NOV. 46 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 733 
fiitrarj Utisollaiqr, 
A SIMILAR CASE. 
Jack, I hear ycra have gone and done it, 
Yes, I know; most fellows will; 
Went and tried it once myself, sir, 
Though yon see I’xu single still. 
And you met her—did you tell me I 
Down at Newport, last July, 
And resolved to ask the question 
At a soirc 1 1 So did I. 
I suppose you left the ball-room 
With its music and its light; 
For they say lore’s flame is brightest 
In the darkness of the night. 
Well, you walked along together, 
Overhead the starlit sky. 
And I'll bet—old man, confess it— 
You were frightened. So was I. 
So you strolled along the terrace, 
Saw the summer moonlight pour 
All its radiance ou tbo waters 
As they rippled on the shore; 
Till at length you gathered courage. 
When you saw that none as nigh— 
Did you draw her close and tell her 
That you loved hor 7 So did I. 
Well. I needn't ask you further. 
And I’m sure I wish you Joy, 
Think I’ll wander down and see yon 
When you’re married—eh, my boy 7 
When the honeymoon is over 
And you’re settled down, we’ll try— 
What 7 The deuce you say! Rejected, 
You rejected 7 So was 11 
[Acta Columbiana. 
-*-♦-*- 
WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 
CHAPTER VIII. 
Thu autumn was come; the golden glory of 
summer had given way to it. 
The little town of Lllford had experienced a 
social earthquake. The great trial of Lonsdale 
versus Hardman had been decided, and the ver¬ 
dict—no one but the twelve intelligent Jurymen 
who gave It knew why—was against Darcy Lons¬ 
dale; the wiU was declared null and void, and 
the whole of the property was to be given to 
James Hardman. 
That was hard; but hardest of all were the 
cruel things said by the plaintiff’s counsel. Darcy 
Lonsdale listened to them like one in a dream. 
He heard all kinds of underhand motives attri¬ 
buted to him; he heard himself described as a 
conspirator, as one who had taken advantage of 
his position to influence a weak-minded woman. 
He listened to words which burned him, which 
branded him—which almost robbed him of his 
self-respect—which so completely bewildered 
him that. It he had been a weaker man, he would 
not have known whether he was guilty or not. 
The blameless life of which he was so proud, 
the blameless name which ho valued above all 
other blessings, were bespattered. As he listened 
to the cruel words, which fell like molten lead 
on his heart and home, he could have cried aloud 
that It was all false—he had lived In Lllford both 
as boy and man, and all his old friends knew 
that he was Incapable of doing any creature a 
wrong or an injury. 
He called for witnesses. He might have made 
a far better defence than he did but that he 
trusted so entirely to the notion that his own 
Innocence must be patent to all men. The ver¬ 
dict was against him—unjustly so, some said, 
for the Judge had summed up favorably for him 
—and Darcy Lonsdale went home crushed and 
heart-broken. 
Those were dreary days In Vale House. 
’* I shall never hold up head again,’’ said Darcy 
Lonsdale with a deep sob. “ I shall never look 
my fellow-men In the face." 
That his old friends should have believed this 
of him palnod the brave honest heart. He had 
a long Illness, from which It was feared at first 
that he would never recover. 
It was a dreary time. The business fell away; 
thetown's-peoplesaldio each other, with a grave 
shake of the head, that they could not trust a 
man of whom such things had been said—they 
could not leave their Interests, as before, in Ms 
bauds. One after another the old names disap¬ 
peared from his books. Men he had known all 
his simple life fought shy of him, avoided him— 
and the dreary time passed on. 
Felix worked hard, but it was like rowing 
against an angry current. There were some 
gleaeoB of comfort; one of them neither father 
nor son ever forgot. 
It was an evening In October, dark and chill. 
For the first, time the invalid had come down¬ 
stairs, and the weight of anxiety upon him 
was like a weight of lead. Those were days 
of strict economy In Vale House. There was no 
tempting fruit for the feeble appetite. Thu best 
medicine that the Invalid had were the cheering 
kindly words of hla wife, the love or his son. 
