Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, 1880-11-18

| nation. a1
ST declare" exclaimed Sallie once, as she
witnessed the movement, and before Ray
monde was really out of hearing II don't be-
1 lieve she has ever thanked the man for saving
| her life' a,-e
J perhaps she doesn't thank him." said
Miss Carmen. ssMiss Mercer always acts as
| if life were gift not worth taking.
| Still saw that Marion did not go into the
water again without shudder, and presently
ceased to go at all, although she went down to
the shore with the rest. She was standing
alone at the head of the cove, looking out
| seward, not far from my sketching block,
when Raymonde came down one morning,
and joined her SO unexpectedly that she start
ed. s-'2 "a
''Perhaps Miss Garments words were true"
said he, land you really de not think life gift
worth thanks
''Oh no" she answered, quietly. ''Life is
precious. But did not think of thanking
you for what you could not help doing. / do
| not suppose you would let dog drown be-
fore your eyes"
''You flatter me. - he said, and remained
silent |; and if. after a moment or two, either
would have said anything more, there was no
chance, for The scurrying and scampering with
| which the bathers hurried up the cove, having
seen man-eater, or sea-serpent or an old
log, or something of the sort riding along its
outer reach. But if either had Spoken |
made up my mind it would have had to be
Raymonde the solid armament might crack,
| but since he had said that he asked nothing
| more of her. nothing was his portion, for ali
of Marion. She did not thank him for saving
her life, l said to myself; she would rather
have died than have owed it to him; and |
noticed that although her manner was only
cho6a han rl,f
smile would sometimes come when Arthur
Santley brought her flowers, and she never re-
| fused MIR. Munson the dance or the drive he
| asked, and was possibly degree kinder to
others ii Raymonde were seeing it all, kind
| ness from her in her GOODNESS and her sweet
| ness having the effect to them all of kindness
from some young queen. l thought it little
singular that Raymonde did not leave the
Beach, but then he had established himself
| and taken his rooms for the season, and it
| would perhaps have been absurd to allow him
self to be driven away. After ALL did it
signify? Did he care? A month had passed,
and he had hardly glanced at Marion, save
once or twice with furtive sparkle in his eye
| that seemed to break all bis melancholy up in
anger
Yet she was worth locking at; there are
few people of such severe, clear beauty as
hers. remember her especially one morning
as we were all on the piazza when the old
mail coach came numbering in from the post
town, five or six miles away. She had been
tossing Charlotte's baby who had clutched her
long dusky brown nair and pulled it all about
her face and the coils wese streaming down
her white gown, and as she looked up, laugh
ing and dimpling, she saw Mr.. Raymonde
climbing down from the coach box, and such
a red shot over her cheeks and through her
smile, such light into her great hazel eyes,
as she stood one instant transfXed under his
gaze, and then dropped the baby into Char
lofts lap and moved away 80 quietly that it
seemed to me had been dreaming, and had
not really seen Marion at all, but vision of
her. 90 -E-tEt "15
1t was the same evening that there wss
shooting in the long meadow, when Marion
coming across the field with Mr.. Munson and
Sallie, stopped, as they did, at the target one
moment to, observe the character of the shots,
just as Raymonde- whojhad come in from the
shore with a bag of birds, and looking like a
brigand, in his high boots and slouched hat
| had been called and compelled to add his shot
to the score, and had just drawn his gun to
the shoulder. Maybank shouted to Mr. Mum
| son, and he and his party were hurrying up
| the field and out of the way. when, like a
| thunder-bolt from a blue sky, Mr.. Ray
| monde's gun went off. With single bound,
''Are you hurt?" he cried. "By heavens |!
There is another ball left for me if you
are!" .s.
But Marion, with the same hasty red STAIN
ing her cheeks for the second time since l had
| known her, had started back, and conscious
| that all eyes were on them, laughing, held up
the end of the little lock of hair the ball had
| sheared. Il heard it whistle" she said
''Ifow tragedy treads on our heels this sum-
mer!" exclaimed Sallie. .. cjt .#
but we escape him. said Marion, lightly.
| and passed on, as Raymonde stepped aside,
STOPPING presently to caress the spaniel that,
by jumping on Raymonde as he stood waiting,
| had been the cause of the possible disaster
There was no more shooting that evening, but
saw who caught and hid the lock of hair the
bullet cut away. @
Day by day went by, and Marion swept
| along with the same Indifferent beauty, dane
| ing and driving and bowling and rowing and
| strolling with this one and the other, and
never observing Raymonde's existence other
than when sometimes that rebellious red again
| flushed her cheeks, or she laughed more gay
ly than usual when she felt rather than saw
his presence. Meantime all Raymontie's old
time sweetness went he had neither smiles
nor interest for any be had no longer paused
to look over my poor sketching- board, with
| the old pleasant words, although he sometimes
caught Charlottes baby and tossed it in the
air, if the nurse went by with it as he sat on
the smoking piazza with bis cigar. The
children missed him in the bathing cove, and
the amateur players in the hall; and the Cos
slpers on the porches were busy with him,
| you may be sure. But be gave no sign of
leaving. had kept my observations to my
| self, and. except to think him stony hearted
| for being so untouched by the loveliness of
the women whose life he had saved, and then
again SO nearly taken, as to make no advanc-
Is, had allowed them as little thought as
/ possible; and no one else ever coupled his
name with Marion's, even in thought, sup
pose, and so the gossipers were none the wiser
|, to be sure, had never had any experience In
love affairs, but / knew enough to mind my
fown business, although I was often sorely
| tempted to give Raymonde piece of my
mind, and Marion dreadful taking down
Suddenly, in the midst of the pleasuring,
we awoke one day to find that there had been
q frost and although. as the sun mounted, it
was still warm and genial, everybody felt
that summer and pleasuring were at an end
The luggage came down as if it had wings,
and the air, so ts' say, was full of flying
1 trunks A few, however, yet remained, and
among them Mrs. Mercer and her suite she
awaiting her husband and the cluster of more
intimate friends. Marion appeared to be in a
fever to get away but Raymonde said to me
that he should stay as long as the house was
| open, for he had always enjoyed the Indian
summer by the sea. And he went on paint
ing in the morning, and cunning in the after
noon, sometimes one or the other of the gen.
| tlemen going with him, and we could hear
| the bun OF their rifles echoing away in the
fairy music all along the shore.
| 1t was the most perfect day, that last one
| that he went Oilt and went chopood
alone. All the distant marshes and woody
thickets were blazing with gold and carn,ine
under the softest violet haze, and silver
sheen hung over the sea like stretch of
gauze, behind or through which phantom sails
/ slipped by For time we heard the rifle
here and there, at least we might have heard
it; did; and then there was pack peddler
with Struggled shawls and laces at the door,
and we were SO occupied in trying to get
something for nothing, with the true feminine
instinct, too, in some of us for smuggling,
| fhQt In "