The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1877-07-05

mind several pleasure trips he had pro-
posed for my benefit. We all left the
table together, and foated in en- massc to
the brilliantly lighted drawing rooms
These began to fill rapidly with Mrs.
Lancaster's expected guests, and | soon
found myself alone at one end of the
room, separated from the music parlor
only by half-drawn portieres. Some one
within there was touching the piano
softly, few low chords, and then over
the quickly hushed crowd, in a mans
rich baritone, rang the words of Liebe's,
g. uf Wiedersehen." Sylvie, | will
never, never forget that song. 1t
sounded in my ear. all night long. "Auf
Wiedersehen, Auf Wiedersehen," kept
repeating.
The last words were sung, and the
hum of conversation recommended, and
closed over the music, drowning it in
many hearts, but not in mine. 1t never
could be wiped out of my memory-no,
never.
A voice, Lord Southwell's, half hest
tating, half apologetical, brought me
back to the fact that was in London, at
an everyday reunion, and that it be-
hooved me to act like the nineteenth
century young woman, not like a music
struck maiden.
" Miss Berne," the voice saying, "may
| present my friend Bertram Fitzger-
| raised my eyes, and behold the
very handsomest man | had ever seen in
my life.
Sylvie, to my shame be it said, | fell
in love with him on the spot. He was
tall and STRAIGHTFORWARD with the head and
throat of an Apollo; crisp rings of sunny
brown hair covered his head, and his
eyes were the palest brown, growing yell
low toward the pupil; a firm straight
mouth, with only the shadowing of a
pale brown mustache, and cOloring warm
and soft as an Italians.
This, | knew at once, was the man
who had already half sung my heart
away, and no the other half was won by
his beauty.
l locked at him very quietly. You
have been singing Auf Wiedersehen;'
let me thank you" put out my hand;
he took it as grayely as | gave it.
After that evening he was with us all
the time. We were very gay. We went
everywhere-to garden parties, to flower
shows, to the opera, to the theatre, to
Richmond, to Bushy Park, Windsor
everywhere where pleasure could be
found, and at all places he was at my
side. OF course ] learned all about him.
He was a roundabout cousin to Lord
Southwell, an orphan, half French, half
Irish, very poor, and very proud. He
had been educated abroad as surgeon,
taking some degrees, and was already
we'll spoken OF in the surgical and med
ical world in London.
Six weeks passed in this way; and you
know in six weeks one can learn a great
deal. | learned that the world held but
one man for me, and that one was Bert
ram Fitzgerald.
One morning Lord Southwell came in,
and proposed a long day at his little box
i'll the country, on the banks of the
Thames.
We were to drive down in his drag,
lunch, row to Richmond, dine there, and
then drive up to town by moonlight
OF course we all wanted to go-all but
Jack, who made some excuse; so we
left without him.
1t was very perfect day. We drove
through sweetest country roads, with
bits of river shimmering between the
tree, to Sheperton, and there we found
the dearest cottage home, half smothered
in roses without, and stepped in luxury
within. After luncheon we strayed
about as each best liked. Naturally
enough it was Fitzgerald and | that
found ourselves at the bottom of the old
fruit garden, rich in all manner of
cherry, apple and peach trees.
"Let us sit down here" | said, "just
under this tree. We have such pretty
picture either way-behind Us: Lord
SouthwelPs ideal cot; before us, the
slowly ripping water of your quiet
river"
So we did; and SO well had we come
to know each other that it was nothing
kind passing between us.
The little boats sped by us on the river
now pulled by some fresh young girl,
now by some Cambridge or Oxford stu
dent getting up in his stroke against next
Easter time.
"Sing me something" I said at last.
Sing me "Auf Wiedersehen."
Without a word he obeyed me. 1t
was the same song, the same voice, that
first won me- When he finished, | said,
half dreamily:
"'Auf Wiedersehcn' VIII that be
for either of us, do you Think"
:" \ month, even week, ago." he an
swercd, 81 should have said nothing
more likely; but now-nc-I don't
think we will find out the truth of the
song ever in this world"
| looked up at his handsome face, and
tried to think what life would be like
without him; my old life-the life at
home-seemed 50 far distant, and this
was 50 near, so good. | think, Sylyie,
there must have been some piteous ques-
ton or appeal in my eyes, for, as he
looked down upon me his whole face
changed, and suddenly taking me in his
arms kissed me over and over.
"There," he said in Il half whisper
these are for love and for good-byei
Janet, Janet, why are you not free for
me to have as my very own? Forgive
me; | have shocked you. | know you
must despise me. | know all your kind
ness, all your gentlenesS, to me, these
! long, delicious days, have meant moth
ing but friendship. | knew of your en-
gagement to Frank almost before knew
you. There can be no excuse for me in
your eyes. | know ] must seem dishon-
orable, cowardly; but oh, Janet, forgive
me. | shall never see you any more,
and love you, my little Janet"
What did you say?'' l asked, prosaic-
ally, and Janet halted in her story.
"What could L say, Sylvie? | was
bound to Jack, and, much as l might
want TO, decency forbade my calling
Bertram back and telling him | would
gladly throw Jack over for his sake"
so he went away?"
: Yes, he went away, and the rest of
the day is maze to my memory. OF
course we dined at Richmond, and Of
course we drove home as we had plan-
ned, and it was very gay and merry
party; but | can remember nothing dis
tinetly, save the persistent way in which
one line of his song would go over and
over in my brain,
,slui iHeiucai tIciben 1gsae
frts Oar