That evening Felix earne home late Lorn bis 
office; he was tired owing to the hard work and 
ill fortune of the day. He fought nobly with mis¬ 
fortune, but be fought In vain. Ills kind face 
brightened when he saw a letter for him. It 
must bo from Violet. Who would write to him 
except Violet 7 Aud despite all his sorrows Ms 
heart glowed as he thought of her. his beautiful 
love. Oh to escape. If only for one hour, and 
sun himself In the light or her presence! He saw 
her so seldom uow. lie was hard at work during 
the day, and the nights were too cold for walks 
and rambles. He occasionally went over to the 
Limes; but the welcome that he received there 
was not of the warmest, and he could not see 
Violet alone. 
He took up the letter with a smile, and read it. 
It was not from Violet, but from her father, 
Francis Haye, saying that the marriage must be 
deferred for at least a year, as he was quite sure 
that under the circumstances Felix could not 
hamper himself with a wife. “Violet was," he 
said “of the same opinion, as he would seeand 
Indeed there was a rose-tinted, sweet-scented 
note from violet—just a few lines—to the effect 
that she thought her father was right. 
He laid the notes down with a feeling of burn¬ 
ing pain, a thrill of passionate anguish that 
frightened him. Nothing on earth, no power of 
man, should take her from him. She was his own 
and he would hold her until life was ended. 
Then he owned to himself that Mr. naye was 
right—cruelly right—that without, money, with 
an Invalid father, a falling buslues 3 , he could not 
take a wife. It. was right to defer it. He must 
be patient. After all, he had not lost her, he re¬ 
flected. She was still his own. 
There came to him a mad desire to see her, to 
carets the golden hair, to kiss the lovely lips 
that had on them the breath and the fragrance 
of ro^es, to clasp the sweet white hands in his 
own, to hear the nrnslc of the voice that had no 
equal—a wild, mud longing. He read her note 
through again to see If he had overlooked some 
kindly word, to see if she had written “ my love.” 
Then he thought, to himself, that the little note 
was written for her father to see—for Ms faith In 
her was gre.t; he could not believe that her love 
for him wa3 not as true and as fervent as his 
love for her. 
“ Have you some good news there, Felix 7” 
asked the feeble voice of his father; and the next 
moment Felix had repressed the emotion so rap¬ 
idly mastering him, as he crushed the letter In 
his hand. 
“ I Ms only a note from Violet, father," he re¬ 
plied; and the satisfied smile on his father’s 
face rewarded him. Darcy Lonsdale knew that 
while Violet was true to his Idolised son noth¬ 
ing else would hurt him. 
They were alone—father and son—for Kate had 
gone to the nursery—when the hall-door bell 
rang. Felix said cheerfully— 
“ nere Is a visitor.” 
“Few visitors will come here; we have lost a 
fortune, nos found one,” said Darcy Lonsdale. 
wUo had never spoken a cynical word before. 
But It was a visitor, and one whom they were 
both well content to see. It Wits Evelyn Lester, 
with a basket of grapes and delicacies of all 
kinds for the Invalid, and, what was better still, 
with the light or love and kindness on her sweet 
face, and with words of sympathy on her lips. 
As Felix saw her oen«lng over Ms lather, he half 
wished for a moment that Violet had done some¬ 
thing like this—had come to see them in their 
distress. Then he blamed hlmseir for wishing 
that she were other than she was. Violet was a 
goddess to be worshipped—Evelyn a mortal wo¬ 
man. He saw his father s face brighten as the 
girl’s sweet voice soothed him with well-chosen 
words. 
“1 knew yon would come, Eve,” he said. “ Fe¬ 
lix place a chair for her close here by my side; 
It is like breathing the tresh air of May to look 
at you. Eve. Now tell me, child, something that 
will Irlguten me.” 
It was a pretty picture—the Invalid lying on 
his couch, the girl with her sweet face and earn¬ 
est eyes bending over him, and, watching them 
at a distance, the handsome son ; the fire burned 
brightly, the lamps were lighted, while outside 
thenorlh wind wailed mournfully. 
Eyelyn took up a bunch of ripe purple grapes. 
“ I want to see you eat some or these,"6he said. 
“ Mrs. Lonsdale told me that you ate nothing 
yesterday." And taking the grapes one by one 
in her white Ungers she held them to his Ups. 
How could he ret use 7 Ho was so weak and 
feeble, be had been so completely crushed by 
cruel words, that the glrrs simple kindness 
moved him. 
“ 1 have been heart-broken, Eve,” he said. “ I 
do not care to get well.” 
