The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1880-01-29


discovered patients in that vicinity very
frequently. Was it Z lith's fair face
that made him take that blooming high
way so oitenp
He was indeed fascinated by hei
bright, girlish beauty, and one evening
after he had been wandering in the gar
dens, under the moon. soft pleasant
words must have been spoken, for after
he had gone, Edith, with flushed face
dashed into the room where Constance
was awaiting her, and throwing her arms
around her, said in a happy, trembling
voice:
'ohl darling, am so ohappy. Hehaf
told me he loved me-
| Constance spoke not a word; Edith
was held a moment 10 beating heart,
a soft kiss touched her forehead, and
the next moment she was alone.
He loves mel He loves mel Aud
Edith looked out over the gardens from
which the dews of night were distilling
all their odors; she gazed at the round,
beautiful moon, and peopled the shadows
with the image Of the man who had first
stirred her young life with the divine
music OF love.
A month after the pleasant confession
had been made, Edith was called to the
mountains Of Vermont to attend dying
aunt, the only sister of her dear mother,
and she had to proceed alone, as Bonny-
brook would have lacked guardian if
Constance had accompanied her-Dr
Paulding's duties utterly denying him
that pleasure.
Constance was engrossed in her home
duties and saw but little society, save a
few rustic neighbors, who only recon.
mended themselves by their good Less of
he0rt, and certainly not by the brilliancy
of their wit or understanding. Once and
awhile DR.. 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 conversation
with the old ease, grace and spirit
What had come between Constance
Owen and himselfP Something inexpli-
cable. The noble woman found strange,
rare pleasure in the society of the gifted
man; the scholarly man sympathy with
the large hearted, intellectual woman
which he had never known or experienced
in any of her sex. True, he 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 a melodious voice, or de-
fine the tenderness of On honest, kindly
eyer
And she, too, unused in this wise: This
DR.. Charles Paulding is marvelously
gifted man. What powers of language,
what treasures of imagination he pos,
sessesl What a noble career he has be-
fore 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 s1ch thoughts as these her
staunch and loyal heart would resolutely
turn away-yet for all this her speech
would not come as 'trippingly on the
tongue as in the old days, and he would
oftentimes finish sentence in the mid
die OF it, and then lose himself 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 this 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 man of honor, and she of all else a
loyal woman. Yet how hearts delude
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 Bonnybrook, and
Constance--his hostess only, she called
herself-strolled down to the gate with
him. His impatient horse was biting
the rough old hitching-p post and throw
ing up clouds of dust with his fore feet.
He had been kept there four hours, and
he seemed more eager than his master
to leave Bonnybrook behind him. The
doctor idly plucked some heliotropes
as they strolled down the -bordered
paths, and mingled with the flowers
some dainty mignonette and apale bud
or two OF the tea rose. At last he placed
the bouquet in her hands and said
dreamily:
Read the emblems, Constanee-you,
who are priestess in Flora's beautiful
temple
She quickly looked over them.
'Ah, she said, you choose well, Sir
Botanist. Here you have 'seauty in
retirement, 'constancy'-that is good
and Il am not summer friend'-that is
better than all. But you fatter with
your flowers nevertheless.
Not you, he replied eagerly, almost
tenderly, and in voice that somehow
frightened her.
She replied almost coldly-although
her heart was strangely beating and q
warm unuaual color was in her face.