Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1880-01-25

| VI ohSoS ""oAAAASo ASesA we -eso why
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 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- post
and throwing 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 pluck ed
| some heliotropes as they strolled down
| the rose-bordered paths, and mingled
with the flowers some dainty mignon-
| nette and 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 quickly looked over them.
@Ah," shelsaid, "you choose well. Sir
Botanist. Here you have beauty in
retirement consistency is good
and I 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 a
warm, unusual color was in her face:
"My best friend will tell you, doctor,
that J. am ugly and commonplace. Be-
lieve them, I beg Of you, and do not let
your Imagination invest me with any
charms"
He seemed all at once carried away by
his passion. He leaned over her, and
replied, warmly: 81 say you are beau
tiful, Constance Owen. I feel your
beauty in my very SOUL" But he said
no more.
The face of Constance was a study;
the flush that before had crimsoned her
cheeks died out, and she became ghast-
ly pale. Her fingers, which had clasped
the flowers, slowly opened and they
droppedto the ground at her feet. All
at once the vision of the dead woman
seemed to present itself to her mind,
and the trust she was violating struck
cold to her heart. Was this the For
ever" she had spoken? She staggered
and would have fallen; the arms of DR..
Paulding were about her but she waved
him away in moment with such pit
eous, despairing gesture that he obeyed
her without word. She only had
strength to falter:
"Go-and remember Edith"
she staggered back toward the house,
leaving him standing there, bent and
trembling.
She did not know how she reached
her own room; the strong woman had
learned at the same moment she loved
that she must sacrifice and renounce.
She stood for hours white and mo-
tionless, looking out at the sunset and
the gathering gloom of evening, with
wild thoughts chasing themselves
through her brain and with dumb,
aching pain in her heart; every hope
trailing in the dust, like those sweet
flowers he had given her. She laid her
head after awhile upon her hands, on
| the window easement of her room, and
wept softly through the long, long
hours, until she heard the village
| bell strike the hour of midnight. She
had prayed and wrestled with her grief
and agony. and rose up at length quiet
and calm. She had yielded to duty
and her promise to the dead.
Somehow Constance Owen seemed
to grow prettier as the months passed
| by-there was some refining change
which was softening her rugged feat
ures and rounding every line in her
stately form. The summer into autumn
had flown, and still Edith Ormond had
not returned to Bonnybrook. Her
aent had died, and letters came from
time to time saying that ere long she
would be home; yet she came not.
Could she suspect the disloyalty of her
lover?
1t was late in the fall, when the woods
had put on their pomp of glory,
and the chill winds sent the fallen
leaves through the valleys near Bonny-
brook, when DR.. Paulding rode up to
the house and asked for Constance. She
had only received him twice before
since the summer evening, and had
then contrived by womanly tact not to
be alone with him-although she no
longer doubted her strength. Con-
stance on this occasion received her
guest alone; there seemed strange
embarrassment in his manner. After
the first greetings were over, he said:
Constance, have much to say to
you to-day. Do you think you can list
en- to me calmly?"
eyes," she replied, eff it is upon
subject on which you should speak
and she added, tremblingly -" to
which I should listen"
both" he said. "When first I saw
Edith Ormond I was captivated by her
beauty and girlish graces; I thought I
loved her"
Constance would have stopped him
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