Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1878-11-06

! has disappeared. lie IS late III coming
to tea that night. but when Juliet comes
down from her room, in answer to the
bell, she finds him chatting quite the
same as usual, though she cannot help
noticing that change has come over
his cOuntenance.
There is certain young artist, Rex
Cant by name, only son of one of her
aunt's intimate friends, who has for
SEINE time made his home with that
worthy lady, and, thanks to his unfail-
ing fund of conversation, and the ease
that belongs to a society man,tea passes
off comfortably in spite of the abstrac-
ton of two, for the aunt is still sweetly
serene. AS the time for service draws
near, Juliet says: " | think [ will not
go out this evening, my head aches"
But Mrs. Gray answers quick y: "Why,
my dear, you forget your solo," She
can't quite understand tie expression
of the minister's face, he almost looks
gratifed at her suggestion, but her aunt
will not hear to it, knowing the head
ache to be subterfuge, so she goes
away to get ready.
When they leave the door Rex, not
in the least comprehending her looks
and gestures, goes off dutifully with
Mrs. Gray on his arm, leaving Juliet as
usual to DR.. Speecham. Several times
during the walk she thinks she will in
troduce the topic that is uppermost in
both their minds, but he guides the
conversation so easily and skillfully on
other subjects that she has no oppor-
tunlty, and, after all, what can she say?
In the sermon that evening, notes are
discarded, and the speaker breaches a
sermon straight from his heart that
electrifies and touches his hearers as
none Of his rhetorical, flowerv dis
courses have ever done: and most Of all
does it touch sober girl on the plat
form behind him, who is not at all
the restless puzzle that she was in the
morning. She makes up her mind that
she will speak to him about the matter
on the way home: but, again the ques-
ton suggests itself, what can she say,
being asked, that she didn't love him.
She is saved the trouble of answering,
for, after the service, the conversation
is taken up as skilifully and easily as
before, and one or two beginnings IN
that direction are nipped in the bud, so
that, almost before she knows it, they
have reached the gate, and he has bid
den her a quiet good night and gone
home, just the same as usual.
Juliet walks slowly up to the house
with many and conflicting thoughts, for
like many another girl, she is at odds
about some things of which she says
little.
She only stops moment in the par
lor to say, "Auntie, [ guess I will go
right up to my room and rest my
head" Then she goes on up the broad
staircase, through the long corridor and
into her room, locks the door and sits
down YEARLY in chair to think. Dear
me! her thoughts roam like the Wan
dering Jew. But, in the midst Of all
they find one resting place, and, as
thoughts have way of doing, stick
there like grim death. Then she sets
up an imaginary self on stool of re-
pentance in front of her and apostro-
phizes it as follows, "You little goose!
why don't you love that minister;he is a
genuinely good man, and there are
mighty few Of them" Then she falls
"You ought to be ashamed to care any
thing for Rex Cant, you know he don't
care for YOU" Here the other self
grows indignant, and speaks up.
what ofthe evening you went boating,
and the walk from Cables Hill. and -"
But at this juncture she becomes dis
gusted with both selves, and rudelv
interrupts the dialogue by getting up
and taking off her wrap and hat.
Then she lights the gas and sits reso-
lutely down to read, but after reading
the least idea of what it means. she
tosses the book into the farther corner
of the room, turns out the gas again,
raises the low French window and steps
out upon the balcony. 1t has been a
delightful afternoon, and she remem-
bers as if it were long time ago, the
soft sunshine and swaying shadows; but
toward dusk the air had grown oppres-
sive, and now the moon is put out by
clouds that are gathering and scurrying
across the sky. She drops YEARLY down
in a rustic chair, puts her folded arms
on the balustrade, and leaning her
cheek upon them looks out over the
lawn and thinks. The brisk breeze
blows over her face, and lifts her hair
and she thinks in earnest now; of many
an evening boating, of walk, and talks,
and, oh, Of thousand things; and I'M
der all, like the curr rent that bears drift
ing rose leaves, flows the fear that this
artist who has grown into all her life SO
closely will go out into the world and
forget her.
The current of that fear grows
stronger and swifter, until finally she
finds that the breeze, grown to gale, is
moaning round the corner of the house
and in through the open window behind
her with a lonesome sound that she can
not bear; and she rises impatiently and
shuts the window down and herself out
with the night. she has hardly done
this when familiar odor greets her
senses, and, presto! the scene changes,
| for the odor is Enthusiastically that of a
cigar. She stands perfectly motionless,
q nd lon1C 6,ur IN an nrpnCitp 6Iraot1op