The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1872-05-16

more aloit than usual, gathers her
shawl with chilly gesture about her,
and says across tho table to her daugh.
ter:
u wonder why they do not light
the stove p
Mr.. Lace|les rises and shakes hands
heartily, aad says
Everybody but Lenore is down; the
little bourgeois German family-fathcr,
mother, two daughters, the mild aud
hovering Eng lish old maid in noisone
cameo broach and hair bracelet, who
spends her life 10 marauding about
the Continent in virgin loveliness the
Cantab, who has been climbing every
high mountain in the neighborhood, till
all the skio is pccliog of his blistered
tace-bere they are, all OF their, each
eating soup if Jou like to call it soup,
after his several nabncr. 1t is weak
and nasty stuff enough, one, would think
but apparently too strong for the Ger
man stonachs; at least, having nearly
finished their share, they call for hot
water, pour some into their plates, and
begin to ladle it up into their mouths.
- had better 60 and cali Lenore," l
say aloud to Sylvia, purposely speaking
the obnoxious name to see what effec,
it will produce. II cannot think what
has become of her,"
Az l speak she enters. AS she comes
hurriedly across the room with sort Of
nervous defiance IN her face, I look at
her curiously, trying to see her as a
stranger would. Surely there can be
nothing very provocative Of wrath
of coucllistion, rather-in her altered
look. Even to me, who have watched
her daily, hourly, she seems i'll, shrunk-
en-, dropped. How much more to them
who have not seen her eince-six
months ago-shs shone upon them 10
the hcnlthy bloom Of her delicate ripe
beauty Poor soul! Now that her
strength is gone aud her fairness waned,
can they be angry with her still ? A.
they rather feel than see her approach,
| am sensible Of sort Of ladylikc stiff
ening and dra"iDg-up On the part OF
the two women.
Mr.. Lascelles is fully occupied ia ma-
king faces at his soup. The dead cut
Sylvia predicted is imminent. As she
slips into her seat, the only one left
one next Mrs. Lascelles-with eyes de-
'erm'nedly downcast, and an uneasy
:ed look, half challenging, half depre-
catory, en- her face, curiosity gets the
better of their dignity, and they both
glance at her. I see them both start
ncrceptibly. Yes, they have noticed it
too. Alas ! the change is too patent to
escape the careless est, hostilest eye
With sudden impulse they both bow,
as they had bowed to US, slightly, IN.
sm'lingIy, without the smallest attempt
at cordially, but still quite politely.
"Deuced cold, is not it 2" says Mr..
Lascelles, tuning, with an air of the
greatest fricdrliuess to Sylvia; man-hke,
happily aud sublimely ignoring tn e
sqaubles of his womaukiod; and, rub.
bing his hands, "when last I say YOU,
it was leucea cold too; VIC were as near
]y as possible showed up on cur way
back to London-do you remember,
Blanche 2"
At this happy allusion to our last
merry meeting We al! wax deeply, dark.
ly, beautifully red.
''ls it always cold here?" asks Mrs.
Lascelles, rushing hurriedly, and quite
contrary to her original intention, as I
feel, into conversation with me.
at has been cold since we came
but We are hardly fair judges yet; We
have only been here week 1 am
toldathat it is remarkably healthy
climate" l answer, stiAay and trietly :;
my besetting sin always being tep-
dency to sink into an echo of
Murray.
'*It has been arctic!" says Sylvia, to
! her neighbor, with q plaintiye upcast-