27© 
THE RURAL $3EW- YORKER. 
APRIL 27 
suddenly withdrawing it. “ No—go up to him; It 
Is better as It Is.” 
Dolore3 looked wondm-ingly into his face, which 
was strangely agitated, but he turned away, and 
she went slowly up the uucarpeted stairs and 
knocked at Mr. Chetwood's door. 
“ c O®ie In,’’ ho said ; and she went In and up to 
the bed where he lay in the twilight. •• You have 
come.” he wont on. “Good. Get a caudle, child, 
and put it w here I can see you—I have a great 
deal to .‘uy to you." 
D Bores got the candle and placed It on the lit. 
tie table at Jils side, his eyes restlessly following 
her every movement. 
“ Therej that will do—sit down.” A roll of pa- 
P er ' ;i y on tue bed, Mr. G'hetwood took It up. 
“ Bead this," ho said—**it. concerns yourself.” 
Dolores opened tho paper, read a fe w linos, and 
looked up surprised. 
‘ Go on.”stid the old man, impatiently; and 
Dolores road on with a changing face. 
rt was the draft of her uncle’s will, leaving her 
and Guy fifteen thousand pounds each, upon ono 
con dition—that she, Dolores, was to marry Brian 
Mamie ring within a year’s time; if not, the whole 
thirty thousand pounds went to him, wnat did 
t all mean ? il ul old uncle llal gone mad ? Dol¬ 
ores lifted a very white face aud looked at Mm, 
but did not speak. No word came from her tremb¬ 
ling lips. 
“ 1 am not mad,” he said—“I am as sane as you. 
Now listen, Dolores CUetwood, aud don’t Inter¬ 
rupt mo. I have thirty thousand pounds to leave 
to whoever 1 choose. You all thought me a. beg¬ 
gar but 1 am not. Well, as you see there, l have 
made ample provision Jor you and Guy. it all 
rests with yourself. That will Is to be sealed up 
aud not opened till a year after my death, and 
then, ir you have not falfllted tho conditio a there¬ 
in, ull the money goes to Brian Manncrtng. Now 
you may speak.” 
Duiores clasped her hands together, while her 
breath came fast. 
“ Unclo,”8bn said, speaking In a very uncertain 
voice, “of course you may leave your money to 
whom you choose ; butyou are not Just.” 
“Possibly not. Well, it all rests with you. 
Don't look so scared, child, 1 am sure Guy won’t 
be sorry to get fifteen thousand pounds down.” 
Keenly he read the girl’s white agitated face, and 
noted the trouble lu her eyes as he spoke, “if i 
you care for Guy,” he said, “you will do what 1 
wish. Brian-” I 
The blood surged over Dolores’s face; tears > 
started to her eyes. 
“ Docs he know of this? Oh, uncle, you are I 
very cruel 1” Aud then came a sound of bitter 
weeping, aud amid her choking sob3 Dolores < 
heard Mr. Chetwood urging her to give a promise, t 
but made no answer. , 
TUe moonlight was lying In white patches ou i 
the hare wooden stulr3 when Dolores came slow¬ 
ly down, with sad, weary steps. She had crossed 1 
the hall, and her hand was on the lock, when the t 
door of the dining-room opened, and Brian Man- c 
ncrlng came out and quietly took her hand In r 
Ills own. 
“ You are not going like this,” ne said, “iwaut s 
to speak to you.” 
“No. nol"cried Dolores, In a broken, troubled li 
votoe. “Oh, please, 1 must go Indeed I” Butt.be n 
strong hand held her last, and there were won- a 
d rous pity and tenderness In his low manly voice 
when he spoke. 
“ Only hear me for one moment. 1 know what b 
you arc feeling and suffering now. And Heaven 
knows, poor child, how 1 pity you. I Imvu rought. u 
against this will. I asked him to let me arrange 
things lu my own way, but all to no purpose. A ud 0 
now' 1 —bending low, to try to see her face In the v 
moonilght., while Jits voice grow as agitated as g 
hers—“ would It make It any easier for you to do 
as he wishes, not lor Guy, not for the sake of the li 
paltry nn)hey,but for my sake, because—because, 
Dolores, 1 love you ?” 
