The Russellville Democrat., 1880-07-15

DCSt EOy III iONt. All, JUL you not know. me; and Imust leave you, leave you, but only for while, nay own dear lovep sstsds assa k8aW
 Next morning Signora, Viccola left London, and society vainly, conjectured the whereabouts of it's favorite. Ns .,s s.5e CHAPTER III. .'s q aas <
 .'In the gloaming, ah, my darling.''
 Summer had faded into Autumn, and Autumn into Winter. Here and there the crimson crown of some beech bore traces of autumnal splendor, and the rich, damp odors from falling leaves told that the queen of all seasons had not long said farewell; but the skies were gray and cheerless, and the sun went out of sight, glad to leave the bare The close of a November afternoon found two men e, route for Briarville. They were Henry Aylton and his friend Paul Merrick. hs sa@se ,Ats9ss ts9s 2
 So you have never seen your new cousin, sAylton.b Howis that2o 54 gaeog 'Why,I never iknew I had sone. till that Summer l, was in London, two tered, but he went on stsrnly when Signora Viccola played the fool with me. While was waiting news of her, my uncle wrote informing me he had found his daughter whom we thoughtsdead. wished the. lady anywhere but in her fathers house, and started to forget the world and womenins hunting with the bushmen,. Here we are,q Merrick, and there is the carriage"
 It was the work of buta few minutes to be out of the train and clear of the platform, and they were soon on the high road tor Briarville Park. Little was said on the journey till they neared the house, and then Paul Merrick asked how it was Sir John had been so long ignorant ot his daughters existence. a
 'I really cannot recall the story," re- turned Sir Johns nephew. "He quar- reled with my aunt. l believe. She was jealous of him, and left the Park wben his daugher was but year or so old. It's a sad affair, and one I have only gleaned from the servants. This is our Briarville."
 On the broad stone steps stood Sir John. He came forward, and, after well coming Paul, extended his hand to Henry. 3 "v'ell, truant, returned at last?" '- 'f'
 "Yes, uncle. sl I've left myaKaffirs, and come home like the prodigal. Let Bal .nes show Merrick to his room, and I'll come and talk with you"
 Alone,7 the baronet took the young mans hand again. sa1sAls.3 .s.flisf -3s
 Henry, why did you desert me when such happiness had come2 It won't hurt you much, lad" -e5S
 q did not desert you, sir. You heard Lady Gordon's version of story? It was true. A woman played fast and loose with me, and I, if I had stayed here-I should have gone to the bad. I won't leave you again--and my cousin?"
 "You shall see her at dinner. You had better dress now; it is to be early today" - e'fN q" a+'A 4
 Henry Aylton wondered very much what this unknown cousin was like as he proceeded to dress. A few minutes before dinner he entered the drawing room, drawn thither by the sound of the piano. The lamps had not been lighted, and he wondered who the performer could be. AS he advanced into the room the lady, for it was a lady, commenced singing, and in voice clear yet tremu- lous there rang out those plaintive words, Tn the gloaming, ah, my darlingl" A frown crossed his face. Since his heart was charmed away two years before he had little love for music; and yet this music chained him and seemed to wake some buried chord of memory. The player rose when her song ended and crossed the room. Hewatched her curi- ously as the firelight glanced on the rich folds of her dress and on the golden coins that circled hair and neck and arms.
 In the gloaming he knew her-knew that once more he was in the presence of the woman he still so madly loved; and his mind went back 10 the time when she had stood before him crowned with primrose garland, and with the light of truth shining i'll the depths oi her violet eyes. He made slight move. ment, and she turned. With arms out. stretched she crossed the room and stood before him. aN.gf.a...s f,. asa1M s
 "Henryi At last-at last"
 He forgot his contempt ot her, his in dignation at ker untruth, and folded her once more in his arms, remembering only his great and his enduring love. 6 2 "Ah, my love, that you could be Sc cruelp B. '. ...s' =. {.
 q cruell Nay, it was you who were that l never knew you were my ia ther's nephew, and I left you to prove my birth beyond doubt. | had just received from Italy all necessary proofs l intended to return during the day and show you that my lineage was one d which you need not blush. Sir JohI spoke of you, and told him of our be trothal. He wrote off for you at once I intending to surprise you, and bade ms wait your coming. You never came and I--I thought you had recognized nae and perhaps trifled-"
 Recognized you?" he said, inquir ingly.