The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1879-11-12

Another superstition How many
more have YOU in stock? And now fol
the letter Let me hold the lamp
while you open it, :"
You will let me read it to myself
first, | suPose2 No, you are not to
over shoulder" she added, laughing
and drawing back; 'have patience.
Smiling still, she unfolded it, but
she hardlT glanced at the first lines
when heI face changed. The color
faded out of it suddenly; the light from
her ewes. the laugter from her lips.
She glanced rapidly down the page,
then hastily refolded it, and thrust il
into her pocket.
"Georgettel" Etienne exclaimed,
'.you promised to show it to me.
Not AOw-to-morrow," she faltered.
Tonight; at once, if you please,
he persisted, his face darkening. at is
no ordinary letter to cause such agita-
ton. have right to see it; give it
to me, and he laid his hand on hers.
She looked up at him piteously. Not
now-tomorrow," she repeated, hardly
above whisper
He let go her hand, and turned from
her, his face dark with jealous anger.
She chsped her hands upon his arm,
and detained him.
"Do not part with me in anger to-
night-do not, my darling trust me
| till tomorrow
He looked at her a moment with
troubled eyes, but there was no resist
ing the pleading of that sweet, fearful
| face.
$50 be it, he said, gravely; "you
shall tell me your secret at your own
time. Good night Georgette.
As he bent toward her, with sud
den, impulsive movement, the girl put
her arms round his neck, and drew his
head down, kissing him again and again
with quivering lips, then took the lamp
from his hand, and turned away.
Touched and surprised by. her UNI
wonted effusion, he went slowly down
stairs, pausing, when he reached his
own landing, to look up.
Georgette was leaning over the ban
listers, with the lamp in her hand, look
ing down at him. There was an ex-
preston on her face he had never be-
fore seen wrapt, far-away gaze that
gave it spiritual look. The moment
he glanced up at her she vanished into
her own room, and all was dark.
Many time in after years Etienne
saw her in dreams, bending toward him
with that rapt look in her eyes, with
the shadows around her and the light
upon her face.
Etienne passed a restless night and
woke late next morning, feeling unre-
freshed, and with a strange sense of
oppression and uneasiness.
1t was a gloomy day, with leaden
sky and chill wind.
The weather is breaking the con-
cierge remarked, when he brought up
the rell and cup of cafe an lat for his
dodgers ''frst breakfast" ~ esterday
was the last of the summer"
1.-The last day Of summer. The
Young man found himself repeating the
words thoughtfully as if they contained
some hidden meaning.
1t was after l / o'clock by the time he
had finished He went up to Georget-
ties room and tapped at the door. 1t
was not latched, and as his summons
met with no reply he gently pushed 1t
open aad looked in.
The expression of pleasureable an
ticipation faded suddenly from his face,
giving place to one Of blank perpleXity
and astunizhment.
One glance showed him that Geor
gette was not there, and 1t showed him
something else All her belongings
had vanished. The room was stripped
and bare.
He stared round stupidity, trying in
vain to understand it. Georgette gone!
1t seemed like bad dream, from which
he would wake presently to find her
before him.
At length rousing himself from his
stupefaction, he hurried down stairs to
question the concierge.
ooh, yes. Maamselle Georgette is
gone, sure enough" the old man told
him, cody. ''She came down shortly
after nine o'clock, and told me that she
was obliged to leave Immediately. She
paid her term and fetched a fiacre her
self. The driver carried her box down
stairs, and-paf! she was gone; all IN
a breath, as one may say. But she left
a note for you, monsieur; that will ex-
plain it no doubt"
:'Why could you not tell me that at
frst?" Etienne asked, impatiently,
snatching it from his hand.
Inelosed was the letter which she had
received ON the previous evening, to-
gether with few lines in her own wri-
ting. He put the former aside without
glance and took up her hurried note.
dear love, / write with breaking
heart to bid you farewell" it began.
''The letter | received last night was
from your father. When you have read
it you will know why | have left you"
Etienne uttered a passionate excla-
nation. MY father ah-I under
stand. He knew that | should never
give her up, so he has taken the surest
means of driving her from me"
eff marriage with me- Georgette
wrote, "would ruin all your prospects
and spoil your life at the outset, as he
says, | must never be your wife, | love
you too well to injure you so crully, and
therefore, though it tears my heart,
must say adieu! Forgive me, my be-
loved-and forget me-"
The letter ended there. hui overleaf
there was a postscript, which had evil
IDENTIFY been added on a sudden impulse
at the last moment:
my courage fails me. l cannot,
cannot write that cruel word, farewell.
| must have hope, however slight, to
keep me from despair. Dearest, in two
years time you will be your own master
then, if your love is unchanged, we
may meet again. On the first Sunday
in September, two years hence, go to
Versailles, and in the afternoon, when
the fountains play, wait for me in the
'Verte Alice, where We sat Yesterday.
If live, viii come 10 you. Till then,
my best-beloved, adieu !"
Etienne read it through twice and
mechanically refolded it, then took up
his fathers letter-a pitiless letter,
every word of which must have gone
ike knife to her heart. He did not
wonder that in the first anguish of