“No, no, nol" she cried, wrenching her hands 
from hUclasp. “Oh, please let me pass!" she I. 
added, !u a voice of such anguish that ho cried c 
out. B 
“ Heaven forgive that old man for the wrong he li 
has done us both 1” 
Be ctuglit a glimpse of her white face as lie vc 
opened the door and they wont out Into the cold h£ 
moollght, he walking by her side, listening to the ar 
sobs that could not be repressed, and looking nr 
down pitifully at her. cr 
“ Dou’t let this distress you,” he said, at. last. i 
“ Dolores, 1 have brought you nothing but pain wl 
aud {rouble." w 
“ it was not your fault,” she answered, In a 1 
low voice, and she held out her hand as they “I 
reached tho house. “ Good-bye.” Ua 
11c held It tenderly, the poor hand that trem- I 
bled as Itlay on his own. e( j 
“ W it. good nlglit. or good-bye ?” n,. 
Dolores t urned away with a little pitiful gesture kn 
that pained him. ( U l 
“Good night,” he said- “ Heaven bless yon !" mi 
Next day was Sunday. Dolores had a headache >"o 
and did not go to church in the mornlug, and 1 
William went to Inquire after old Mr. Chetwood; 
the old man would not see hlui however—William ws 
was no favourite of his—and It. was Bilan Man- jm 
nerlng who told him Mr. Chetwood was very 'j 
poorly. orf 
Afternoon service was at tialr-past six ; It was 
al ways very badly attended, aud the candles illck- Th 
erlnfrom their tall candlesticks shed their light 
generally on empty scuta. William did all the w 
service himself In the evening and preached; the • 
Rector, living four miles out ot Ktlblunoy, did Mr 
not drive lu a second time on culd winter nights. \ 
The service had commenced when Brian Man- let 
ncring entered the church and took his seat, hei 
Looking across the aisle, he could see Dolores’ no 
It profile bent over the prayer-book in her hand, 
and he did not pay much heed to the sermon ; ills 
cb gray eyes were forever straying to tho pew where 
id Dolores sat with Bad, weary eyes looking up at 
nd the preacher’s face, Brian sighed. Did the 
knowledge of his love make her look like that ? 
to He looked straight, before him for the rest of the 
ve sermon; and when he lirted his head afteriho 
d. I brief prayer that followed the blessing Dolores 
at was gone. He did not try to overtake her, but 
turned and went through the churchyard, where 
if- the moonlight was lying white and cold upon the 
ig graves, a figure was kneeling on the grass, 
loaning in an agony of weeping against a white 
*■- headstone. 
). “ Mother, mother 1" he heard ; and at the sound 
of that voice he.came forward and laid one hand 
d on the bowed head. 
“ Dolores," he said, very gently, “may 1 not 
d comfort you here by your mother’s grave 7 ” 
“Mother, mother!” cried the broken voice, 
!r wildly, the weeper laying her head against the 
o marble atone, aud sobbing aa If her heart would 
n break. 
o Brian waited for a few minutes and then sat 
I down at her side. 
l * “ Oli, go!” pleaded Dolores, turning a piteous 
i. face to him In the white moonlight; and he an- 
'* I s we red, almost sternly— 
‘'Not till 1 tell you what I have come to say 
• You must hear me.” 
“Very well”—moving a little way from him— 
‘ “oulyl dou’t know that anything you could 
- say could make any difference”—looking uway 
beyond the tombstones, a sort ot desperate ex- 
l presslon coming over her face. 
' “ Do you think I had any hand In Mr. Chet- 
* wood's will?” Brian asked. 
Dolores turned her head, and looked Into the 
straight forward honest eyes. 
“ No,” she answered. 
“You are right,” he said; “and, Dolores, 
Heaven knows I don't want to force you into a 
marriage with me-on the contrary, I tell you 
I would never make you my wife unless I knew 
you loved me. But T want to say to you here 
now, so that It may all be plain between us, 
that I love you fully and entirely for your own 
sake,” 
But. to all Doloies made no answer, she had 
stood up, and he got up too, and walked beside 
her. “ He wants to make me his wire out of 
generosity,” she kept repeating to herself; and 
at last she spoke, bitterly— 
“Whytalk of all this now? Uncle Hal may 
live longer than either of us.” 1 
“Dolores, I tell you,’’said Brian, passionately, 
“ you are misjudging me. Before Heaven l swear ] 
that Mr. Chetwood's money has nothing to do 
with it; and yet you willfully misunderstand 
me.*' A 
“I understand you very well,” she returned, ! 
looking np athttn wearily, and putting her hand 
to her forehead. “ You are very good ; but we 
can never be any more to each otlior than we are 
now.” 
“Why?” came short and stern from Ills firm- '* 
set 11 ps. 1 
Dolores made no reply; she would not say to i 
him, “I will not be your wife, because you ask , 
me out of pity," for she knew beloved her well; ", 
and he repeated his question, adding gently— 
“Tellmo, Dolores.” 