“You will live It dowD,” she returned gently; 
“and those who have doubted you will be the 
first to feel ashamed of their Injustice.” 
“ You have never doubted me. Eve?” 
“Oh, never! Uow could 17 I should doubt 
all the world first.” 
Then she rose from her chair and knelt down 
by his Bide ; she took both Ills hands— such thin, 
worn hands 1— in hers, and held them there. 
“ I came to say something to you, Mr. Lons¬ 
dale,” she said; “ and now that I am here 1 have 
hardly the courage. Promise not to be angry 
with me.” 
“ 1 could not be It I tried, dear child,” he re¬ 
plied. 
“ You have known me all my life,” she said— 
“ have you not ?—ever since l came here, a little 
friendless child." 
“ Y’cs It Is true, Eve." 
•• And you have always been kind to me. I 
have come to you In a score of childish troubles, 
and you were always kind io me. Now I want 
you to let me repay you tor all your kind¬ 
ness.” She spoke so quickly that he could not 
interrupt her. “ I want to nelp you. You know 
that I have money, plenty of money, all lying 
Idle—fori want none, and aunt Jane will not 
touch It. Do accept It; let me gtve It to you. I 
shall never want It, for I shall never marry. Do 
take It; you would make me happier than any 
one la the wide world If you would. I am so 
grieved and so sorry that 1 would go out and 
work tor you tr you womd let me. If you will not 
accept It, borrow It unt’l you can repay me. Do 
not. refuse me—let me help you,” 
Felix had come nearer to her, listening in won¬ 
der to the passionate words. 
“ So you would give me all your fortune, Eve 7” 
There was a glad light In her eyes when she 
raised them to Ms. 
“ 1 would—double my fortune If I had It,” she 
replied. 
“ And why, Eve—tell me why you would be so 
good to me 7” 
The rich crimson flush burned In her face ; she 
knew why, but she could not tell him. 
“ Because I love you all, and you are my dear¬ 
est friends,” she replied. 
“ And you would give It to me all without re¬ 
serve, Eve 7” 
“ All, and more If I had It,” was her answer ; 
and then there was silence for some minutes, 
while the fire burned brightly and the north 
wind walled. 
" My dear Evelyn,” said Lonsdale—and his voice 
was broken with emotion — how shall I ever 
thank you?” 
An expression of perfect rapture came over the 
girl’s face. 
“ You will let me do It ?” she cried. " You 
have made me one of the happiest girl's In the 
world I” 
The thin hands clasped hers, the sunken eyes 
looked tenderly Into hers. 
“ Will I let you give it to me, my dearest Eve 7 
No—a thousand times no ! It Is not for the 
money I am thanking you, but for t he thought, 
for the intention. You have gladdened my heart, 
you have gladdened my life—you have given me 
the courage to get better, you have given me 
hope, I shall be so much the better tor your com¬ 
ing.” 
" But that Is not the point 1” she cried. “ Dear 
Mr. Lonsdale, do accept the money. Ah, if you 
knew how little I care for it, and how much I 
care for you—If you knew the pleasure It would 
give me, you could not refuse 1” 
He drew the sweet face down to his and 
kissed It. 
“ My dear Eve, I would rather have this offer 
made to me than any other. You have, restored 
some or my self-esteem, child, some or my self- 
respeot.” 
Evelyn looked up In wonder, for Felix had bent 
down and kissed her hand ; he gazed at the sweet 
flushed face with wonder. 
“Eve,” he said, “you are an angel, r shall never 
forget that you have given a despondlDg, almost 
despairing man, hope.” 
And again there came to Mm Just a passing 
wlsn, a faint Beetlng desire, that Violet had 
shown the same affection for them; but again he 
checked the thought. Violet was a golden-haired 
goddess, and goddesses did not go about making 
offers of their possessions to unfortunate men. 
Eve could hardly be comforted because they 
would not take her money. She did win one pro¬ 
mise from Darcy Lonsdale, and that was, that 
If he saw Mmself very hardly pushed he would 
borrow a few hundreds at least to go on with. 
But, though she had not succeeded In the 
one great object of her visit, she had at least 
done good—she leit more hopeful hearts behind 
her. 
Later on, when Felix had seen Eve home and 
Katie had listened with eyes dimmed by tears to 
the story of her generosity, the family sat. round 
the fire discussing the event. 
