The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1877-07-04
LOVE OR PRIDE ?
CHAPTER I.

Great purple shadows swept across the hay
fields, the distant landscape was becoming in
distinct, and the moon was slowly rising III
the heavens.
After a while the twilight dcepened into rs
much OF darkness as there would be III the
summer night. and silence fell upon the earth.
Thsn girl stole noiscessly across small gar
den, and stood beside . gate that led into the
adjoining churchyard. A yew-tree spread its
dark branches above her, but the silver tints
that were slanting down upon the tall grave
stones. and bringing out the delicate lines of
the old church snire, touched also her white
face. makingit whiter than usual. She did not
start as q tall figure approached from the fur
ther side of the churchyard. She had evidently
been expecting some one. and when she heard
the words: "You are out late, Miss JerTis,"
she quietly answered:
~ was waiting for you wanted to say
goodbye to you before you went away"
'sI thought you had done that already" re-
piled the young man, with some bitterness.
"No. quite" returned the girl, YEARLY.
"You were too angry for me to say it as
wished
"Had not right to be so y he asked.
"Ever since have been at Shclford you have
been deceiving me. l believed you to be as
earnest as l was myself, and now -
He paused.
"And now?'
t1eF VOICE ut.u u Sudl III IL, dS sLc Tc-
peated his words, as though she would give
denial to what he had said, but her face looked
like stone III the moonlight, white and immova-
BILE, and she continued:
III did not understand that you could really
be in earnest, other ise might have told you
before what I have told yon to-day"
"You did not believe in nie-you locked
upon me as heartlcsS-as decciver. You do
not believe in me now.'
EI do "
"What do you be,ieve?' lie asked, in,petu-
ously. Nothing good, or You would not
give me the answer you have given me-"
Everything good, except the knowing what
is good for yourself. 1 want you now to say
goodbye to me without any anger in your
heart. The day will come when you will per-
haps bless me for what have had courage to
do to-day"
And she held cut herhand.
The young man hesitated.
"1s there no hope!'
"None."
Her voice rang low and clear through the
summer mir Again he he$itatcd, then suddeu-
ly taking both her hands in his, he bent doHn
and kissed her for the first time.
She gave faint cry. and discugagcd herself.
ave part in peace.
And with these words she turned and fed,
not looking back. or perhaps she might have
repented her decision.
Once in the house she sat down in the empty
sitting-room, made light as day by the moon
beams. The old dog rose as she came in, and
when she threw herself into chair he laid his
head II her lap.
There came sound OF Gathering plates in
the kitchen on the opposite side Of the narrow
passage and her mothers voice sounded sharp
", giving her directions about supper.
Presently she entered.
"Where have you been. Ally? How i'll you
look and you're all shivering. Come into the
kitchen, child; Aune's gone of to bed, and
there's bit OF fire in the CRATE. 1t might be
winter instead of midsummer, to feel your
hands"
Alice rose mechanically. She walked dream
ily into the little kitchen, where her mother
drew chair to the fire for her.
Presently rudy, gOod-humored looking
youth entered, saying:
"Let me have my supper here, mother; the
FIRE looks pleasant though it is summer time.
When she went to her own room, instead of
undressing, she opened the window and gazed
out toward the yew-tree under which she had
parted with Mr.. Scrope and then suddenly un-
twisting her long hair. she turned to the look
ing-glass, not with any feeling OF vanity, but
in order to find what had attracted him.
It was more than handsome face that
answered back her gaze, one which showed an
amount of earnestness and intelligence not
often met with. OF this SIZE was no Judge her
self, neither OF tho continual change of cx-
preston which Mr.. Scrope had begun 'ry curl
ously observing, and ended by being thor
oushly interested in. He was passing the long
vacation at Shelford, reading and fishing, and
had made the acquaintance of William Jervis
on the banks of the river, and through him,
whom it was condescension on the part of Mr..
Scrope to notice, of Alice herself.
Alice perhaps understood the footing on
which they stood better than her Brother, and
the innate pride in her nature caused her to
accept it with reservations. She felt the gulf
between them, and measured it by the world s
standard. Therefore, when Mr.. Scrope made
his somewhat Startling offer, she, in spite OF
her surprise, was not unprepared with her
answer.
And now that she had given it, she asked
herself if she had done right