Richmond Hill Public Library News Index

The Liberal, 9 Oct 1902, p. 3

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I think Kenneth himself is a little frightened at. the tempest. he has provoked. He has relinquished all support, and. leaning againsL the wall, is holding her to him in a sil- em, but passionate embrace. Yes, he should have told her; the strain has proved too great. Yet the al- most, boyish delight that lay in the thought of appearing before herâ€"oi The shock of surprise has proved almost too great. To see him at allâ€"alive. safeâ€"is happiness enough: to see him as he now is. so far on the road to absolute recovery, adds to her joy, until it amounts to something akin to pain. "You should have told me: you should have told me," she whispers, lncoherently, unable to control her emotion. She lays her head upon his breast. and finding herself once again With- in the haven of his fond embrace. falls to\weeping bitterly, as though her heart is broken. From Gretchen’s lips breaks a low but piercing cry. Involuntarin she places her hand against her throat, as though suffocating, and then, rushing forward, she flings her arms around the new comer with passion- ate gladness, yet with a suspicion, of the old carefulness. Who is the tall young man standâ€" lng pale and expectant in the door- way, with large blue eyes from which all melancholy has forever flown, with parted lips, and an agi- tated but happy smile? In each of his hands is a stick, on which he supports himself; but he is standing -â€"standingâ€"â€" What o‘clock is it now? Examinâ€" lng the marble betrayer of time upâ€" on the mantel-piece, she tells herself that in fifteen or twenty minutes, according to the speed the horses may make, he‘can be here. Shall she go into the hall to meet him? No,â€"yes; she hardly knows; a. curious nervousness is oppressing her. Oh, that it was all over, and ner Kenneth safe within her sight Lguin! What an eternity fifteen minutes can be! And how slowly this clock ticks! There must be something Wrong withâ€" There is a. slight sound. as of an bpening door. She turns languidly, andâ€"â€" Indeed, her aversion to Dr. Blunt has rather died a natural death, now that he is giving Dugdale back to her alive, and if not better, at least no Worse than when they partâ€" ed. She has Kenneth's own word for that. In his very last letter, though he had not touched on the subject, of improvement, he has ltively assured her he had not teriom'ted in: health since last, Saw her. She smiles instinctively, almost unconsciously, as. standing on the terrace and leoking towards the slumbering ocean, she again assures herself of this fact. Yet, even as she smiles, through very agitation of delight, the tears gather and dWell within her lovely eyes. All the world outside may breathe, and love, and die; what is it to her at this supreme instant, when she is filled with the glad certainty that in an hour or two her lover, her husband, will be clasped in her fond arms. What if he did not come at all toâ€" day,-â€"if the journey had proved too much for him? She grows pale at the bare thought. But no; he would have sent a telegram in that, case: he would not leave her in suspense; and, in spite of her aversion, she has faith in the dark young doc- tor, and he himself had sent one curt, line to say Kenneth would reach homeâ€"to-day. Going inâ€"doors. she makes her way to his room, and looks around it. Yes, all is in order; it is just as he left it; no faintest, (law can be dis- covered. She almost, wishes it was not so perfect, that there might yet remain something wanting to his comfort that she might arrange for him. Mechanically she pokes the fire, that burns as fiercely as though some salamander dwelling in it is exciting it to open rebellion. What shall she do to cheat. time to make the moments fly? Did ever mornâ€" ing, pass so slowly“? A little song is in Gretchen's heartâ€"one of thanksgivingâ€"yet, she gives no voice to it, loud lilting of any Words being impossible to her at this moment. The sunshine glad- dens her, seeming as it were a joy- ful omen of good days yet to come. It harmonizes with 1101‘ every thought; because toâ€"dayâ€"oh, blessed morninglâ€"her Kenneth will return. There was rain last night. The gravel is still wet, and on the green grass and shl‘u‘bberies lie diamond- drops that. glint and glisten in the sunshine; while little spiders’ webs, bedecked with heaven’s tears, spread themselves like veils of silver gossaâ€" mer from branch to branch. CHAPTER XXVIII. Whether October is ashamed of its boisterous entrance, or Whether the swift; approach of death has softenâ€" ed it (as lies Within the power of death to do at. times, killing, as it Hoes, all fire and energy), I know not, but to-day is mild and balmy and sweet. as nne stolen from the middle of September. W¢MW~W+++$Â¥+W§4WWWWW A Scourge of Doubt. 