Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1873-06-14
A CHARMING LOVE STORY.

A tall blue-eyed girl, with loose,
brown curls floating from her face
like an aureole of amber brightness
and slender throat, white and smooth
as a mother of pearl-that was Valen-
tin Bruce, as she sat by the open
French window, dreamily watching
the sunset fame melt into opal pillows
of light.
And Colonel Mordaunt smoked his
despairing cigar, in the fragrant shad-
ows of the shrubbery, and wondered
what fortunate mortal might be fated
to buy Valentin's wedding ring and
pay her millinery bills, and be her
humble slave and servitor through life
Colonel Mordaunt tossed his cigar in
among the rose-acacies that skirt the
lawn, and began to select a cluster of
moss roses, needless of the thorns that
pierced his unaccustomed fingers.
"She2ikel sepwers, he. soliloquized,
"and moss roses are certainly the pref
tiest flowers that grow. l will win a
smile from those velvet lips of her"
He twisted a blade of plant grass
around the messy stems, in place of a
ribbon, and sauntered carelessly up
the graveled walk.
All of sudden he stopped.
Frank Aldrich's voice!" he ex-
claimed, biting his lip with vexation
as a merry peal of laughter foated
through the purling twilight from the
open windows beyond. "What brings
that puppy here, now, of all times and
seasons in the world?..'
"Halloo, JackT' said Aldrich,
been sentimentalizing out in the dew?
The ladies were just fretting over the
chance of your taking cold"
Mordaunt's face frightened up
Valentin did think of him sometimes.
That is" pursued the relentless
Aldrich, poor, thoughtful sister
Katy said she was afraid you would
have cold, and Miss Bruce said moth
ing"
Colonel Mordaunt's countenance
elongated again. But he stepped for
ward and laid the knot of moss roses
in the folds of Falentin's white mus
lin dress, with few murmured words
that nobody could understand.
Flowers, eh p said Frank, super
cilliously, upon my word, Jack is
getting prodigal "
Valentin looked carelessly down at
the cluster of pink buds, then delib-
erately took them up and tossed them
into the lawn.
Explain, if you please" said
Frank, composedly while Mordaunt
grew scarlet and bit his lips until the
blood started.
There was a worm-a horrid green
worm on one of the buds" haug ghtily
said Valentin, shaking off one or two
crimson petals that still adhered to
her muslin dress, Il have a perfect
horror of all such noxious insects"
DO you hear that, Jack?" ap-
pealed Aldrich, lazily turning around
In his chair. Its pity you were so
unfortunate in the selection Of your
floral offering"
But Colonel Mordaunt had left the
room. Kate followed him the next
minute.
Dearest Jack, are you vexed with
Frank and Valentin? They don't
mean to annoy you, I'm sure
mot yexed, DEAR" said Mordaunt,
speaking slowly and" only grieved.
| am sorry Miss Bruce finds me so dis
agreeable" T"
He went up stairs, while Kate hesi-
tated a moment below.
He is better by himself" she said,
mentally.
Poor fellowl he is dreadfully in
love; l do wish Valentin would mt
tease him so.n
And she went down in the teraced
garden to gather honeysuckles for the
parlor vases, and muse on her brother s
manifold grievances.
" It's too bad, so it is?" she mur-
INJURED, winking back the bright drops
that would suffuse her hazel brown
orbs. g | shall talk seriously to Val
entin about it this very evening"
Meanwhile, Colonel Mordaunt stalk
ed sulkily up stairs, into his sisters
pretty little sitting room, where the
muslin curtains were huttering TO and
fro in delicious night wind, and the
s;,i:. ss wass drawn into the little recess
beside table all Uttered with books
and magazines, needle cases and thin
bles, and the indescribable debris
which two girls invariably collect
around themselves in the course of
June afternoon.
He threw himselfrecklessly down on
the sofa and drew the soft folds of
Kate's cashmere shawl over him, as if
Jealous lest the soft eyes of the watch
ing stars, that were just beginning to
gem the heavens, should witness the
struggle tha. convulsed this strong
mans heart.
Not that his grief wrought itself into
any external signs. No, there was
neither groan or motion more than
there had been when he was wounded
at Spotsylvania, and rode on at the
head of his regiment as bravely as
though the red blood had not been
dripping from his arm with slow and
deadly drain. One might almost have