Richland beacon., 1880-03-13

and certainly not by the bri'liancy OF
their wit or understanding. Once and
awhile DIR. Paulding would ride out to
Bonnybrook, as Constance told him,
"from the force of old habit" but soon
it seemed that the man of medicine and
science did not carry on the converse
tion with the old case, grace, and
spirit. What had come between Con-
stance Owen and himself? Something
inexplicable. The noble woman found
a 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
ia 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 eye?
And she, too, unused inssthis wise:
This DIR. Charles Paulding is mar
velously gifted man. What power of
language, what treasures of Imagination
he possesses! What a noble career he
has before him; and Edith"-here she
would pause and think of that clingipg
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
olutely turn away-yet for all this her
speech would not come as trippingly
on the tongue" as il the old days, and
| he would oftentimes finish sentence
in the middle of it, and then lose him.
self in vague glances at the ceiling or
out into the gardens.
Oh, it was a dangerous time for both
of these awakening hearts. But they
glided on the treacherous stream, and
seemed only conscious that the hours
we're 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-
lude themselves. In the very pride Of
his strength Samson was shorn of his
locks.
One quiet evening in July DR.. Pauld-
ing had taken tea at Donnybrook, and
COnstance-his "hostess" only, she
called herself lf-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
hours. and he seemed more eager than
his master to leave Bonnybrook behind
him. The doctor idly plucked some
heliotrope as they strolled down the
rose-boldered paths, and mingled with
the flowers some dainty mignonette and
a pale bud or two of the tea-rose. At
last he placed the bouquet in her hands
and said dreamily:
"Read the emblems, Constance-you
who are priestess in Flora's beautiful
temple"
She quietly locked 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
fatter with your flowers nevertheless. F"
"Not you," he replied eagerly, al
most tenderly, and in a voice that some
how frightened her.
She replied almost coldly, although
I
warm; unusual color was in her face.
"My best friends, doctor, will tell you
that am ugly and commonplace. Be-
lieve ther, / beg of you, and do not let
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: Il say you are beau.
tiful, Constance Owen. / feel your
beauty in my very SOUL" But he said
no more.
The face of Constance was study
the flush that before had crimsoned hel
cheeks died out, and she became ghostly
pale. Her fingers which had clasped
the flowers. slowly opened and
they dropped to the ground at her feet
All at once the vision of the dead
woman seemed to present itself to bel
mind, and the trust che was violating
struck cold to her heart. Was this ths
"Fore yer !" che had spokenf Shestag
gered and would have fallen; the arm
of DR.. Paulding were about her; but sh,
waved him away in q moment with sucl
a piteous, dcspairing gesture that b
obeyed her without word. She onl!
had strength to falter:
"Go-and remember Edith "-an(
she staggered back toward the house
leaving him standing there, bent ant
trembling.
She did not know how she reaches
her own room; the strong woman hat
learned at the moment she loved sh
must sacrifice and renounce,
She stood for hours white and mo
tionless, looking out at the sunset an!
the gathering gloom of evening, will
wild thoughts chasing themselve
through her brain, and dumb, achin
pain in the heart, every hope trailin
in the dust, like those sweet flowers b
had given her. She laid her head afte
while upon her hands, and wep
softly through the long, long hours, ur
til she heard the village bell strike th
hour of midnight. She had praye
and wrestled with her grief and agony
and rose up at length quiet and calm
She had yielded to duty and her promis
to the dead.
Somehow Constance Owen seemed
grow prettier ~ the MI nths passed BY
; there was some refining change whlc
was softening her rugged features an
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