The Opelousas journal. [volume] (Opelousas, La.) 1868-1878, 1868-05-30

friend and her lover, but never once felt
that the shadow of fate was impending
darkly over her life at this eventful
moment.
"I knew you would admire her, Har-
vey," she said softly, when the evening
was over
"She is magnifcent'' was LES
trange's enthusiastic comment.
While Blanche, up in her own room,
looked musingly out upon the purple
darkness of the stormy sky, and felt the
strange elation, the dreamy joy that
mortals call love
| "And to think that this monarch
among men-this crowned king of hu-
manity should be sacrificed to Rosa
Budd" she murmured, disdaintully.
Not shall never be love him,
and shall never love but once; Rosa
is only a child-shc will be tar happier
with some new lover, half dozen years
hence, while my heart, like century
plant, opens its inner centers of light,
and bloom but once in a life time ~
Day after day Harvey L'Estrange
returned to the evil fascination of Miss
Ayliffe's presence-evening after eve
ming he hung enraptured on the music
OF her voice, the dewy glister of her eyes.
And Rosa was innocently happy in their
evident mutual appreciation.
Il knew they couldn't help liking
each other" she said to herself, az she
wandered about the gardens gathering
roses to deck the vases.
It was soft spice-breathing morning
in early May, when Rosa came into her
friends apartment, both hands full of
meadow pinks and delicious wild honey
suckles.
"See, Blanche" but she stopped
short. Blanche was not there, and the
dainty bed with its rufled pillow cases
and coverlets of pink silk had not been
slept in, while upon the toilet-cushion
lay folded note, written on the laven-
der paper Blanche was fond of using-a
note directed to Rosa.
She opened it and read it, with a
gradually paling cheek-read that, reck-
less of honor truth or faith, Blanche had
gone off to become the wife of Harvey
LEstrange
"And, after all, Rosa,' went on the cruel
note, "you are too young to know your own
heart. Harvey never could have loved you
as he loves me. Forget us both--I will not
say forgire, because think mans heart be-
longs to that woman, and to her alone, who
can win and keep it in the face of all Obstacles
"How could she oh, how could she p
walled the child, burying her face in
the silken coverlets. Il would have
given my hearts blood to serve her-I
would have given her all I had in the
world, save his love alone. Oh, why
has she robbed me of that IF I could
only have died, still believing Harvey
to be true, and Blanche faultless y
Ten years passed.
You are not going down into the
parlors tonight, Harvey ?"
Why not ?" Harvey L'Estrange
rudely threw off his wife's timid hand.
"Charlie is so fretful, and I am tired
out"
every well-that is no reason why I
should make hermit of myself. You
are altogether too exacting, Blanche.'
Mrs. L'Estrange sighed. Ten years
had sorely faded the dark, sparkling
beauty Of her maiden:hood She had
buried two little delicate children, and
a third was pining away in spite Of all
the invigorating influences Of the "sea
air" the physician had ordered for it.
Nor was Harvey as tenderly considerate
as he should have been; but Blanche
dared not demonstrate further.
At that moment Rosa Budd swept
past the open door, when the lights of
the wide corridor glowed brilliantly
Rosa Budd, as beautiful as Helen's self,
leaning upon the arm of some devoted
cavalier-and Harry L'Estrange, step
ping gallantly forth, bent his lofty head
over Rosa's other hand. While Blanche
watched them with a pang sharper and
keener than the pierce of poisoned
dagger.
How she had changed, that "sixteen-
year old child |" Tall, large, and grand
ly developed, with golden ripply tresses,
such as light have woven their bur-
nished brilliance round Cleopatra's brow
of old, and skin fair as damask rose
leaf-there was not one flaw or fault in
her wonderful loveliness, And Blanche
looked at her faded face in the mirror,
and felt what an ADVANTAGE he rival had
over her. For Harvey L'Estrange was
a beauty-worshipper-a shallow Sy-
barite-and his wife knew it.
1t was late in the July evening-the
moon was setting, melancholy crescent
of gold behind the salt-waves-and lit
tie Charlie had just sunk into dis
turbed slumber. Mrs. L'Estrange rose
up, unable longer to cQmhah -
ing doubts and iaaaaaa nat were gnaw-
ing at herr &gEs and, throwing a light
shawl over her shoulders, stole down to-
wards the hotel piazza below-whence
the indistinct sound of her husbands
voice had reached her more than once
during the last hour.
It was even as she had dreaded. Rosa
Budd stood on the piazza, in the full
light of one of the ballroom windows,
imperially beautiful, with the glitter of
triumph in her blue eyes, and the rest
less crimson burning on her cheeks.
her !. white cashmere opera-cloak had
ialien from one shoulder, revealing the
ivory whiteness Of its perfect outline,
ana her hands were mechanically toying
with silver bouquet-holder.
Close beside her, only shadowed by
the pillars of the piazza, stood Harvey
L'Estrange, pleading in deep, earnest
tones -------