Daily Kennebec journal., 1876-11-03

ferent manner. with some explanation 10
soften his words away. Then he raises
the glove to bis lips.
,'.tiolet Ia my favorite color and favorte
perfome,n he coolly says. "ls it also
YOURS. Ottalie ~ bfa
He calls her 0ttalie for the first time In
my hearing. q II is only FIVE Sundays since
Keith introduced him to us. yet he calls
her Ottalie u' hp
AS the aborisines reckoned the flight of
time by the moon. SO we of Some reckon it
by our solitary landmark-the Sabbath.
Keith Harland and his naughty mother
have gone again. My thoughts wander
off on Ottalies affairs, and Just a. | come
to the conclusion that she was sent into
this world for the sole purpose of raining
trouble, hisvoice siartles me-or rather
not his voice, but wha. he says.
Il have called you fasi," il says; 'even
'girl of the period I never meant to
fall in love with you Bat yet | have done
it,
There is an odd, half humorous, half
doubtful tone IN the voice. and its owner is
cutching Oualie's two hands. Her head
is bent SO low can only see the outline
OF flushed cheek. Apprehensior-anger
i hardly know what feeling arouses me.
"Ottalie -
may as we'll call to the moon. She
does not hear or heed me. Mr.. Dame
bends down to.her and speaks almost in
whisper. Her eyes-the big, beautiful
gray eyes-glance up at him.
In my vexation | retire from the wiz
dow. In my trouble | walk back TO it.
Both of them have forgotten my existence.
DO you know he goes on, and my
ears are quick, II began by meaning to
dislike you, did not care for girl who
could be fast enough to row stranger
over the bay and personate boatman's
daughter. Oualie, how did you subduc
my prejudices How did you get the
better of meP Aro you a witch ?"
Mr.. Dame is certainly an odd lover, if
he means it. for love, and wooes after
fashion of his own; but Ottalie does not
seem to object. AS he bends to her the
wind stirs her pretty hair, and the water
comes rolling ID slowly over the sunshiny
sand-poor, foolish Oualie.
You are witch, perhaps" he says.
after a pause, ''On my life | cannot tell
| only know one thing-I love you ="
Really and truely do you love me
Really and truly ?p askes she, childshy
twisting her fingers together, as she rises
to her feet, and looks up AT him,
'''Bctter than lifer' he answers. and
takes both the hands in his. Dismay had
held my breath, but | call now:
.'Ottalie!' p
He hears that and looks round. She
goes and looks out at the open sea. AT
that moment the maid comes in with a
tea-tray, cake and bread and butter. We
dine early on Sundays.
Come in to tea," call cut, in desperate
hope of putting an end TO the folly.
But no; just as though my words were
wind, they regard them not. Opening
the gate they stroll off together across the
sands. take my tea alone with sinking
heart. How intensely foolish Ottalie is
The widest Imagination could not, |
fear, picture Deborah Peyre as a "praying
woman Of course go to church | 90
this evening. have called myself mis-
cradle sinner scores of times now | feel
/ am one, or that she is, or he is, or that
we all are sinners. together. get into a
back pew and believe pray try to
pray, more earnestly. perhaps, than had
ever tried In nv life. And after the SER
vice is over go home and wait / see
two dusky figures pacing the sands to,
gether just beyond the gate, and | fold
my hands tightly and wait.
The gate clicks at last. Ottalie comes
in, and stands in the doorway, half daz-
zeled by the light.
.'Will you condescend to tell me how
you intend to wind up the highly cred,ta-
BILE farce you are playingP" l cry, in help
less rage.
"Wind-it-upg she repeats, the
brightness fading all at once out of her
face. Then with sudden dash of reck-
lessness. II don't know. l don't think its
u bad plan, Deb, l let myself drift--Irilt
=. 1t Is SO much easierp' And she
laughs b strained little laugh that cannot
take the shadow out of her eyes.
Understand this much," says /; ''if | |
you do not put an end to this, will
She gets as white as her dress, and |
seizes my arm.
mo. oh, no! Deborah. you are joking
only Joking, are not you p And she
drops my arm, and sinks on her knees be-
side me. ....t.r ...
.'Am given to joking"
''But you WON'T" she repeats. 81 will
do what you want-only not now, Debo.
rah, not nowp Let me be happy, please,
just little while. Do you gruge me these
few days, because my life has been so
happyP"
l am silent. She clasps my arm to
hasten my reply.
'.'Have had so happy a life, Deborah ?'
Heaven knows that she has not-of late |
years. But how shall i answer her? What |
am to do In one sense of the word am
at rest; she has too much rectitude, too
much pride 10 give cause for real fear; but
there are complications.
''Deborah, dear Deborah, won't you
promise meP" and her voice breaks, and
the firm white arm creops up round my
neck, as her eyes peer into mine. You
will not--tellP"
How shall | answer her?
Deborah, dear Deborah" she cries
again, putting her lips close to my cheek.
How still the room is as her voice falls,
how quiet it is outside-how quiet.
"No,n say. shortly; II will not tell,
Unless am forced to it, Ottale; under
stand that
After little she get. up and goes toward
the door. / follow her.
'.Ottalie,n begin. She stops and looks
over her shoulder, half aDgrily, half ca
perly half entraatinulv