0R ......... THE ERROR 0F LADY BLUNDEN. H‘WMWYWMWMW posâ€" “I desired them to drive to the side entrance, and fortunately we found the door there open. Higgins and John gave me their arms to the hall, and from thence I Walked boldly away from them into your presence. I really think the two men were most unfeignodly glad to see me able to do so." “I am certain of it," 'says Gret- chen. ready tears springing to her eyes. "I always liked Higgins, even though he is peckâ€"marked; lie is a. most. excellont servant. 1â€"] have quite a regard for Higgins." "Dugdale, at this sudden burst of enthusiasm for the hitherto un- thought-of Higgins. forgets his man- ners and gives Way to unmistakable mirth. "Nothing yet,” says Dugdale, with a slight gesture of refusal. “I must rest and talk to you a little. After awhile I should like a glass of sherry and a, biscuit,â€"nothing more, as I had something just before leav- ing town." “You are sure?”â€"anxiously. “As sure as one can be of anyâ€" thing nowadays." “Tell me how you came in so quietly." she asks, with some curi- osity. “That will be delicious," says Gretchen, gayly, bringing her hands together with a pretty ecstatic movement. "It has been the dream of my life to go to Rome; and to find myserf really going there now, and with you, it sounds"â€"w‘ith a. soft sigh of the most utter con- tent â€" “too good to be tr'ue.” Then. with a start. “Ken. darling, you must. have something; you are tired and hungry.” “I think, Gretchen," he says, earnestly, “I should like to do some- thing forâ€"for the poor, you know, and the wretched, and that. I sent a check to one of the London hos- pitals; but I should like to do somch thing" nearer home. Don’t the rector want new school houses built, or What was it?" "I think I never saw anyone so marvelously patient,” says Gretchen, promptly, and with the air of one who will not sufl'er contradiction. "Thank God!" And I believe the whole Book of Common Prayer ‘does not contain more soulâ€"felt thanksgiving than is conveyed in these two earnest words as uttered by her. "Yes, how can We ever be grateful enough?" says Kenneth, slowly. “It is more than I deserve. I took the whole thing so badly, and rebelled so bitterly at times,â€"â€"â€"indeed, al- ways.” After a. moment or two é-he says. softly, in a, low, pathetic tone, that, comes straight from her glad heart. "You have stood too long alâ€" ready," she says. feverishly, and, stooping, would have restored to him both his crutches, but, with a. smile, he declines one, and, acceptâ€" ing her shoulder instead of it as a. support, walks to the sofa near the lire-place. Making him lie down upâ€" on it, as in the olden days, she kneels beside him, and. smoothing back his hair from his forehead, gazes at him again tenderly, as though her eyes could never tire of what they have to feast upon. actually Walking into her presence (however haltingly) unannounced and unsupportedâ€"had prevented his disâ€" closing to her the fact that in the future lies the hope that he may yet be as his fellows, nearly, it not quite, all he once had been. I’resentlyâ€"itbeing inn mm mm mnn Presentlyâ€"it being the most na- tural thing in the world for her to consider others before herselfâ€"Gretâ€" chen remembers, with a little pang. how bad all this agitation must be for him, land by a. supreme effort conquers her emotion. K conquers her emotion. K Raising her head, she looks at him long and earnestly, thenâ€"still hold- ing his handsâ€"leans back and re- gards with amazement (that has both pride and perplexity in it.) his tall, slight figure, that yet, stoops a. little at the shoulders. Then she draws a. long, deep breath; and then they kiss each other again, solemn- ly, fervently. There is a content too great for smiles. And I think she finds they ligve both been cry- ing, because there are at least signs of tears upon his dark lashes. “I’ll telegraph for Blunt if you address me in that. tone again," says Dugdale. with a slight smile. "Now ti'e shall have no more scenes to-dny: on _that I am determined. So I shall go for the wine myself. Be- cause I know Mrs. Judson" (the housekeeper) "will want, to see you next, and I simply won’t have you tormented or fatigued. which means the same thing. Kenneth, lie down again directly. What do you mean by overtasking your strength in this manner?" lle is standing tall and erectâ€"if one hand is on Gretchen's shoulder, -an_d Lynun, awestruck, delighted, indeed overcome with emotion, is standing too staring at him. The old man has knowu him since he was a. lad; has given him his first les- sons in riding and his first surrepâ€" titious shots