She answered him then, bringing out the words H 
bravely enough— 
" Because you would all your life think I had U 
married you for Guy's sake.” 
“ My darling, must this separate us ? Oh, Dol- e 
ores, could you not get, to oare for me?” There 
was a short, sharp struggle with herself, and the R 
girl’8 wlille face was turned to him. 
“No,"she said,simply, and she held out her 
hands. “ Please, oh, please say no more ! 
He caught her hands, and held them fast. h 
“Bell so. Good-bye, love, good-bye!’’ 
The Dext morning Brian Mannerlng left for 
London; and when Dolores went to see old Mr. 1 
Chetwood she lound him very bitter ngalust 
Brian and a little more gentle than usual with , 
herself. 
“ You look out. ot sorts, child," he said, In a ^ 
voice quite kind for Mm; and then he added 
half to himself, “Blood Is thicker than water 
after all.” And after that, Brian Mannerlng’s 
name never passed his lips; and so the spring 
crept on. 
One day Dolores received a letter from Guy ,! 
which, In her pleased surprise, she read aloud to 
William. ” 
“I have a piece of news for you,” he wrote. U1 
“ I Have discovered a hidden talent that necessity 11( 
has called into being. Ouly fancy', Dolores— vv 
I have taken to authorship j and an obliging 
editor, who sees my productions in t.he same 
light as 1 do, buys them from. me. And who b 
knows what! may come t,o some day? Jt’s aw- lsJ 
fully Jolly, 1 nave given up smoking and every- 
iMng; and the llrst thing I mean to do la to send „ 
you the jolllest present I cau get." “ 1 
Dolores looked up wltn glistening eyes, ai , 
“I am so glad. Dear old Guy? I knew there 
was plenty in him. I wonder what he writes— 
Don’t you William?” , 
The Reverend William looked gravely at Dol- b ', 
ores' pleased, excited face. .. 
"Something for a sporting paper, no doubt. Uu 
That kind of ihtng would be In his line.” 
gold locket came from Guy, with a photograph 
of himself Inside, she showed him that, with 
such conscious pride and love for the giver that 
William said, bitterly— 
" I should be a happier man, Dolores, if any 
one loved me as you do Guy.” 
A day came that old Mr. Chetwood was swin¬ 
es moned to go on the last, long Journey, and the 
nr, blinds were drawn down, .and crape hung from 
re the brass knocker on the shabby door—for the 
, e old man lay dead up stairs. As he had lived 
50 Be died—unloved, unregretted, Dolores was 
te "'lib him at I ho end. lid's were the only eyes 
which shed tears over tho poor, lonely old tnan. 
d He held fast to her warm, sort hands In the last 
<1 awful clinging grasp; It was her voice that 
whispered of peace and forgiveness, aud she 
)t Mono heard his last words. To the surprise of 
every one, Brian Mannerlng came all the way 
?, from London for the luneral, and alter that tho 
,. will was read. 
,l " Poor old man,’’said William, as the lawyer 
unfolded tho paper, “he had’nt much to leave; 
l a nd he cast a glace round the barely furnished 
room. 
s A strange expression flitted across Brian Man- 
_ ncrlng’s face. 
“ I think," he remarked quietly, “ you will And 
v 3 ourself mistaken." And then he leaned back In 
hlschnlr, with his arms folded across his broad 
_ chest, and watched the surprise dawning on 
1 William Chetwood’s face, when the dry, dusl.y 
t ULtlo lawyer read out, in a high-pile hod, squeaky 
. voice, that to Dolores Chetwood was bequeathed 
the sum of thirty thousand pounds. 
"Is It true?” gasped William, turning very 
white. “I nad no Idea—I thought my uncle was 
I a poor man." 
“ Yes,” said Brian, bitterly—and his eyes were 
hard and stern—" the world neglected the poor 
old man—all but your sister; and It, Is very right 
she should have all.” 
“ She ought to bo told. Come, Mr. Mannerlng, 
and be the bearer of this good news.” 
Over Dolores’s race came a great, look of sorrow¬ 
ful surprise and agitation when William told Ills 
news, with Brian standing gravely by, watching 
with keen observant, eyes. Dolores looked up at 
his face, her own very pale. 
“ This Is your dolug," she said. 
“Yes. I insisted on justice being done,” he 
answered, and be turned away with eyes dark 
with pain; for was there not an Insuperable 
harrier between them now—a barrier placed 
there dcllbeiately by his own hand? 
William had gone to Ms study to get over hts 
surprise ut Dolores' good fortune, aud she and 
Brian were alone together. 
