. and stood watehimr her as she rrnzed at it with a pretty critical turn of the imad. “It is very good.” she =a ! d at length. “How clever von are ! Really an artist. Wo have wondered about von !” He laughed. “ When it i« finished.” he said, “perhans yon will accent if ?” She blushed crimson. “Oh. no; that would lie too had. Four whole weeks’ work—a n d and ” “ And. T look noor ?” lie finished for her. touched by her momentary Interest, and taking in the beauty of her face and form.

“But T have enough, and T could al wavs’ earn more than T do.”

That was all that passed, but the Ice was broken, and (he next morning they exchanged friendly nods, and she sent the maid out to him with some breakfast, and a message that they did not like to disturb him to ask him to loin them. Later on in the dav. bo met* her in the village, and insisted unon carrying her basket of vegetables and fruit. “ Mary lias hurt her arm." she explained. " and so T have to do the work.”

“ Aren’t yon lonely all day ?” he asked her. “Not a bit. Tt is so novel to me. T have had enough of London life, I never want to return. Tf is so lovely to bo able to pause and feel. You cannot do That in town, yon are nothing but a machine •’•onnd up to dnneo and laugh and play tlie fool fo a crowd of fools. Here I am the slave of Nature, and she is tlie Mistress of Freedom. But i wish T could paint ; it must be so good to express yourself.”

“You do.” he answered gravely. “You are an expression of yourself.”

She smiled. “ What a pity you do not paint mo !” “May T ?” he said quickly, i She shook her head. “It would not be worth your while.”

“Your husband might think so if I Were successful.” She started and blushed. “ I will a<sk him.” she said with a queer little thrill in her voice. They had reached her gate, and she took tlie basket from hi* hand. “Thank you so much for burdening vourself so much for me. Shall I reward your kindness ?” She plucked a rose from the tree eair the gate, and held it up to him. The touch of coquetrv mid the gift set every nerve in his body tingling, and he went wont away planning, with eager feverishness. (o speak to her again. She was adorable beyond words. What would life have been if he had married such a woman ? She would have brought him fame—wealth ! How she inspired him to work ! The slight contact with her that morning filled him With ideals, and set his soul on fire.

That evening he called on the husband to mane ms request to paint her, and the man met him cordially, and took him ill the garden to smoke. “ Margaret has told me she made such a proposition to you,” ho said, "and, of course, I should bo charmed to have a picture of her. I have often thought of it, but I am a Door maa."

“ Pleas e,” the other cried with a quick interruption, “it must not be a commission. I am here for a holiday, ami could only paint for my pleasure. Anything else would be impossible.” The husband looked at the artist a little haughtily, hut something in Noble s face compelled respect, and. with a courteous gratitude, the liule man let the matter drop. Ills wife came ont to them, bringing fruit and coffee : and once Noble caught tin' sound of her singing to Hit' guitar, and ills conversation wandered. It was a strangely sweet, passionate voice, and lie asked her (lie next day. when she was sitting to him. and he had commenced the drawing of her face, what it was she had snug. She laughed and confessed it was her own composition. He begged to hoar tin* words again, and she repeated’(hem with a slight tremble in her voice. They told of a love that was born of a glance, a touch, a smile : and Noble wondered how the stolid, kindly man. old enough to tie her father, whom ho had talked to the evening before, could have inspired so much passion. And his own desire grew lint and wild. Why had not t-hoise two mot boforo ? Was she not the counterpart of himself ; “Do you know.” ho said (o her suddenly, “you have never told mo your name ?” “Have I not? I am Margaret Trevor.”

“And your husband, is he Sir Arthur Trevor ? I remember hearing some time ago that ho had banished himself to some suburb : but I did not know he was married.” “He has been very noble.” she said quickly. “ Ilis brother almost ruined him, and he would not expose him. but sold all the property In pay his debts, and took a post in the oily—that is why he goes to town every day.” “ Would you tell me a little about yourself ?” the artist ventured after a pause.

Have I inspired you with a mystery?" stho laughed. “ Well. then, you will be disappointed There is nothing interesting to tell. I was brought up in a very gay circle, and appointed a husband, a man I hated. . . . And. because I could not escape him iu any other way, I ran away ” “ And then you met Sir Arthur Y*

“ And then Sir Arthur brought me here,” she said with a touch of dignity. Hus eyes fell on her pretty dimpled hands, and he saw with a sudden sickening dread that she wore no wedding ring. Could It be ! Could it bo ! Was it possible. . . . No ! Ills sense of honour for her beautiful poetic nature told him whatever the reason might be (ami after all perhaps she did not always wear her ring) there was no wrong in her life. He caught the sweet light in her eyes, and the pure smile on her lips, and cursed himself for a moment’s doubt.

The next day he did not come as usual, nor the next, but he sent her a note to tell her ho had met with an accident and sprained his ankle. It was on the afternoon of the third day that ho was lying on the uncomfortable conch in his little sitting-room, looking the picture of misery, when the door opened, and Mar garet Trevor came shyly toward him. Ho almost spiking toward her, but she laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently back. Don’t move. lam so sorry for you !" “ Why did yon come Y’ ho almost groaned. “ Should yon have done so ?’’ “I came to persuade you to come to us,” she said in her dignified way. “M e want to nurse you and look after yon.. It is wretched for "you here. My brother Arthur wanted to come last night, but "

“ Your brother !” He was on his feet staring Into her eyes in trembling anxiety. “Your brother! For God’s sake tell me if it is true. Margaret ?” He sank back, overcome with his fearful agitation. and buried his face in his hands.

“ Oh,” she faltered, bursting into tears. “I am a wretch.”

" Why did you deceive me Y’ he cried. “ It, was your mistake! And I thought at first it would be fun to keep it up-till—till Lt began to—to trouble me ; and I have wanted to tell you, only I thought you would find out. It has been very silly, but I didn t know it would matter to you. Fa-give me!” She knelt down by hi,s side, and caught his hand between his own.

“Margaret.” he murmured in an agony. “ will you send me mad ? Do not you understand I love you ? T must have you—or I must go away and never look on your face again. My darling, my darling, I have so little to offer you.” T , . „ “You are the only kingdom I desire, she whispered, nestling her face on his breast “Oh. make me worthy."— “ Modern Society.”