The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1871-08-17
making rspid detours Of the room.
"Do you mean," hazarded Salome-
"do you mean that your guardian loved

J~ "As"o tn"V yVuI EudIuIdu lOVeu
you?' @5:'.' ...~'
slowed me? Think of it Me, a
bsggar, picked up in the streets-the
cutters; why, it reads like romance,
does 1t not? Madcmoiselle, I was not
so high as that when lie took me, burn
ing with fever, dying for want of nour.
lshment. Yes, when the others passed
by on the other side, he, the Good
Samaritan, took me in bis arms, nurssd
me-, fed me, mind and body, became
my good angel! And I, perfdious
wretch, wanted the courage to say
did not love him, vowed he was all the
world to Inc, and eloped with Count
Vanckenstein within the north Count
Vaockcnsteia," she went on; losing be,
tragic air, "who was no more a count
than you arc, with three strong, healthy 3
brothers between him and the title
ffui! it. was contemplate, it was dis.
graceful; but what does a chit Of eight
cen know of lovc? To every one ar.
rives their opportunity once in a life.
time-ah, Mademoiselle, you have q
pain 2"
"No, no." reiterated Salome, who
with hands held tightly over her burst.
ing heart, leaned eagerly forward, 50 as
not to lose syllable. "Tell me ALL
Sec how interested I am. You have
not finished, surely? Tell me more
the place, the name, any thing: it will
be certain to hold NC"
"There is no mere to say, Made.
moise]le. Monsieur Vanckepstein took
me to Austria. We lived unhappily-
Monsieur's temper was atrocious, des.
picabIe; I soon left him to follow the
stage; I am here. Ki1a tout~
"But your guardian, Madame?"
III have never seen him since; he
lett Boulogne shortly: he was not
French, you see he belonged to your
country, MademoiseIle, with good blood
IN his veins. Behold this is his face" !"
and opening tie locket, she gave to
Sslome's gaze the features of August
| MGregor.
"Hark ! eleven a|ready?" she ques-
toned "You think it one Of my for.
eign ways to make easy con6dants but
l have fancy for you, Mademoiselle ;
and 1t is SO many years since I spoke
Of these things, it is like confession ; it
relieves one to think out. There,
goodnight, chere m'ees how your eyes
shine Goodnight, and remember
Cerise Vanckeustein for little. !
leave for Paris tomorrow. Adieu."
Salome went to the window and
looked out on the great quiet sky
brimmed with stars, and smiling down
upon her. It was just such night as
that on which M'Gregory had gone tc
seek her in the woods two years before
What had he been dong those
weary years? How had he heal
led the wound? Oh, that she
should have distrusted him fo1
an instant-that she should have giver
one stab more to that dear, faithful
heart. Two years-two miserable
cruel years, that might have been thu
crown Of happiness What had sht
lost in that time? What tender car,
and steadfast affection! But wh,
spoke of loss? Oh, she had only lost hiu
lit lie while, to find him to-day a hun
dredfold dearer and more to be reveren.
ced. Her heart beat up great pulses O
joy; snatches Of old tones sung at tn,
Lodge on that dead summer rose to he
lips ind swelled upon the night. Sh
could not sleep; she was full of
wild delight that delivered her only t,
the sway Of precious memories, tha
spread before her pictures of a gra
cious future, that sent her soul out t,
him in Infinite longing and appeal, til
tar removed from her, wrapped it
whatever calm of death or tumult O.
life, he must needs DO moved and re
spond to s;ch earnest pleading
Irc Light wore on and the silve
dawn; and sun'ise, floating up tn
meaeure'css heavenly reaches, founs
her eyes uudimmcd and her hear
uodoubting. Yes, she would write t.
him at once, that very day ; she woult
confess all, every thing, taking al
blame to herself, where it did 10 trutt
belong; and he would come to her, sh
should see him, should hear his voio
should be bis for ever and ever! Oh
indeed she was not worthy Of sucl
fortune, but 1t was to be hers all the
same; she needed it; without it sh
shuddered to think of herself. |,
another week, in m NTH at farthest
she should meet bin, be folded in hi
arms, be forgiven.
| She sat down to her letter: "Dea
August" aud there paused to gaze a
the nam' with tender eycs-it was sc
natural to be writing to him once more
so like the Salome he had loved. How
had she existed so long without eve1
speaking or writing these words? L
was impossible to answer; she only
knew it had been one unbroL en- au
guish. Then she wrote to him what
was in her heart, wrote as the bird
sings, aud waited without fear.
1.-THE climate is certainly improv
ing Salome," Aunt Parry was heart
to say.
Thev hava hoon ont ono h.l,v AVA,