He, standing looking out of the window, 
watched a string of parts piled up with turf wind¬ 
ing (heir slow, weary way down the street, not 
thinking of the things ills eyes mechanically saw, 
but wondering what was passing In the mind of 
the quiet figure at the table, sitting so still, with ■ 
her head laid down upon her folded arms; aud ' 
^.iicn ho heard the sound of low, convulsive weep- 1 
log that made the Mood rush to Ills forehead. * 
And yet he did nor. speak—lie only bit his Up and 1 
looked out steadily into the blazing sunny street. 
And then William came back, and the opportunity I 
was gone forever. £ 
“I think I will say good-by now," Brian said, l 
speaking In a voice rather unlike his own. “i c 
must outcli the mall to-night. He came over c 
and stood beside the table. *• Good-by, Dolores.” ' 
Hhe lifted her head, and for one instant their 1 
eyes met; then his grew hard and stern ugalu. 11 
“I don’t suppose we shall ever meet again," he c 
said, adding, bitterly, “What might havo been a 
can never be now.” 
so he went away, and Dolores, the possessor of 1 
thirty thousand pounds, wept the bitterest tears J 
she had ever shed lu her life, and the letter that c 
reached Guy telling of uncle Hal’s legacy was so 11 
blurred and blotted with tears that he could H 
hardly read It. 5 
“ 1 fancy Mr. Mannerlng was disappointed,” 
said William to Dolores that same evening. 11 1 
have never seen a man with such an almost :v 
bruken-hearted look on Ms face; and yet what u 
right had he to expect anything?” And then lie It 
stopped, amazed at the look that came Into n 
Dolores' eyes. u 
“WBllam," she cried, passionately, “you do it 
not know what you are talking about. Let me s< 
tell you that had it not been lor Brian Manner- 
lug our uncle would never have lert mo one ai 
penny; anti be could have had the whole thirty ni 
thousand pounds himself li he had liked, for m 
uncle Jlal meaut it ail for him.” Bhe vouchsafed t,l 
no farther explanation, but from her manner ai 
William had no doubt of her words. p. 
Guy got a week’s leavo when he received °3 
Dolores’letter, and hurried by the llrst. train to ' sa 
Kllblany. hi 
“Why, Dolores, you don’t look half pleased 1 " m 
he exclaimed, when lie caught sight of her face. 
“I thought you would have been so glad. You “• 
are au heiress now—a live heiress!" at 
“ So I aui glad, Guy." replied Dolores, coloring tli 
a Utile—“and most glad of all for your sake, tlj 
dear; you won’t have to be so economical now, ljf 
Guy.” ’ tli 
“ You dear, little thing I" he said, stooping and 
kissing her. “But 1 am not going to live on you, m 
Dolores; 1 was a brute ever to do so.” ’ — 
h “ And didn’t expect to be so victimized 1" laughed 
h Mrs. Haycroft, a sprightly matron with four 
it marriageable daughters. “ But I am deter¬ 
mined to force you out. of your shell by fair 
y means or foul. Mr. Grant tells me you are a 
regular hermit.” 
“And mean to remain so,’’decided Brian, ln- 
'■ " ardly, as lie thought, of the four gushing Misses 
Haycroft; but bo only smiled a littio wearily, 
“ a ud looked out at the trim croquet-ground, with 
Us ribbon-border blazing in the sunshine and 
tho two youngest Misses Haycroft, attired in the 
5 latest extravagant fashion, playing Badminton. 
s " Would you like to play ?" asked Mrs. Haycroft, 
• following the direction of his glance. Brian an- 
1 swered, quickly— 
“ Thanks, no ; I think it Is rather hot—don’t 
J you?" 
[ " Well, perhaps so— but the girls don’t Seem to 
mind.” 
And then Mrs. Haycroft’s mind went back to 
her dance again. It was hard work beating up 
' recruits—gentlemen were hard to bo procured. 
There was not. even any barracks near to import 
officers from; and Brian Mannerlng was good- 
looking and eligible—so, after further considera¬ 
tion, she returned to the siege with renewed 
energy. 
“ But won’t you really come to my party ? You 
might not find It so bad os you expect." 
“1 am sure It would be very pleasant,” Brian 
answered—" but really I haven’t been to a dance 
for 11 vo years or more." 
“All the more reason to turn over a new leaf. 
We havo an heiress too. She Is from Ireland— 
and such a nice girl.” 
"Shemust be different from most heiresses, 
then." said Brian, smiling. 
