The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1877-05-24

before breakfast. You will keep my
secret2"
She laughed and flushed.
"Oh, certainly, Mr.. Westwood; but
you forget the register will betray you
"True; am so unused to diplomacy
that the necessity of a false name did
not occur to me. 81 will be Mr.. Brown
until tomorrow. And you will honor
me with your name?"
ri am Olive Willis. We live Just
yonder in the cottage among the elms. "
She said it half-shyly, as if afraid he
would fathom the vague hope in her
heart.
He bowed and smiled.
"Thank you Miss Willis. think
shall have the pleasure Of meeting your
father this evening. You can tell him
only who am when you present me.
Now, l will not detain you longer,
happy though am to have caused your
detention. Good evening, Miss Willis"
He gave her his hand-so strong, in
his respectful grasp-large, aristocratic
white as a wOman's, with large soil
taire diamond on the little finger. And
with his hand, and a bow as if she had
been a duchess, was glance from his
eyes into hers that made all the world
seem brighter to the girl.
Vas her romance coming really? He
was surely her ideal in every respect,
and he had found her as the Prince
Charming found his bride; and the un-
syllabled word kept making music in
her heart as she went homeward, with
flushed cheeks and glorified eyes, utterly
Indifferent to the luscious strawberry
short-cake and cream on the supper
table, and wondering whether Mr..
Westwood would like her better in her
white ruflled organdie or her blue silk,
that evening-that blessed evening!
And to Olive it was a blessed time sit
ting beside her fathers chair, and lis
tening to the fascinating conversation
that delighted old Mr.. Willis as well as
herself.
Then, to have him select one or two
of her best songs, and turn the pages in
such an intelligent, graceful way; and,
better yet, to have him ask her to show
him Westwood House by moonlight,
from the north balcony of the cottage.
1t was all delightful; and then, when
he was making his adieux, he asked Mr..
Willis to bring his daughter over to his
place, as he wanted lady's opinion of
what was perfection about the house.
Then Olive wondered if ever earth held
girl whose future opened up more
goldenly fair.
The level sunset rays were shining
redly through the vine-shaded windows
of the Willis cottage, making an ara
besque Of light and shade on the bright
oak .and-orange carpet, and weaving
Pickering CLEANS on the tea-table, with
its crystal and snOw-white china.
Olive was lowering over the table,
now rearranging the glasses ofjelly and
preserves, now adjusting the cob-web
covering of lace over the high-piled
plate of cream cake, and looking as she
felt-full of content, happiness, and
pleasant anticipation.
Outside, in a rustic chair, Mr.. Willis
was reading the one village paper the
carrier had just delivered, and as Olive
gave last look at the table, and rang
for Phebe to bring in the tea and hot
mullins, she went out on the piazza,
wondering what news it was that made
her father silent so long-that lent such
stern gravity to mis- face.
For a second, she thought perhaps it
was an unfavorable commercial report;
then she wondered if 1t was a political
canard that annoyed him; then, woman
like, as the mullins came in, she forgot
all but the possibility of spelling nice
supper.
"Come, papa-ready. That stupid
Gazette will keep until after you've had
your tea"
He came in, and laid the paper angrily |
down.
eyes, the Gazette will keep, and so
will the news in it. Olive, Pm mortified
to death. What do you thlnk2"
She looked up, startled.
"Why, what is the matter9"
Matter enough to set the village
ablaze. Westwood House was sacked
last night, and the chief of the burglar
band spent the evening with us here,
and was arrested at the hotel this
morning, where he passed for Mr..
Brown. Curse him for his cunning lit
tie game in passing off for Guy West
Heyl Olive! Phebe Lord save me, If
the girl hasn't tainted clear awayl
In his earnestness, he had not seen
the sudden horror-strcken look in her
eyes, nor the swift pallor that gathered
on her face.
He had not observed the quivering of
her mouth, as a yellow whlteness crept
over the scarlet of her lips; nor had he
seen, would he have known the swee
folly of her seventeen years that came
to such pitiful close.
No one ever knew her secret; no one
ever guessed the real lesson but when
she had learned to look back upon her
one romance, she never could quite for
get those twenty-four hours Of sweet
ness.
Days later, when Guy Westwood,
really came to his ancestral halls, a red,
fat, apoplectlC man, Olive felt a thrill of
pain she never could exactly account for,
even while she knew the chances were