“I shall get well now, Katie,” said Darcy Lons¬ 
dale ; “ yesterday I felt that It was a matter of 
Indifference to me whether I lived or died, and 
now I have hope, Some persons in the world re¬ 
tain their old faith in me. I shall get well, and, 
as Evelyn says. I shall five my trouble down.” 
. He had not been so cheerful since the first 
shadow of the cloud appeared; and from the 
depths of her heart Kate Lonsdale blessed the 
generous girl who had done so much good. 
“ I wish,” she said to herself. •• that Felix had 
chosen Evelyn. I should think of his future with 
hope lr he were going to marry her.” For in the 
depths of Mrs. Lonsdale’s loving heart there 
lurked some little fear of beautiful Violet, Haye. 
So the winter passed. Mr. Lonsdale recovered 
his health but slowly; the spring of Ms life 
seemed broken — he found :lviug his troubles 
down more difficult than he had ant.elpated. He 
had withdrawn Mmselt from all positions of 
trust; he gave up his office as churchwarden, he 
would no longer be overseer. 
“ If they could believe that of me," he said, “ I 
will hold no trust amongst them.” 
And he did not. What business was brought to 
his office he did, but he no longer mixed with his 
fellow-men. He had taken a leading part In all 
the business of the town ; now he was absent 
from all the meetings, and there was a sense of 
remorse amongst his old friends—a slight feeling 
that perhaps after all they had misjudged him. 
Still he found life hard. There were times when 
the brave heart would have given way but 
for the few nearest and dearest to Mm had 
trusted him. 
Felix had had his difficulties ; he had hastened 
to the Limes as soon as possible after the re¬ 
ceipt of his letter. Francis Haye received him 
coolly. 
“I do not wish,” he said, “to part you from 
Violet—I do say that the marriage must not take 
place until you are In a better position to sup¬ 
port a wife.” 
There was nothing for It but for Felix to sub¬ 
mit ; he bad to trample down the wild longing, 
the passionate love—and hts sorrow educated 
Mm. He learned patience, perseverance, en¬ 
durance, and self-control. The trial would have 
been easier to bear had he found that violet was 
distressed about it. He looked In vain for tome 
t race of sorrow on the lovely laughing faee—for 
some sign of regret; there was noae. She had 
written a very pretty note of condolence to Darcy 
Lonsdale, and when Felix talked to her she shook 
her golden head and said It was very sad ; but 
when he went to her with his heart lull of pas¬ 
sionate love, passionate longing and regret, and 
spoke about their marriage being deferred, she 
looked very gravely at him and said— 
" It cannot be helped, Felix ; and after all what 
does It. matter 7 What, difference will a few years 
make 7 By not marrjrlug now, we both escape 
the misery of living on limited means." 
But he was halt mad with his misery, and was 
not to be put off with such words. He took her 
white hands In his, and held them In an iron 
grasp. 
“ Have you no pity to extend to me 7” he cried. 
“ Have you no word to comfort me 7 Have you 
no heart ? That which is a relief to you Is deadly 
anguish to me. Oh, violet you would have been 
a truer woman if you had clasped your arms 
around my neck, If you had laid your face on my 
shoulder, and consoled me!” 
The ring of passion In his voice frightened her, 
as It always did ; she shrank with a scared face 
from the great love she could not understand. 
“ I bave to work and wait,” he said. “ Oh, my 
beautirul love, 1 would work for you aa no man 
has worked, If need should be 1 If, Is not that 
but I had built up my hopes, and It la hard to sen 
them all destroyed. T had believed that this year 
I should take my darling home to begin the life 
that would be Joy for me. 1 am young, and feel 
keenly; it Is ateirlble disappointment to me—a 
terrible blow. Ob, violet, help me to bear it»» 
She raised her beautiful, half-rnghtened faee 
to Ms. 
“ What can T do to help you 7 ” she said. 
“ Kiss me. I will not. have a shy. coy’ formal 
kiss, Violet. Kiss me as though your heart an¬ 
swered to mine. Say you are sorry for me and 
that you will love me and help me to wait. ’ Say 
all this—my heart Is hungry for It.” 
She did as he wished. She laid her golden head 
on hts breast and whispered to him that she was 
sorry for him, and then she raised her fair face 
and kissed Mm. In Shat moment he welcomed 
sorrow, he welcomed paln-lt was all changed 
into untold bliss for him because it won a limp, 
kindness from her. 