“ Oh, yes, she is so pretty—the loveliest face 
I have ever seen, and the possessor of thirty 
thoua ’ 
“ What Is her name ?” asked Brian suddenly 
turning away his lace. 
'• Chetwood—Dolores Chetwood. She is only 
t.wo-and-twenty. Her fortune was left her In a 
most romantic manner. An old unale died, who 
was always supposed to bo poor, and left this de¬ 
lightful sum to Miss Chetwood, who hud always 
been kind to him. Was It not strange ?” 
“Very," replied Brian, thinking how much 
more romantic the real story of Mr. Chetwood’s 
will was. 
“ And she Is pretty ?” he asked, carelessly. 
“ Oh, more than pretty! ner eyes aro beauti¬ 
ful.” 
Brian got up and walked to the window, only 
too well did he remember the beanty of those deep 
violet eyes with their dusky lashes. For a full 
rnlnuto he did not speak. Then ho said— 
“I wonder the heiress tsu’t, married, with her 
youth and beauty and wealth. It la odd some 
lucky felluw hasn’t carried off the prize.” 
So calmly he spoke that Mrs. Haycroft never 
guessed the Interest ho took lu her answer, or 
how his heart was beating. 8he was quite ready 
to tell Min all sbo k now about the heiress, espec¬ 
ially as all t he time he was watching the Bad¬ 
minton going on In the garden. 
'•Every ono is wondering, ’she began,that 
Dolores Chetwood does not man y. 1 myself fancy 
she is very hard to please. She has admirers in 
plenty, but treats them all equally coolly, and 
only last week refused the greaL catch ot the 
county—Sir Frederick: Tempest. He was in an 
awful state, and went off to Paris In despair. Mr. 
llaycroxt said he never saw a man so cut up 
about anything; but he acknowledged that Miss 
Chetwood never gave him the slightest encour¬ 
agement." 
“ Then he had only hlmseir to blame,” remarked 
Brian, shortly, and he abruptly changed the sub¬ 
ject; but as he took Ms leave, he promised to 
come to the party, and so artfully did he an¬ 
nounce Ms decision that Mrs. Haycroft never 
suspected his real reason for changing Ms mind 
so suddenly. 
“I thought you would have been so pleased 10 “ Won * rerus « 10 let ™ *elp W 
William,"said Dolores. reDroacMnilv ' ’ wl ‘at will be tbo use of all that money 
“So 1 am -very glad ho can do something for 
himself, lln won’t be so hard on you now.” 
VVllh burning cheeks Dolorca put away her 
letter—William was always so unjustly hard on 
her darling Guy—and rrora that day she told Mm 
no more of Guy’s literary success; but when a 
to me?”—smiling a little sadly as she spoke. 
**»»„•« 
“Can nothing persuade you to come, Mr. Man. 
ncrlng?” 
“You arc very kind, but you know I am no 
lover of balls and parties; I came down to Harry 
Grant’s only for tho shooting.” 
It was three years since Brian Mannerlng had 
seen Dolores—three long years—and no w he was 
unexpectedly to meet her again. It. was very 
late when he arrived at Mrs. Haycroft *3 on tho 
night of the ball, and he stood with a knot of men 
in tho doorway, watching tho dancing, but see¬ 
ing only ono face, tliatof Doiores Chetwood, who 
seemed the ceutor of attraetlou and admiration. 
She was charmingly dressed In pure white, soft 
and shimmering, with pearls on her neck and 
arms. To him she appeared changed. With all 
her wealth and beauty, she did not seem happy; 
there was a weary, dissatisfied look In her eyes; 
and when she was not smiling her mouth was 
pensive, almost sad. Yet none but He keen gray 
eyes watching her every movement so intently 
saw aught but a young lovely face, whoso eyes 
had a touch of serious ness perhaps—nothing 
more. 
Brian made his way through the room at last, 
uml went straight to Dolores. A sudden Hush 
aud tremor or excitement came over her race as 
the sight of hltn brought back the recollection of 
the old time so keenly; and then, as she laid her 
hand for a moment In his, she turned white to 
the lips. 
“ l have startled you,” ho said,In his old well-re¬ 
membered voice. “ Can you give me one dance ?” 
—taking her programme out of her hand. “ There 
Is one left—may 1 have that?"—scribbling Ms 
name ou the scrap of glided pasteboard, and nev¬ 
er noting that her lips were quivering so that she 
could not answer. 
Brian watted patleutly for a whole hour or 
more, when his turn came at last, and he and 
Dolores took one turn round the room ; and then 
he said, looking down at her with pitiless eyes 
and firm mouth— 
I 
