The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1878-08-14

but whose firm, elegant figure WIS un
familiar to me.
heard Miss Laura say, in answer t
some low-voiced remark:
1T can trust herzthere's no risk
Philip"
So this was the handsome cousin
Oppressed with almost overpowerin,
anxiety, I fell back a step or two. ent
followed slowly and unwillingly.
On and on they went together, talkin,
but little. and in low tones, till they hat
reached the lower plane, locally ant
morally. Of the city.
The house before which we stopped
at last was somewhat different from it
surroundings, It was hanked on on.
side by grim, deserted-looking ware
house; on the other by an old Dutcl
church, whose few leaning, moss-cover
ed headstones, in the small graveyard il
front, seemed sinking with age into the
yielding turf. The house was grim ant
faded, the paint dingy, and the front
door full of seams and cracks; but il
had the redeeming quality of seclusion,
for it sat far back from the street, over
looking a narrow garden.plat One
window over the hall.door was draped
with a scant lace curtain, and o pot OIL
geraniums bloomed underneath on the
sill.
The young man, with a few eager.
whispered words to Miss Laura, un.
locked the door with a key which he
took from his pocket, and we entered 8
long, oheerless hall, and from there the
dreary parlor, in which there was nc
vestige of furniture save two wooden
chairs.
"Sit down, Renie," said Miss Laura,
face and manner preoccupied; 81 will
take the things, and you will wait for me
here; I shan't be gone long"
My heart sank as she disappeared,
leaving me me with my thoughts. Al
ready I had hastspp the tread 81 2 mans
foot up stairs, and soon, in addition, the
closing of the door above, and a hight
footstep. Never had T so keenly expert
enced the dread of utter desolation as
now white I sat in that deserted room.
Doubtless children had played in it, and
light hearts sung, for it had evidently
been a cheerful home once, as the de-
faced o~rnamentation and faded frescoing
gave evidence of former beauty. But
now the plastering was broken, the
walls were black with cobwebs, and the
windows quite crusted with dirt. 1t was
evident that the place had been long un-
occupied.
T had seated myself, when a step on
the stairs and the opening of the door
caused me to spring up in terror. Philip
Lansing stood on the threshold, hat in
hand, and his face absolutely lighted up
the room. It was, as I had heard, radi-
antly beautiful, with haunting dark eyes
all the more fascinating that their ex-
preston at that moment was intensely
SD.
"Come, Renie." said a voice outside.
I met Miss Laura in the hall. I
thought she had been crying. She
handed me a basket, that seemed heavier
than the one I had brought.
"Renie, this is my cousin, Mi. Philip
Lansing" she said. "He has lately re-
turned from abroad-and this, Philip, is
the little protege I told you about"
MI. Philip condescended to touch his
hat, and we went outside into the little
yard.
MI. Philip accompanied us to the cor
ner, and there stopped.
"Had I not better get you a a r
riage?" he asked.
mo, indeed, Philip. I had much
rather walk" she answered. "Come up
soon-mamma likes to see you," she
added, with, I thought only an assump-
ton of ease.
We walked home rapidly, and in 81
lence. Miss Laura seemed plunged in
deep and painful thought. It was past
lunch.time when we arrived, but a plate
of cake, and a goblet of milk, stood
ready for Miss Laura on the table in her
room.
"Renie," Miss Laura said, "you
will oblige me if you will eat my lunch
con for me. Ny head aches, and I nm
going to lie down."
I drank the milk, but was not hun
cry, and took the tray backto the kitch.
en-. I fancied that even the under-serv-
aints looked at me suspiciously, and hur-
r ed back to my room.
It was quite late when Miss Laura
rose-almost dinner-time, in fact. I
dressed her hair, and wa just putting
on the finishing touches when she spoke
abruptly:
"Dont you think my cousin fine
looking?"
"He is handsome, Miss Laura" I
said. "The handsomest man I ever
saw"
"That's the general verdict" she re-
pied.
"But,"I added, eagerly, ct don't
like his face; there are beautiful faces,
I suppose, n can't like. Now, Mr..
Walderon-"
"You surely don't call him hand
some?" she said, with a soft laugh, that
I did not quite like; then, in IN under
tone: Handsome is that handsome
does. Well, poor fellow | poor Philip !"
she added, with a sigh that I could not
help resenting, and fell into aft of mus
ing. Just before the bell rang for din.
ner a servant came in with a note and a
great armful of water-lilies. How lovely
they we're! Their fragrance filled the
room.
In an instant Miss Laura's eyes were
sparkling. She tore open the note with
eager fingers, read it once, twice
smiled, then came 9. burst like sunshine
over her face.
"Oh, the sweet, sweet things I" she
cried, in an ecstasy. 81 am so fond Of
them! Poor Philip poor" Her
voice sank to a murmur. How could I
think otherwise than that note and flow
ers came from her handsome cousin, as
she placed the lilies in a basin of water,
where, with their lustrous leaves and
long, coiling stems, they formed a beau
tiiul picture?
Philip came after dinner on the follow
ing day. A bright, well.dressed, ele-
CANT and iubilant young gentleman
the change was great from Philip in a
slouched hat to Philip in all the glory
of a fashionable suit. His ease of man
ner, grace, beauty of form, and merry
laugh, made him almost irresistible. T
sat in the little alcove leading from the
general sitting-room, busy with some
old lace I had been mending for Miss
Laura, and I could see them both by in
clining my head a little. They were a
glorious pair, but it seemed to me that
Philip had 70 right there-he was tax
ing Nh. Walderon's place, and O sudden
jealousy sprang up i'll my heart, which
changed almost to terror when the door