out of his uncle’s gun during the holidays; has glorled in his beauty and strength, and mourn- ed over his misfortune. Now, adâ€" vancing slowly, he takes the hand his master extends to him between both his own, and, having bowed over it, says:â€" “He shall have his wages raised, too," says Gretchen, with an at- tempt at. lightness that rathelj falls through, because her tone is heavy with tours. In a minute 01' tWO, however, correcting herself sternly, she says,â€" “Not a bit of it," says Ken. briskly. “I am to walk so much evâ€" ery day: and I didn’t do my accus- tomed allowance this morning; so I may take liberties with myself now. Ah, Lynan. I am very glad to see you again." “0h. six‘ésir!" in a. tohe impossiâ€" ple to describe. and, finally breaking mto sobs, beats a rapid retreat. "But, dearest, take care you do not fatigue yourself too much,” says Gretchen, cautiously, feeling it her duty to expostulatc, though in reâ€" ality she is dying to Show \him off to every one. “Let me fest my hand on your shoulder. I must let him see that I can stand." “That, on the contrary, would be another inducement to do it. Well, perhaps I may not go so far as to embrace him; but I shall certainly Want to do ‘it all the time." “Poor Blunt!" says Kenneth. She rings the bell, and as Lyman comes to answer it, and while the “fa! 0' his fairy feet" can still be heard outside the door, Kenneth raises himself to a. sitting posture, and says, quickly, with all the eag- erness of a. boy,â€" “Nevertheless I really must see him, and tell him something of all I feel. Yes, I shall go to towu my- self, the Whole Way, to thank him for what he has done, if, indeed, I can find words to express myself. Do you know, Ken," â€"â€" solemnly,â€"“I almost feel as if I could kiss him?" “Oh, don't, you know,” says Dug- dale, mildly. “I really wouldn't, you know, if 1 were you. He wouldn't like it. It would frighten him to death. And then it would be such a horribly onesided affair, you see, because I’m positive he wouldn't return it. Think of the disgrace of that!" “Bless me!" says Ken; "the last time we discussed him I fancied you spoke of him as one of the most do- testable of men, if not the vilest wretch on the face of the earth." “Oh. we have changed all that," says Mrs. Dugdale, with an enchant- ing little grimace. “1 now think him the most delightful, fascinating, irresistible young man of my acâ€" quaintance; and 1 shall certainly make a. point of telling him so when we meet." “'My dear, I hope you won’t. I have a regard for that young man. You will turn his head. and reduce him to idiocy, if you go making pretty speeches to him with that in- tense Iook in your eyes. At preâ€" sent he is useful to mankind. Do not spoil him for his profession." “Then I am glad I was obstin- ate," rejoins he, with such satisfac- tory genuineness in look and tone as makes her color deepen to a. rich delicious pink, and creates within her a. little warm glow that renders her almady happy heart even hap- pier. "You might, have objected to me on my return and sued for a divorce, and Blunt would have had to an- swer for it. By the bye. he says that only for my own obstinate reâ€" fusal to take medical advice during all these past. months. before I came to town, I might have been as far recovered as I am now a, year ago." “If so. you would probably never have come to Laxton. and never have met me." says she, quickly, keeping love, as a Woman will, al- ways in sight, as the chiefest good the world can afford. "Where is Dr. Blunt now?" she asks, quickly, some fresh idea. hav- ing occurred to her. “How is it I never asked about him before, dear, kind, charming man?" “I should like to," returns she, undaunted. "Now! Have you snubâ€" bed me enough, you naughty boy? But it does make my heart warm when I hear how they all love you. Ken, how long your mustache has grown. and it is a. little fairer, isn't it?" isn't it?" “Is it? Iiave I changed. then?” “Slightly, and for the better Your face has stolen from the Fathâ€" efland a Htfle brown shade that I love." "I think his wages ought to be raised,” he says; "don't you?” “I do," replies she, stoutly. "I’d raise everybody’s wages," goes on he, still laughing, “and 01‘- der ‘Wickski' all round besides, like Burnand." “I thank my stars I haven’t. chang- ed for the worse." says he, devoutiy. The builder of a church, on turning thanks for the toast of health. which had been proposed, marked : “I fancy I am more fiw farmer, “that‘s a' very guid for you that‘s b)cn built that. Way; but; ye canna blame me if I ha' 119. been construckit according to act of Parliament !" He endeavored to Wedge himself in between two of the farmers, and finding it a diflicult ozeration, he said to one of them. “Excuse me, sir, you