The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1874-08-18

became his willing hostess. He was per-
son of such type as the wife had never be-
fore, in her short, quiet life, encountered
man of wealth and of leisure, high-bred,
scholarly, and belonging to the ancient
Order of Gentlemen, He was handsomer
man, too, than one often meets, with his
clearly-cut features, his warm coloring, and
the chestnut hair and flowing beard, which
the eyes matched.
He was not an old young man. Impulse
was strong within him discipline had not
yet taught him discretion. When he felt
strongly he would speak strongly, and,
perhaps, act recklessly but, under ordinary
circumstances, he had the aplomb and
the cool selfpossession of a man of the
world.
Very soon he began to perceive that to
board with the Hannafords now was a
slightly different thing from what it had
been in the administration of Joseph Han
naford's self-contained mother and staid
sister. Joseph Hannaford's wife was of
altogether another order of women. 1t may
be questioned whether she would have
made any serious impression ON him had
he met her as Miss Carrie Fay. But, since
hel marriage, a soul-subduing pathos had
grown into her look which somehow went
to his heart. Perhaps, too, the strongest
appeal which can be made to mans chiv-
airy, is the sight of a sad and disappointed
woman, who neithers parades nor confesses
her misery.
Hugh Waring was not bad man. In
some respects, indeed, his heart and his
life were purer and fresher than those of
most men. He certainly meant no harm
to his fair young hostess He would not
have added a feathers weight to the bur-
den which had already borne SO hardly
upon her life. But he commenced by
pitying her; and Love has been PHYS
neighbor ever since the world began.
He was tender and gentle to her as no
one had ever been before. He was not too
busy to notice the blush roses in her hair,
or the bushes on her cheeks. If she liked
a wild flower he had brought home, he
made light of long tramp to fetch her its
kindred. While she sewed he read to her,
and taught her to love Keats and Shelley,
and Browning. At nightfall he used to
sing to her--while her husband was busy
about the late "chores" with which New
England farmer fills up the summer twi-'
lights-sweet, suggestive love-songs, and
old ballads which have filtered down
through the centuries their fearful music.
All this time doubt if he had thought
of danger for himself or her. She, certainly
never had. Her delight was pure and
sweet. She would have said, if any one
had questioned her, that Mr.. Waring was
her friend, the best friend she ever had ::
but, unquestioned, she did not say even so
much as that to herself She scarcely
knew that it was summer with her heart,
as we'll as with the year; or that the sum-
mer days were flying fast.
Nor did anything in the aspect of affairs
make her husband uneasy. To do this
young, man whom perhaps circumstances,
rather than nature, had made old, justice,
he was neither mean nor ungenerous. His
confidence in this young wife of his was
perfect. She loved him she was his to
have and to hold why should he grudge
her few hours which Some one else made
pleasant after a fashion not his ownp do
not think he was likely to lose anything
by this generosity, Or that any amount of
suspicious espionage on his part would
have served his own cause better
There came, at last, an evening of revel-
alton to the two who were going on SO
blindly or perhaps it had come to Waring
before. He had been sitting silently
through the sunset, watching tho play of
the warm light of Mrs. Hannaford's fair
face and golden hair. She looked wonder
fully young and helpless, with her extreme
delicacy her appealing eyes, and her soft
white dress, made as simply as babe's,
and girdled with a blue ribbon. A languor,
born perhaps Of the summer heats, op-
pressed her. She dropped towards him,
leaning her head upon her hand, and look
ing frail as a snow-wreath which wind
might blow away. Waring sat silently, as
/ said, and watched her, until The sunset
lights had gone out of her and curious
awe began to steal over him, as he saw her
through the gathering shadows, white, and
still, and unearthly as spirit. Then, out
Of the semi-darkness his voice came to her
in sort Of chant, too low and even to he
a song. The first line was follows:
+" Sweet is true love, though given in vain,