Daily Kennebec journal., 1877-04-26
NO. 100.
Gales aud Sketehfs.
ONE WOMAN'S ROMANCE.
BY ELEANOR +. sHARPLEIGH.

She was standing on the piazza in the
last sunset rays, with the scarlet blossoms
OF the trumpet vine dancing above her
head. graceful head II was, crowned
with masses of brown hair parted simply
over the smooth brow and gathered into
a heavy knot She had a wonderfully
beautiful face, too. though the features
were not particularly faultless; the mouth
folded in full, rich curves of melting scar
let, was still too wide to be strictly beau.
tifu, and the chin, though clear cut and
delicate, was too prominent. But the al
most marvellous beauty of the face, was in
the eyes; large and lustrous and of the
deepest brown, changing to a darker hue
with the least emotion, and with dreamy,
far away look in their depths, an express
sion that was not quite sadness, but was
still that something that makes the gazer
think of tears
Her complexion was as clear and
creamy as the petals OF a hite rose. and
as coloress, too, no flush ever rose to stain
the white cheek. and the brow which the
brown hair shaded was as pure as snow
drift.
She wore a dark gray dress that fioated
about her graceful figure in heavy, lustre-
less folds, its sombre plainness unrelieved
by any ornament. There was little ex
preston of coldness in her face-haughti-
ness, it might have been, but for the look
of sweetness about the mouth, and the
misty shadow of sadness in the eyes.
She was a person whom you would look
at twice, meeting her any where, and al
ways with vague feeling of pity, think,
though the determined, self-reliant poise
of the head, and the firm, resolute lips
asked for none. She looked like person
who might have loved and hated passion
ately, and you would wonder what had
frozen her into this torpid. indifferent calm
that the placid, inanimate face and dreamy
eyes expressed.
A ripple of song hoated out from the
open window of the drawing room. 1t
was "Mignon's song" sung in a clear,
girlish voice, sweet and graceful, but
without power and pathos. 1t ceased,
and gentleman stepped softly through
the window on the piazza where she stood.
She turned with little start.
"Why. Mr.. Kingsley she said, "how
quietly you came. think you must pos
sess the Invisible Princes wonderful cap.
which gave the power of moving without
touching the earth, you know"
And it carried one wherever he most
wished to be. did it not? | do not won
der that you think | wore it. Ii had, it
would have certainly brought me here to
your side." he said low, looking earnest
ly into her eyes. The dreamy look had
not left them yet, and her face had be-
wildered expression, as ii she were wan
dering in some far off dream land where
his voice could not reach her, or if it did,
fell on her needless ears, that listened to
other voices.
He saw that she did not heed his earnest
eyes, nor the tenderness of his voice, and
he turned away with an air of perplexity
and impatience. For he was not accus-
toned to hear his words fall on needless
ears-this Wallace Kingsley. He was a
noble looking man, with something in his
face that impressed one instantly with
faith and confidence in him; it was not a
handsome face, but strangely attractive
and interesting one; there was an express
sion OF nobility in the high, massive fore
head, and OF firmness and strength of
character in the mouth. Evidently a man
who would be more at home ION the bat
tie plain, than in "ladvs bower but
whose perseverance and indomitable reso-
luton would make him formidable rival
in love.
He watched the brown eyes, where the
shadow grew deeper and deeper, for
some moments in silence. then, with
little touch of impatience in his tone, said:
''ln what enchanted realms do you
wander, Miss Brent? For out of mortal
ken they seem to be, and even out of the
reach of mortal voices, to-day"
She turned toward him, and the misery
and trouble faded out OF her eyes, as she
answered:
Il beg your pardon, Mr.. Kingsley.
believe was dreaming. What were you
saying?
He made an effort at common place
conversation. not caring to repeat the
tender words which had fallen ON unlsten-
ing ears few moments before.
Nina has been singing to me-" he said,
'her voice is very sweet, but she sings
almost wholly without expression
''1es, she sings ballads better than the
mourniul, pathetic songs that she aspires
to, | think. No one can sing Nignon's
songs who has not felt the pain and
heart ache, the passionate grief and long.
ing, that breathe through it all like sor-
rowful wall
And yet you sing it exquisitely,n he
said. "Certainl,, no one would imagine
you had suffered all that terrible sorrow
and pain"
"WhyP" she asked. with little tremor
in her voice.
81 scarcely know. why, but you have
| always seemed to Inc one OF those persons,
who lead an imaginative sort of life, mov-
ing always in dreamy uncertain sadness,
''ol pensive thought and aspect pale,''
like Tennyson's Margaret, you know.
and whose sorrow, "only sorrows shade
keeps real sorrow far away Cold and
calm, and content always with quiet
negative sort of happiness. You move
like shadow in that steel gray dress.
don't think you care for beauty or luxury
in any form. You could dream your
dream out as well under heavy laden
skies. without warmth, or light. or beauty
as under tropic suns. glowing with radi.
ant light and splendor."
You are mistaken, Mr.. Kingsley-in-
deed, you are mistaken. My nature is
keenly luxuross and aesthetic, craving
real happiness, keen, vivid delights, gay
ETY.. joy and beauty, | should Ike to live
| 4 Al ! a..