must move up a bit ! Each seat is intended to accommodate five persons. and according to act of Parliament, you are entitled to only eighteen inches of space." An English tourist in the High- lands tells a, story which illustrates the rights and privileges of the in- dividual against even the dictates of the law. The man was travelling by rail in the north of Scotland. At one of the stations four farmers entered the compartment. They were all big, burly men, and completxly filled up the seat on the one side of the compartment. At the next slation the carriage door opened to admit a. tall, cadaverous individual, whose girth was about that of a. lump-post. An imporLant cause in the deâ€" velopment of lying in children is the employment of excessive and illâ€"adâ€" vised punishments. 'l'he child who becomes a. liar is the one who lives in perpetual terror of reproaches, humiliation or strokes. The lie for him is a. supreme resource. “Hush !" said Lady Ryvers, with goriesâ€"those who content. themselves with the lies exacted by social life and those who have habituated themselves to lying more than so- ciety wishesâ€"to lie because of some personal interest. "He was so gifted. He had a larger fortune and brighter prospects than any young man I know; hand- some, gifted, heir to a grand old name and a. grand old estate, yet he has spoiled his life by marrying a doctor's daughter. My dear Moniâ€" ca, words fail me." “Dear mamma, hopelessly bad if ful." The child becomes a. liar because all the world about him lies. The distinction between the liar and the man of sincerity is only relative. There are in reality onlv tWO cateâ€" ca." If she had heard that her only son had committed a forgery or a murder, Lady Ryvers could not have been more afiected’. “A penniless, nameless stranger," 'she saidâ€"“and he my only son ! He has spoiled his life ; he has indeed, Monica." I "Ma.mma,' said the girl, “I have never seen tears in your eyes be- fore ; that distresses me more than Randolph's marriage.” The third stage is the first en- counter of the child with societyâ€"â€" thc first shock with social life. The child who tells all he knows, sees and hears, all that, he would better have left unsaid, is called the “enâ€" fant terrible." His parents do not. tell him to lie, but they tell him it is not necessary to tell! all he thinks. This is extremely serious, as it teaches the child that he cannot Show himself as he is. This is the revelation of the lie obligatory. Abm'e all, among his comrades he quickly learns to diss‘imulate, be- cause if he is naiveâ€"expresses all his joys, pains, desiresâ€"they make sport of himâ€"nay, Worse, they abuse his confidence; the hopes, projects which he has confided to them he some day sees used against him. Thus the impossibility of living without, lying is revealed to him. Society excuses certain forms of lying which are inspired by a, feel- ing of yoliteness, modesty, shame. Ways in Which Prevarication May Be Developed. How does one become a, liar ? That is to say. how does the child discover a. lie and habitually make use of it, ‘2 “Very well, then, I will be obedient. You shall make me your prisoner if you. like; I desire no better fate and no gentler jailer. But, I say, Gret- chen, don't, be long." (To Be Continued). We Can admit. that at the be- ginning there is absolute sincerity. The (hild through all its first years neither lies nor dissimulates. Its sentiments, its desires, translate them into Words and into zwts. Its body is the constant and perfect ex- pression of its inmost being. Such is the starting pointâ€"sincerity, ab- solute transparency. There is a multitude of little lies tolerated which we treat as pardon- able. We tell the domestic to say We are not at home when we are ; we compliment people to their faces and criticise them when they are gone ; we say we are happy to see some one and directly after SIXth of having been annoyed. No more is necessary. The example has been given. We lie to the child himself: we are 1. ressed by his many embarrassâ€" ing questions. and in order to free ourselves from the embarrassment reply with What is frequently a falsehood. Some fine day he disâ€" covers the truth, and the evil is done. The gravest case is when the child is taken as an accomplice in a lie, or when his mother tells him, "Above all do not tell Luis to papa. This is the ruin of all auty. BEYOND THE REACH OF LAW Aye. aye, my friend," replied the can admit that at the be- rg there is absolute sincerity. hild through all its first years '1' lies nor dissimulates. Its lents, its desires, translate into Words and into zwts. Its is the constant and perfect ex- HABIT OF LYING. she she the toast of his reen proposed, reâ€" I am more fitted than for public may