The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1877-06-14
"Come, Forrest, what Is your ideal

Il
"My ideal wife," he replied, dreamily,
"is woman with golden hair and dark
eyes, skin of lily and roses, and figure of
elegant grace; she must wear softly.
flowing white, byoad-brimmed hat, and
roses; and her goice-ah! l wish you
could hear her ynice!'
"By Jove-A IAbelieyeG you have. seen
herp' and the Speakers feet came'down
| from their elevated position with crash
that startled the dreamer into wakeful-
ness, but he quietly said:
"You are right; haze seen her"
"Come," said tie other, as he balanced
his cigar between thumb and fore6nger,
and dexterously knocked the ashes from
the end with his little finger; "that's
promising. Tell us about it,"
Forrest looked him straight in the
face.
"For two yeats'I have carried that pic
ture in my heart, butt never give it a
name. You may called it St. Cecilia, or
Diana Vernon T. Is.:s: !.
"The two combined might make'a very
passable wife, but," and the shoulders
wentsup-withr very successful Gallic
shrug, there is to be dinner at Balls
to-day. I suppose you are going" and
Guy Logan stretched his graceful figure
and yawned prepafatorysto rising for his
hat.
"No, it is, so insuferably dull there
with three old maid daughters. I prefer
to remain at home and letters"
"To the fair one with the;golden hair
no doubt" and with laugh Guy closed
the door and ran lightly down the stairs,
humming fragmentary tune.
"Guy has given me hint. Shall l
act on it?"
He drew his handsome writing desk
toward him, toyed with the golden pen
moment, then tak.ag sheet of paper,
with firmly-compressed lips, began to
write.
"You say that you still love me. Per.
haps you mean you love the fair-featured
Glare Snowdon you left two years ago.
What will you say-what can you say
when tell you@oh, how shudder to
write it!-one year ago 1 became, q, vic.
tiua toahat foathaone eidi disease, The small
poS. Need furthermore? y | think not.
I think tfissanswee will abe sufficient to
quell all love for Glare Snowdon, whom
you loved; for her beauty alone" III
This was the letter Forrest received in
reply to, the wildly-pleading, passionate
one he had written two weeks ago. = ''J'
"What must she think of me?. My
darling, to me you will always be beauti-
full" he murmured, passionately kissing
the delicate chirography. Then he once
more drew his desk to him and framed
the following:
"Clare, my Clare, my darling, beautiful
Clare, no matter if your eyes are dim
no matter if your face is scanned with
scars-to me you will be the same.
Write me only one little word; tell me
to Come"
"Comel"
That one "little word" in Clare's be-
loved chirograph; set his heart wildly
thrilling.
IT think the m,cking-bird m might make
a song of my heart-beats to-day" he
thought, as he rapidly rode toward the
leafy lane and little shop.
Again the sound of the hammer fell
on the crisp October air; again the hand
some horseman drew rein before the open
door~.Clare was unconscious of his~ap-
proach till his strong arm held her to his
heart and ! warm kisses fell on the rare
ripe lips. :
"How can you love me after-after
what I wrote you?'' she murmured, with
her face hidden in her hands.
because l could not help it," he said,
drawing the hands down, "my beautiful
Clare"
"But-but how can you say am beau
tiful?"
"Ah you want n,e to flatter you, which
Ishall not do. Clarc"- suddenly -"there
is not scar on your face, and your eyes
are brighter than ever. How could you
deceive me SOP"
ri did not deceive you; only told you
had had the smallpox, and you inag-
inedathe scarsp -~ - .'s'r- =
Need tell how the little shop was
closed for many days after the blissful
meeting, or Of the happy wedding party
that went forth from Squire Snowdon's
Christmas day?