“ I shall bear it all now, my darling,” he said 
“The waiting, the suspense, the uncertainty' 
the disgrace—I shall bear it all. I shall remera' 
ber these moments, and I shall bless the pain 
that brought me this happiness.” 
A few moments afterwards she looked ud and 
gave a little low laugh. 
“ How strange It. is!” she said. “ After all 
yon know I never quite promised.” 
Felix smiled. He was too happy jugt t^en to 
think seriously of her words. 
“I have given you the greatest love, violet 
that a man can give a woman. Yon win not Mve 
me ashes In return. I have no fear-my heart 
rests on you. The only thing that I deplore Is 
that months must pass yet before I can call mv 
darling ray own; yet I shall wait and work in 
hope. All things shall come to him who knows 
p “ eMC 10 W9 *<""> 
He left her that evening feeling happier than 
he had felt for some time, violet loved him 
She had never been so kind to him before. He' 
forgot that he had asked her for the kindness— 
It had not been spontaneous. “ There is a silver 
lining to every cloud,” be thought, as he walked 
home. “But tor thl. trouble I should never 
hatre known how Violet loved me. she was so 
shy and reserved before, now she is kind and 
gracious. Sorrow has been my sun-lt ha* 
brightened my love." Das 
Felix kept his word. He worked hard and de¬ 
nied himself much that makes life bright, but the 
labor was of love. He could not tee Violet so 
often to the Limes In the evening. On the nart 
of Francis Haye t’-^p was a sort of armed neu¬ 
trality. He watched the young lovers, he took 
care that, they should uot enjoy many tete-a 
trtes, but he did not. take any active proceeding 
He was a worldly man, and after all Felix Lons- 
dale might accomplish somethJog out in the 
world. The chances were, all things considered, 
in Ms favor. Felix had his consolations in the 
shape or little love-letters, enclosing violets for¬ 
get-me-nots, pretty leaves, or some rare flower- 
letters that In after-years were like strains of 
half-forgotten music to him. They were verv 
simple letters, but they were far more dear and 
precious to him than if they had contained gems 
of poetry and wonders of prose. The arrival of 
one of them brightened his whole day. now he 
read and re-read It, pondering each word in hts 
mind, to see bow much It conveyed, and then 
loektng the letter away at night with his treas 
ures. In what words o, rapture he answered 
Violet's notes—for he had hut one love, Violet, 
one hop- which was to win Violet; one faith"’ 
which was centred In Violet. 
So wluter wore a ay, and genial, lovely spring 
heralded by snowdrops and crocuses, came to 
gladden the hearts and souls of men. 
CHAPTER IX. 
“Sir Owen Chevenlx." The Inhabitants of 
Lllford uttered the name with awe and respect. 
Those who had never seen Sir Owen made a 
point of talking about him; while those who 
had not only seen Mm, but calked to him, were 
elevated almost to another spherp. sir Owen 
was a man of note. He was that, much-to-be-en- 
vled person, a millionaire, and he had Just pur¬ 
chased the finest estate in Loorashlre. It was 
called Garswood Hall, and lay between Lllford 
and the town of Oldstone. 
There had been great excitement about this 
property. It had belonged to Lord Garswoofl, 
who was chiefly famous for his great love of 
travel. It was seldom that i e spent two years 
together in England; aud now chat he had re¬ 
solved upon living entirely In theEist, Garswood 
nail, with the grand estate belonging to It, came 
Into the marker, and the fortunate purchaser 
was Sir Owen Chevenlx. 
Sir Owen had arrived In great state at Gars¬ 
wood. Servants, carriages, horses, grandeur of 
all kinds, had preceded him. The number of 
horses In Ms stables and of servants In tils house¬ 
hold, the marvels of gold aud silver plate at the 
Hall, the wonders In the shape of magnificent 
furniture—these things formed the staple or con¬ 
versation in every house In Lllford. Then came 
the crowning Intelligence, he was not married_ 
this millionaire on whom Fortune had lavished 
her gifts; and the excitement rose to a great 
bight when this became know n. Mald 3 and mat¬ 
rons took the greatest Interest In him, the gran¬ 
dees or the county waited upon Mm,’.fashionable 
mothers offered him advice about Ms household, 
about the parties Le Intended giving, and about 
the people he must invite, while the squires were 
