West-Jersey pioneer., 1875-09-16

led from this emerald ground, studded with
turquoise stars, to the pale blue green, the
aquamarine, of the far sky, swept with a
moving trellis of carmine clouds, flushed
and fred by sunset.
The guide paused, and looked toward his
companion expectantly He was not dis
appointed. Their eyes met in one of those
sympathetic avowals of kindred perception
that unites in harmony of music and har-
mony of vision the lovers of Beauty.
They fingered not long. From the glen
of forget-me-nots direct path led to Lin
dengrove, and Miss Florence Grey, with
many thanks to her courteous conductor,
reached home in time to assuage the rising
Mysteries of her anxious mamma.
A week after this occurrence an intimate
friend of Mrs. Grey asked Florence to grant
her favor. s'The agent" she said, "of
the most artistic photographer in New
York, is stopping for day at N, and l
am to send by him to the city, two imper-
feet sketches, one penciling taken latter
DEATH" the other all ambrotype of my dear
dead Lillian. The artist promises to make
from them life-like miniature. feel un-
willing to commit them into strangers
hands, and the agent leaves town tonight.
Will you take them to N-for me? You
can have my pony ph@ton.''
But no, Florence, who luxuriated in ram
bles these beautiful mornings, said she
would rather walk. 'Theresa will go with
me-" She promised, and the pictures, in
cased in Vienna wallet, were intrusted to
her hands.
Theresa was busy. Florence nothing
loath, for her sunny soul loved solitude,
vsntured off alone. Singing, she wended
her way along the dappled path of the noon
day forest.
She had reached point where the arch
Of foliage opened upon pastures divided by
a highroad on the outskirts of a village
There, while begirt still with the loneliness
creeping under wood of her path change
into human form; she saw hideous face
staring up at her from the ground, and so
close to her that had she not glanced that
second down, she would have stumbled at
her next step. A vagrant lay stretched up
on the sward-a rufian with some dark col
ored object lying beside him, and scarlet
handkerchief bound around his head
Something frightful in the sudden appari-
ton, something sanguinary in the aspect,
struck with terror the imagination of the
girl, and she fed precipitately. She dropped
her parasol, dropped the precious packet Of
her friend, and ran-ran as for dear life, ont
of the wood, down the steep hill side, into
the highroad between the meadows
On she ran until she came to cottage,
threw open the garden gate, and sped up
the path for shelter.
Two men were standing in the porch, one
white haired patriarch, leaning on a staff,
and the other-Florence Grey's guide of the
forest. Their mutual recognition was in
sJant, and Florence, pale with fright, SINK
ing upon the porch bench nearly in a swoon,
held out her hand to this stranger as to
some old friend. g
He took the little hand for moment in
his own. 'sHow can help you ?' he asked.
81 have lost something SO precious, so
irrevocably precious2" gasped Florence
"And oh! was coward. But that dread
ul-murderous-red handkerchiefed- she
shuddered and lost her breath upon an ap-
pailing noun Enlightened me SO I dropped
everything
She told him presently more coherently
of her experience. He started off in search
of the pictures, while the old man conduct
ed Florence into his cool, dim summer par
lor, and having seen her safely ensconced
in the ancient depths of its hair cloth sofa,
brought her glass Of milk strengthened
with home made wine.
In less than an hour the young man re-
turned, not having encountered the peddle1
or recovered the parasol, but bringing the
"irrevocably precious package. Florence
thanked him with all her heart. She fell
herself constrained, although an interna
voice suggested that her mother would moi
forgive the imprudence, to allow this young
man, whose wagon was conveniently ir
waiting, to drive her to N. Her errand
there accomplished, she allowed him, by the
most beautiful winding road that evel
threaded romantic passages and crossed
mysterious bridges, to drive her home. She
alighted just within, or rather just without
the range of sight from the Lindengrovt
windows.
How well they had become acquainted
how much, how very much, she liked him
and how appreciative and comprehensive
she felt was his liking for her! Everything
in their intercourse had been unconventional
and now they had parted without wore
of future meeting. She had not, even, al
common gratitude demanded, asked hi
name. Would they meet again3
Poets and artists from Homer to Turner
have recognized wonderful force in the
mystic emphasis of Repetition. And Fate
whose genius is at heart poetic and artistic
has it's own fondness for Implications ant
antiphonals. In the meeting again Of Mis-
Grey and her guide there was an employ
ment of this potent principle.
They met SO precisely as they had me
before, that the repetition assumed in thei
eyes meaning, portent.
Details of coincidence forced themselve
upon observation-the glen of forget-me
nots at sunset; a sunset flecked with carmin
clouds; Florence in her sheppardess costum
of blue and white (for the sojourners a
Lindengrove were indulging in anothe
rural fete); her guide reading the identica
little book; her hand holding the same WOO
leaves. He had named them to her befor
--sumach, wild rose, woodbine.
The exact scene which had environe
their first actual meeting-here it was thei