The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1879-09-23
THE DAILY STAR
MAUD AUDLEY'S CHOICE.


to night writing unceasingly-coverine
page after page of spotless white with
the incessant black. No other color, no
change, nothing but drag, drag, drag.
When will it all end? After time there
came change. l became interested in
pretty face which passed my window
every day. twas sucha sweet, winning
face, full of brightness and vivacity, yet
underneath there appeared to be slight
shadow. Was it of evil, or of care?
l always watched her now, she ap-
peared to be part of my life. Some
days she would not come; then would
be miserable. The moments would drag,
my work would become monotonous and
irksome, and finally | would lay it by in
disgust. Sometimes our eyes met. In
hers there was deep, undefnable look.
In mine | knew there was volumes of
unspoken words.
Once when she came by, she wore a
blue veil, which was thrown carelessly
over her hat. The wind was blowing in
savage gusts, and, just as she was oppo-
site my window the veil lifted lightly
from her head, quivered moment, then
settled on the sill beside me. | ran with
all possible haste to the door, but she was
not to be found. The little witch had
escaped me.
All, well! Perhaps it was better so.
What right had fellow leading the
humdrum life that | led to think of such
lovely being? Still l waited for some
thing to turn up.
One day there came one of those sud
den showers of so frequent occurrence
in the month of April. And oh, lucky
event! she was hurrying down the
street. With feverish haste | snatched
my umbrella from the corner, and was
ofi' in pursuit. soon caught up with
her
"The-the rain is wet-allow me,
miss?"
eyes, rather wet sir. Thank you,"
with merry twinkle in her brown eyes.
| laughed good-naturedly at my mis-
lake. We walked the rest of the way in
silence. | was half frightened at my
own audacity, but she seemed so kind.
and did not take my politeness at all
lmiss. She lived in splendid house
On the avenue. l mad not thought by
The simplicity of her dress, that she
made any pretense to style, SO my hopes
quickly fell.
Il shall be happy to have you call,
sir" she said, sweetly, handing me
dainty little cream card "my brother,
TOO, will be happy to make your acquain-
tance."
"Thank you, will"
| fumbled nervously in my pockets
and brought out my card. She took it
With a sweet smile and-we parted at
The gate. When | was home / pulled the
little card from my pocket in feverish
haste. 1t read "Maud l.. Audley" l
don't think l ever heard such pretty
name as that sounded to me then.
OF course | called on her. and was in
troduced to her brother, very amiable
fellow | thought, still with the same
shadow on his face that had noticed
before on his sisters, only deeper and
darker. What could it mean? After we
lad discussed the weather and other
topics of the day, she said, very sweetly;
''Can you tell me, the latest style of
bonnet? l intend purchasing one this
week, and if you can give me as good
terms as Mrs. Norton, | should be pleased
to procure it from YOU"
Had she taken leave Of her senses, or
was she joking with me. No, her face
was serious; there were no puckerings of
the mouth. She was in sober earnest
there was no mistake about that.
"Well, Miss Audley-that is-I-the
fact is 1 know SO very little about such
matters that | can hardly say"
'Is it possible that you can carry on a
business and not know the styles?'
l was staggered for moment, but, re-
Gaining my presence OF mind, [ said,
quickly
"Miss Audley, you are joking!"
She burst into silvery fit of laughter,
then handed me a card. / took it and
read, "Carrie Farnham, fashionable mil
liner and dressmaker A fit guaranteed.
"Well, Miss Audley, what is this?'
Then, between her fits of laughter,
came her answer
That's the card you gave me the other
day"
/ seldom do, but on this occasion /
blushed; then stammered-
"But this is not my card.'
"Will you please give me one of yours
then"
corrected the mistake.
After this | called often, and found her
always agreeable, and also for me, was
more in love with her than ever.
One evening as we were sitting in the
oriel window, with the last rays of the
aun just peeping up from above the wes-
tern horizon, and the perfumes of flow
crs stealing in through the lace curtains
and lowering for moment over our
heads, / took her hand in mine and told
her all. At first l thought she was
displeased. Her face lighted up, rosy
int came to her cheeks, then left them
pale as ashes. Her breath came in quick
!;asps and l thought she would faint
away.
"Maud, Maud, tell me; whatever the
answer may be | can bear it"
"Naud," called her mother; "Mr.