The Vermont transcript. [volume] (St. Albans, Vt.) 1864-1870, 1868-04-10

~ NAiON y Ou dIt getting all
kinds of deaths out here in the dew ?''
| disclaimed all danger, and would
have wilfully remained but there was
no resisting advice, accompanied by
such an indescribably charming man.
her. We walked together up the hill
Gerald taking all the burden of the con-
Nersatlon himselt-entertaining me with
an amusing account of his journey from
Boston. He treated me, not like a
young lady, but like " the little girl y he
had at II lst supposed me.
Those were happy days. Gerald was
TO remain at Hillside but a fortnight
Dnei midsummer holiday. Aunt Mar
tina insisted that | should give up all
household avocations for the entertain
ment OF her idOlized stepson. Ia the
I beautiful mornings, we had miniature
! naval excursions on the neighbOring
J ponds where we captured fairy fleetsn
OF Water-lilcs. IN the soft, languid af-
/ iernOons, we rested in the elm shades
ana While Gerald read Shelley in a most
adapted voice, I listened, entranced.-
Deater and more dangerous were the
twilight walks, the long DELAYS in the
shadowy garden, I'll! aunt Martha, full of
an%lcus concern for my health. sum
/ moned u from Paradise-paradise. al
least to me. | was, indeed, in love-and
l Knew H. l suppose it is possible for
! young ladies, like book hcrOinCs, TO be
in state of idiotic bliss, quite uncon-
I scious whether they love or hate the
/ people that surround them. / was sure
! that loved Gerald NJ Kean. and long
/ eo for some more definite expression
/ OF regard from him. The night before
his departure came--a soft, airless sum
mer night-the starlight melted through
saffron mistsr
Just the evening for walk in the
garden said Gerald o. we stood in the
1 porch.
Aunt Martha interposed.
II yeu are plotting walk, children,
/ ] shan't allow it. Matte is not we'll
enough to be out in the dew, and you
1 look pale, Gerald
My head aches" said he, obedientlv
turning from the enchanted garden. and
| Longing gracefully ON a sofa in the par
/ Tor.
Aunt Martha's hand rested for a mo-
meRt on his forehead.
\ nervous headache she decided:
" the veins click like wires in tele-
graph oillce. Matte, child, run up
stairs and get his brush, then bring a
bowl of ice water, with cologne
" | detest colognein said Gerald, pet
tishly. You had little heliotrope,
now-there's charm about that"
| blushed with delight, for Gerald
knew that | was very fond of this per-
fume.
Now, " said aunt Martha. when |
had returned, " | must finish some sew
ing for Gerald, and you Will battle his
head for me? Cool his forehead with
the ice water, then brush his hair-so-
slow and gently-it viii relieve him.
but you viii need 4 sponge, Matte
/ brought il, and aunt Martha betoOk
herself and her sewing to the further
end of the room. cooled the sponge
and was timidly placing it on Gerald's
forehead. He took it from my hand
with mock, angry look. and threw it
out of the opened window / thought |
had displeased him. / took the brush
that was confiscatcd and sent after the
sponge.
What nurse you are, Matte
Can't you think what your patient
wants?"
He clasped my wrist, and dipped my
fingers very dainty in the perfumed
water.
Now, Miss Nightingale, proceed
How my foolish hand trembled, As il
smoothed his tangled curls He closed
his eyes with a look of intense satisfac-
ton, but there was a wicked smile on
his face
Soft and fragrantr' he said, quite
aloud.
did you say the sponge was toosoft?''
inquired aunt Martha, catching a word /
of his sentence. Perhaps folded linen,
wet in vinegar. laid across your fore
head, would be better"
Rags and vinegari' - iterated Gerald,
with a look of disgust, - prefer hello
trope dews."
Matte may be tired suggested my
aunt.
" Forgive me-" said Gerald, in his
most winning way. am always sell |
fish You have served enough. | am |
cured
He dried my hand, and brought it to |
his lips Aunt Martha, at that instant,
unluckily rose with her lighted candle |
in her hand, just in time to witness that /
kiss that gave me at once such a fever of |
joy and shame
Her face darkened. | bitterly fell
her displeasure as she put the candle in |
my hand.
You viii need extra sleep in the morn |
ing. | must be up to see Gerald off. |
don't wish you to come to the first |
breakfast
| walked like culprit toward my lit
tie bedroom-my hand was on the door |
latch.
" Aren't you going to bid me good |
by?" said Gerald, nonchalantly, extend |
ing his hand, as he half arose from the |
sofa.
Aunt Martha stood like an indignant /
Nemesis, by his side. l looked at them |
both, uttered an inarticulate sound |
meant for good-by '-then my little |
sanctum received me.
/ sank by the window-seat, overcome /
with shame. Hours passed, but / did |
not think of sleep. ] had unbranded my |
hair as mechanical preparation, but /
could get no further. Suddenly, the |
reality of Gerald's departure came over
me, and my head bowed to the window
sill with my tears. | could not look out |
longer on the beautiful garden. That |
instant, there was mingled with syrin
gas and roses, the subtle fragrance of a
cigar.
fI'd Just like to lift you out of this
window, and run offwith you, my little /
Matte! Was it mother, or that kiss
that frightened you SO, child? Don't
tell mel will decide for myself in a
minute. Matte, do you know you've
been sleeping so long under these stars
that Cassiopeia's bright hair has fallen
llVnl lilC ShN anu NCiiCu yOO away
my sight? Come, my maiden with the |
golden locks He flung them back,
lightly, and kissed me restlessly on brow |
and lips. "How can go?u he whis-
pered. Don't forget me.n
90 Gerald!n exclaimed, "you know |
l will think of you every moment, and
always"
Perhaps so, )" he said, lightly. "And |
now what do you suppose 1 ana prowl- |
ing about Hillside like burglar for? |
That headache was all CANNON Mat
tie, Let me take that cool, soft hand |
again Mother had no business to look |
SO. was confoundedly mad and ner-
vous when | went up stairs. Thought |
l would hvve quiet stroll in the gar
den, with cigar, and see if could not |
get calm. / didn't think of seeing you,
darling. Come into the garden Mattie'' |
he exclaimed, impulsively.
but Aunt Martha will see us.
Gerald looked vexed.
eff this were anywhere but Hillside, |
you should come, child. 1t won't do to |
be crossed out of Mothers books Just !
now. Confound everything! He |
dropped my hand, and walked off with
out word.
Should L recall him! No. even in the |