The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1879-10-09

hand. She never knew what made her
she thought of it afterward, shocked and
horrifjad at herself, at her want of maid
enIiness and modesty, and her face red
dened, and her tears started in the lone
ly night-but she held out the spray of
white roses, and gave it to him with an
enchanting smile, and went down as he
went up. And he-he also never knew
what brazen boldness, what wild daring,
possessed him when he stepped to her
side as she walked home from church
next day, and said, "May l give you my
name in exchange for your rose?" And
although he had but introduced himself,
he somehow took to heart the literal in
depreciation of his words, and, in wild,
eager, silent way, considered himself en-
gagged to her from that moment, whether
she were engaged to him or not; and
grown bold thenceforth, he always called
her in his thoughts his Rose. One day,
speaking with her-for after that they
often met-he called her so aloud, and
she was in no wise startled; it came so
naturally, as if she had known, of course,
that the sun was going to rise, and this
was the first rosy CLEAN of dawn. Yet
following it came little alterations of joy
and terror. "Perhaps he would not
have dared to call me so," she thought,
in her shame-faced humiliation, eff |
had not been SO forward. Perhaps he
does not respect me, after ALL And
then, in spite of the trouble, her heart
would bound with gladness to think she
had given him the spray, to think he had
called her his Rose.
1t was winter as they came to that,
and the skaters were making merry.
She had come down to the lake with her
bound on her skates, and slid away with
him; had left him to tighten strap,
had lost him, and had been found by
Adrian, and together they had glided
away; and then the late afternoon red
dened into sunset and purpled into twi-
light, and they were skating up the
stream, and leaving all the cries and
fires and flashing forms behind them.
How soft and fresh was the vigorous
air! how rich the violet of the gathering
night! how great the glow of the wind
shaken stars! Now it was no longer
hand in hand that they went, but his
arm was about her; they swept out on
long curves together, and moved as if
the pulses of one heart impelled them;
and now they turned the corner of a
bluff; now, far out of sight of all the
world, they paused, and there, in the
wintry dark, they were folded heart to
heart and mouth to mouth. If the
SHOWS had fallen around them there and
clothed them with garment of death,
if the ice. had parted under their
feet and plunged them into the
drowning waters, they would hard
ly have asked any more. Their
passion wrapped them, SO like Dejanira's
robe of flame, from all the freshness of
death, that the coming of eternity upon
them in each others arms would have
seemed but its sacramental seal. And
suddenly a rude, hoarse cry broke in
upon the sphere where they were rest
ing-the great rough voice of Professor
Redmond, and Ella was snatched from
Adrian's grasp, and dozen singing
words were whirled at him, and the un-
Gle had carried her off as the wind car
ries off a feather.
Adrian skated back alone. He scorn-
ed to move till the Professors heels cut
ting the ice could be heard no more.
Where had all that splendor of the night
gone? TWAS the darkness and GOODNESS
of desolation now. He took a terrible
grind at mathematics that night, and the
next day presented himself before the
Professor, and asked of him the promise
of his niece in marriage, only to receive
in return the --LATEST and curtest and
most insulting of orders never to darken
those doors again.
4" For all that" said Adrian, stoutly,
81 shall marry my wife,
The Professor looked at him, and
burst into a furious, roaring laugh.
d" Toorallooral!" sang the Professor.
" Begonei" he Numbered.
The winter wore away at last, and if
the Professor kept the Rose from her
lover, he could not keep the color from
the velvet cheek if he were near, the
glow from the darkling eyes if she were
there, the smile, forgetful of all the rest
of creation, on the lips of both. He be-
gan to hate Adrian. He would have
been glad to mark him out of existence,
if marks could have done tout of his
college existence at any rate; but the
boy gave him no chance. He deserved
no reprimand, and none could be tor
tured into shape for him. He studied
as a machine works. He covered HIM
self with laurels-all the more he would
rather they had been roses.
"Who is the beggar?" the Professor
growled, one spring day, when they met
him in the square again, and the bare
headed silent reverence ended, he had
passed on without a greeting. To
Adrian then it did not matter that red
bud and laburnum and dogwood were
in bloom, and that the rose itself would
soon be here; it seemed to him as dead
and burned out world as the craters of
the moon, till looking back he saw her,
so long forbidden to speak to him, vet
glancing over her shoulder with that |
smile. "Who is the beggar?'' growled
The Uncle Raymond, "to whom you
choose to give glance when I forbid |
tt, who stand in your dead fathers
shoes?' Enormous shoes they were, |
Judging by the Professors claim to au-
'hority, and perhaps their potency was
stretched enormously by the wearer.
. A FISHING merchants son indoodt |