Rutland weekly herald. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1859-1877, 1873-07-24

| golden q swear to the heavens that hel
hair was not red, not bit of it, anC
| great masses of sunlight seemed hidden
in it, so that when it rippled about hel
tiny ears the light was almost painful
and her eyes Ach Gott, what eyes
Moonlight CLEANS in quiet, shadowy for.
ests-hOt, scorching moons in widest
| iungles-all strange contrasts and con.
ceptions were expressed in those eyes
| flashed and throbbed and faded, were
brilliant and tender, and utterly cold by
| turns Then the lashes, long and dark,
that hid them often, (fOr she was so re,
served and retiring that she mostly let
them droop, only raising them when she
spoke earnestly, how lovely they were
She was musical, too, and sang Doni-
Zeti's 'L'Addio" with me so divinely
that | could not help asking her to let
me drive her out the next day, adding,
by way of keeping up my character of
private tutor, ''You know | am almost
one of the family here, and it is quite
impossible for you to treat me as a
stranger" For a moment she hesitated
in her reply, and then lifted those mag
nifcent eyes to my face as she said:
81 shall be very happy; only, Mr..
Smith," with charming lingering ac-
cent on my name, which, thank heaven,
is not SMITH, II am somewhat afraid
of you. Il am so young, and this is
my first summer season. Is it quite right
for me to accept?"
/ assured her that it was entirely cor
rect, and referred her to her friend as
authority.
"And wouldn't she tell me why she
was afraid of me?"
But no. She only blushed and laughed
a little, and said it was quite impossible
to tell me now, ''thOugh perhaps" gath
enng up her gloves and fan as she spoke,
''she might one of these days"
As | offered my arm and we walked
through the rooms into the hall and
thence on to the piazza, | never felt so
happy in all my life. We happened to
pass full length mirror in the hall, and
I started to see how lovely she was; and
| must say that | suited her not that
| have any vanity, you know, but we
accorded, as musical people say.
'DO YOU know" said |, as we stood
listening to the surf rolling heavily in,
that to me a night like this seems TO
speak directly and with authority of that
first great Cause whose messenger it is ~
The above was the opening. in a slight
ly inverted form, of one Of my recently
composed essays.
''Then you do not believe in the theo-
ry of Descartes?" ?"
''Most certainly not, =" l fearlessly re,
sponded.
(By the way. what is Descarte's the
Ory? | meant to have found out, but
somehow forgot it,
You speak decidedly. And, oh !.
expression of human faith, Our Faith
cr.' is to me incomprehensible.
| felt myself going. Ten minutes
more and | should .be overwhelmed in
theology and exhibiting my ignorance in
a frightful way. So l answeredrquite
sternly:
You should not think of these things
Life is too beautiful to be wasted in idle
pleasure, but it is quite as bad to fret
and mar it with useless sOphisms or
wearysome strivings after.a light denied
us by infinite wisdom. All, Miss May
nard (she started, for | suppose that in
voluntarily | had spoken her name ten
derly,) | have seen so many lives, the
purest and noblest lives. those which
should have been the happiest, darkened
and perhaps made miserable in this
way. | shall be Sad indeed if you suffer
yours to be shipwrecked on this rock"
''You are very kind. 1t is very pleas
ant to have you talk to me earnestly
and frankly. l had not thought that
men often spoke so to women"
Il hardly think they do, unless they
particularly like the woman. l beg
your pardon, Il added as something in
her face told me that | had said too
much, ''but you must remember that
have heard so much of you from Miss
Denvers, you know, that | find myself
talking to you as had-and in truth |
haye-known you for a long time"
''Do you talk so to Miss Denyers 2"
said she, with the shadow of a smile
lurking around her mouth.
81 feel that might without rudeness,
if | could truthfulIy. The smile wan
dered about, until it nearly lost itself
in her dimples, and then deepened into
merry laugh.
Il cannot handle the foils with you;
you are too clever and suppose I ought
to be angry with you; but then I'm not,
so / won't pretend to be.
'You ought not to be angry, and the
pretence would do no good. / fancy
you are rather honest"
''Yes-I hate dishonest people"
''Do you know | think tricky people
and people who can't get mad, are the
most despicable of people ?"
.'Do you ever get mad, %, gentle
knight p" laughed she.
''Do |. Yea, it was not very long ago
your faithful knight oveTstepped the
bounds of all politeness and nearly tore
down the very roof under which we
stand, in his wrath"
"What in the world was he doing it
for?"
He was defending his fair fame
against a cruel slander."
''And who was the.wretch, and what
the accusation ?"
"The name, 0 Queen, must not be
spoken, but the accusation was that am
a flirt."
"a hirt :" she turned on me quickly
and Indignantly. $50 you are fiirt -
Before heaven deny it, Miss May
nard."
Again she started.
''Do you know" she said, aftera little
pause, II believe you. have met very
few gentlemen, but | am sure you are
honest and good.
II thank you more truly than you,
perhaps, can understand, for your trust
in me. | shall never, never betray it,
Miss Maynard.
''Hush. You must not call me Miss
Miss Maynard. Z"
MAY / call you"
'.No sir call me nothing. 1t is cold
let us go in. Your arm, sir, with an
imperious gesture.
/ was little provoked, so we walked
back in silence and for the remainder of
the evening devoted myself to the old
lady, in whose hands my temper grew
worn so rapidly that when rose to go,
| was furious, and only offered old May
nard my horses because ] knew Miss
Denvers would never forgive me if /
didn't.
But the next day drove her out, and
she was gentleness itself, with the soft
grace of her delicate gravity dashed ev-
cry now and then with gayety that |
did NOT fancy that she TOssessed, and