not be so is very beauti- your mor- The famous Siamese twins rere born in 1811, and died in 18 '4. A correspondent tells the following story of methods of censorship in Russia: I was at an evening party of the local press censor in a South Russian town. About midnight I had strolled from the music room into a card room, and was watching“ a garne of cards, one of the players being our host,the censor, when the hostess approached her husband: “I wish, my dear, you would step be hind. There are three poor wretohc-a there who have been waiting for you a couple of hours. I did not “iMi to disturb you sooner." “They must wait a little longer,” replied the censor; “I niust finish rny rubberf' Twenty minutes later our host ab- Sented hinme” for a quarter of an hour. Meeting his wife next diary, I asked her who were the “three poor wretches” referred to. “Ekhtors of the three local journaJsJ’ she re- pHed. They had waned two and a half hours in the censor’s back kit- chen with their MSS. and proof sheets for that inorning's issue, wiuiout “finch they could not go to press! “I suppose,” he ventured, “that you would never speak to me again if 1 were to kiss you ‘2" “Oh, George," she exclaimed. "why don't you get over the habit of always looking at the dark side of things?" The value of the present British Crown is put at £113,000. All these theories have led Prof. Schoetensack to pronounce with positiveness that; Australia. was the cradle of the race and that it. was the garden of Eden. Australia also lacks the dense for- ests which might have produced an arboreal race, but it is pointed out that, the tall Australian trees would be calculated to produce just such hands and feet as the human race aetually has. There was an abundance of fond easily procured, and the climate was tempered to a. weak race. Them more easily than anywhere else the art; of making fire might have been discovered. Every one of the scientist's prem' ises forces the conclusion that men were developed in some clime Where the temperature was moderate. where food was easily obtained, and where life was not a. continual strug~ gle against animals superior phys- ically. Such carnivorous animals as ex- isted on the island or continent were too small to be a. danger. The din- go or wild dog, now known to have existed there with prehistoric man. was not a dangerous foe. One of the marsupials was carnivorous, but it was neither large enough nor strong enough to have been 8. dan- ger at any time. Life could not have been sustained at the northern or southern extremi~ ties of the globe because of the cold. The brain of man at this time was not, sufficiently developed to enable him to discover fire. and he could not, have warmed himself. The only place men could have exo is‘ted where ferocious beasts lived would have been in the trees, and i! they had led such a life the resulfi would be a. four handed instead of 8 Such being the case, the anthropo- logist finds but one place answering that description. That is Austra- li‘a. At one time this may have had a. connection with southern. Asia. Here man may have been nourished and developed, he reasons. It is safe from carnivorous beasts which could threaten the existence of men. With this assumption fixed Prof. Schoetensack, with his knowl- edge of the various forms of life which existed at. various times on the globe, began to count out the regions where it would have been impossible for man to have been nourished. The cradle of humanity has been located more than once. More than one anthropologist has staked out a. little section of the globe and said: "This was Eden." But now another scientist has used certain premises as a compass and certain theories as a chain, and has surveyed a. new porLion of the world, and has located a new nursery. The anthropologist began with tha assumpLion that (luring the geologi- cal ages the brain of man was de- veloping and his body was extremely feeble. At this time there were beasts of great strength and agility which would have made the develop- ment of a race Weak physically in).- possible. Australia is the new Eden and Prof. Schoetcnsack of Heidelberg is its discoverer. His conclusions were presented to the Berlin Anthro- pologicnl Society at a. recent meet- ing. The methods by which they Were reached are as interesting as the conclusions themselves. America, Europe, Asia. and Africa were quickly put out of considera- tion, as there existed on these con- tinents animals which would have destroyed every trace of human life in extremely short order. So Says German Professor, Who Declares It Fulfills Con- ditions. AUSTRALIA WAS THE GARDEN OF EDEN. THE CRADLE 0F HUMANITY EDITOR'S TROUBLES TWO HANDED RACE

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