The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1877-08-25

lions by feeling of distinction. She was
not like other women; her lot was set apart
and peculiar. She looked down upon her
sex. The conventionality of women's lives
renders their vanity peculiarly susceptible to
a suggestion that their destiny is in any re-
spect unique-a fact that has served the turn
OF many seducer before now.
To-day after returning from his drive with
Miss Rood Mr.. Morgan had walked in his
garden and, as the evening breeze arose, it
bore to his nostrils that first indescribable
flavor of autumn which warns us that the
soul of Summer has departed from her yet
glowing body. He was very sensitive 10
these changes of the year and, obeying an i'm
pulse that had been familiar to him in all I'M
usual moods his life long, he left the house
after tea and turned his steps down the
street. AS he stopped at Miss Rood's gate,
Lucy, Mabel and George Hammond were
under the apple trees in the garden opposite.
"Look, Mabel! There's Mr. Morgan 60
ing to call on Miss Rood" said Lucy softly.
sob, do look, Georgep' said Mabel, eager
ly. "That old gentleman has been paving
court to an old maid over in that little house
for forty years. And to think" she added
in lower tone, intended for his private ear,
"what fuss you make about waiting six
monthsr'
"Humph You please.to forget that it's east
er 10 wait for some things than for Others
Six months of my kind of waiting, take it,
require more patience than 40 years of his
or.anylother mans, "he added, with increased
emphasis.
''Be quiet, STRIP replied Mabel, answering
his look OF unruly admiration with one of
half pique. ''Pm not a sugar-plum, that's
not halt enjoyed till it's in the mouth. If
being engaged isn't enough. you don't deserve
m a Frin nd hnra 41,a lov,1y
expression with which he looked down on
her, she added with president resignedness,
Pm afraid, dear, you'll be so disappointed
when we're married if you find this go te-
dious.''
Lucy had discreety wandered away, and
OF how they made it up there were no wit
nesses. But it seems likely that they did so,
for shortly after they wandered away together
down the darkening street.
Like most of the Plainfield houses, that at
which Mr.. Morgan turned in stood well back
from the street. At side window still fur
ther sheltered from view by a sYriDga-bush
at the house corner, sat little woman with
a small pale face, the still attractive features
perceptibly sharpened by years, of which the
half-gray hair bore further testimony. The
eyes, just now fixed absently upon the dusk
ing landscape, were light gray and little
faded. while around the lips there were crow
feet, especially when they were pressed to-
gether as now, in an unsatisfied, almost pa
thetic look, evidently habitual to her face
when repose. There was withal something
In her features that so reminded you of Mr..
Morgan that any one conversant with the
facts of his life-romance would have at once
inferred-though by just what logic he might
not be able to explain-that this must be
Miss Rood. 1t is well known that long
welded couples often gain at length Ger
tain resemblance In feature and manner; and
although these two were not married, yet
their intimacy OF lifetime was perhaps the
reason why her face bore when in repose
something of that seer-like expression which
communion with the bodiless shapes of men,
Cry had given to his.
The latching of the gate broke up her de-
pressing reverie and banished the pinched
and pining look from her features. Among
the neighbors Miss Rood was sometimes
called sour old maid. but the face she kept
for Mr. Morgan would never have suggested
that idea to the most ill-natured critic.
He stopped at the window near which the
walk passed to the doorway, and stood leaning
on the sill-a tall, slender figure, STOPPING
little, with smooth, scholarly face and thin,
iron gray hair. His only noticeable feature
was pair of eyes whose expression and
glow indicated an imaginative temperament
1t was pleasant to observe the relieved rest
lessness in the look and manner of the two
friends, as if at the mere being in each 9TH
er's presence, though neither seemed in any
haste to exchange even the words of formal
greeting.
At length she said in tone of quiet
satisfaction; 81 knew you would come, for
l was sure this deathly autumn's favor
would make you restless. Isn't it strange
how it affects the nerves of memory and
makes one sad with thinking of all the
sweet, dear days that are dead?''
"Yes, yes" he answered eagerly; fiI can
think of nothing else. Do they not seem
wonderfully clear and near tonight? To-
night, OF all nights in the year, if the
figures and scenes of memory can be re-
embodied in visible forms, they ought to
become so to the eyes that strain and yearu
for them.'
''What fanciful idea, Robertr'
II don't know that il is: don't feel sure.
Nobody understands the mystery of this
past, or what are the conditions of existence
In that world. These memories, these forms
and faces that are so near, so almost warm
and visible that we find ourselves smiling on
the vacant air where they seem to be are they
not real and lYing?"
You don't mean you believe in ghost?s.
II am not talking of ghosts of the dead,
but of ghosts of the past-memories of
scenes or persons, whether the persons are
dead or not-Of our own selves as we'll as
others. "Why," he continued, his voice
soltenlng INTO passionate, yearning ten
derness, "the figure would give most to
see just once more is yourself as a girl,
as remember you in the sweet grace and
beauty of your maidenhood. All well! All
wellp'
''Don'tw she cried, involuntarily, while
her features contracted in sudden pain.
In the years during which his passion for
her had been cooling into staid friendship
his imagination had been recurring with con-
stantly increasing fondness and dreamy pas
sion to the memory of her girlhood. And
the cruelest part of it was that he so uncon-
sclously and unquestioningly assumed that
she could not have identity enough with that
girlish ideal to make his frequent glowing
references to it even embarrassing. Gener-
ally, however, she heard and made no sign,
but the suddenness of his outburst now had
taken her off her guard.
He glanced up with some surprise at her
exclamation, but was too much interested in
his subject to take much notice of it. "You
know" he said, "there are great differences
in the distinctness with which we can bring
up our memories. Very we'll. The only
question is, what is the limit to that distinct
AASSo3 Va 10 oAlOhO ally koluCc We huOW Gu6T6
are such wide degrees in distnctness, the bur-
den of proof rests on those who would prove
that those degrees stop short sof any particu-
lar point. Don't you see, then, that it might
be possible to see them?" And to enforce
his meaning he laid his hand lightly on hers
as it rested on the window-seat.
She withdrew it instantly from the con-
tact, and a slight flush tinged her salIow
cheeks. The only outward trace of her mem
ory of their youthful relations was the almost
prudish Echariness. Iof her person by which
she indicated sense of the line to bessdrawn
between the former lover and; the present
friend.
Something in your look just now" he
said. regarding her musingly, as one who
seeks to trace the lineaments of dead face
in living one, "reminds me of you as you
used to sit in this very window as girl, and
stood just here, and we picked out stars to-
gether. There! now it's gone:" and he