The Magnolia gazette. [volume] (Magnolia, Miss.) 1872-current, 1880-04-23


IL seemed that the man OF medicine and
science did not carry on the conversa-
tion with the old ease, grace, and |
spirit. What had come between Con-
stance Owen and himself7 Something |
inexplicable. The noble woman found
. strange, rare pleasure in the society
of the gifted man; the scholarly man a !
sympathy with the large-hearted, in
tellectual woman, which he had never
known or experienced in any of her sex.
"True." he had said to himself. "she
is not beautiful; indeed, measured by
the rules of beauty, she is positively
ugly. But who can gauge the charms
of melodious voice, or define the ten
derness of an honest, kindly eye2
And she, too, mused in this wise:
This DR.. Charles Paulding is mar
velously gifted man. What power OF
language, what treasures of imagination
he possessesl What noble career he
has before him: and Edith''-here she
would pause and think of that clinging
tendril, not as helping the growth of the
oak, but as drawing from its strength.
Yet from all such thoughts as these
her staunch and loyal heart would res
oIdTeIy turn away--yet Tor all Jnis h5T
speech would not come as "trippinglv
on the tongue" as III the old days, ana
he would oftentimes finish sentence
in the middle of it, and then lose him.
-o.1 IN vague giances AZ tne CeIlIng OF
out into the gardens.
Oh, it was dangerous time for both
OF these awakening hearts. But they
glided on the treacherous stream, and
seemed only conscious that the hours
were sweet and that the sun shone on
the waves. There was no thought of
disloyalty in either heart. He was,
above all, a man of honor, and she, of all
else, loyal woman. Yet how hearts de-
Iude themselves. In the very pride OF
his strength Samson was shorn of his
locks.
One quiet evening in July DIR. Pauld-
ing had taken tea at Donnyhrook, and
Constance-his "hostess only, she
called herself-strolled down to the
gate with him. His impatient horse
was biting the rough old hitching-post,
and throwing up clouds of dust with his
fore feet. He had been kept there for
his master to leave Bonnybrook behind
him. The doctor idly plucked some
heliotrope as they strolled down the
rose-bordered paths, and mingled. with
the flowers some dainty mignone tteand
a pale bud or two o the tea-rose. At
last he placed the bouquet in her hands
and :said dreamily
"Read the emblems, Constauce-you
who are a priestess in Flora's beautiful
temple"
She quietly looked over them.
"Ah," she said, "you choose well,
] Sir Botanist. Here you have beauty
| in retirement, constancy that is
| good-and am not & a summer friend
that is better than all. But you
flatter with your flowers nevertheless. "
"Not you," he replied eagerly, al
most tenderly, and in a voice thatsom
how frightened her.
She replied almost coldly, although
her heart was strangely beating and
warm; unusual color was in her face.
"My best friends, doctor, will tell you
that am ugly and commonplace. Be.
lieve them, beg of you, and do not lei
your imagination invest me with any
charms"
He seemed at once to be carried away
by his passion. He leaned over her and
replied warmly: say you are beau
tiful, Constance Owen. ! feel your
beauty in my very SOUL" But he sale
no more.
The face of Constance was a study
the flush that before had crimsoned hel
cheeks died out, and she became ghostlJ
pale. Her fingers which had claspeC
the flowers, slowly opened anC
they dropped to the ground at her feet
All at once the vision of the dea,
woman seemed to present itself to he
mind, and the trust she was violating
struck cold to her heart. Was this th
+" Foreverl" she had spoken? Shestag
gered and would have fallen; the arm
of DR.. Paulding were about her; but sh
waved him away in moment with sue
piteous, despairing gesture that b
obeyed her without word. She onl
had strength to falter:
"Go-and remember Edith "--an
she staggered back toward the hous
leaving him standing there, bent an
trembling.
She did not know how she reache
. her own room; the strong woman hs
? learned at the moment she loved 81
must sacrifice and ren0unce.
She stood for hours white and m
tionless, looking out at the sunset an
the gathering gloom of evening, Wi
wild thoughts chasing themsely
! through her brain, and a dumb, achiI
pain in the heart, every hope trailill
In the dust, like those sweet flowers
d had given ber. She laid her head aft
n a while upon her hands, and we
g softly through the long, long hours, U
l. til she heard the village bell strike {
rs hour of midnight. She had pray
d and wrestled with her grief and agon
j. aud rose up at length quiet and cal
She had yielded to duty and her prom
g. TO the dead.
ID Somehow Constance Owen seemed
ID grow prettier as the months passed b
ar there was some refining change VIII
"a. was softeninq her rugged features &