Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1881-08-23
UNDER THE SPELL.
BY JENNY WREN.

"It's too bad to let the child throw
away her young life and happiness
Some one ought to warn her of the rocks
in her path"
So spoke the world, watching the f1irta
ton between Eben Furval and Clara
Yelling. Of course it was a filtration,
the same world decreed; not, perhaps,
on her side, but on his.
She was but eighteen, with some of
the clear young soul shining through
the dark blue eyes as they uplifted
themselves to her hero's face.
Yet, he was her hero. The world, for
once, had spoken truly. She had not
bsgun to reason. She only knew that
her heart beat more quickly at the sound
of his fOOtstep-that, had one asked her
ideal of all manly beauty, unconsciously
Eben's dark, handsome face would have
instantly pictured itself before her,
though she might have vouchsafed no
spoken answer-that to her ear was no
sweeter music than the low Inelodious
utterance of bis voice.
OF course he knew his power. The
world remembered numberless instances
when he had used it too mercilessly
therefore they 'elt sorrow for the young
untried girl who also had fallen 'under
the SPELL"
Yet, as she stood tonight by Eben
Furval's side, the tall, slender figure,
draped in soft, white folds; brilliant
color on her cheek lending new Iustre
to her eyes the soft. fair hair curling
itself in myriad rings on the low, white
brow, she seemed picture of girlish
happiness. Could it be that he Should
mar it? If so, how perfect his acting
"Clara," he whispered-never had
her name sounded as sweet befOre-"are
you tired? Shall we not finish this
waltz?"
Fer answer she let him slip his arm
around her waist.
Tired with him! Had the music last.
ed, she might have gone on forever!
She sighed when it was ended, and hs
drew her into the dimly lighted con.
servatory.
What meant the look with which he
pierced down through the azure eyes in.
to the hidden depths Of her soul?
He spoke no word, but there amid the
flowers and fragrance, with half asleeI
canary warbling his good night song
over their heads, he opened wide his
arms.
A moment she resisted their mute en-
treaty; he drew step nearer then with
a half sob of the most exquisite happi.
ness she had ever known, she felt them
fold themselves about ner and laid hel
head, like tired child, upon his breast
He held her close and long
"Clara, you love me ?" he half assert.
ed, half questioned. "Oh, child, what
sweet, fair page has been the life upo1
which may dare inscribe my name?'
AT his word of sel-implied reproach
she raised her head. In his face was
light she had never seen before. With
a glad thrill she knew that her hand hat
illumined her torch.
II love you'll love you" she repeat
ed softly, until he hushed the words with
his lips.
"Do not let us tell the world our 70
cret," he pleaded. at is SO sweet ii
have no one share it but ourselves"
And to this wish of his she gladly CAV,
assent.
On swiftly joyous wings the days fol
lowed, merging themselves into halcyOl
weeks yet some lives she heard, wer
filed with misery Could she ever faith
ON the meaning of the word? All, sh
was young to ask the question. It wa
to be answered all too soon.
Poor child she had no mother-per
haps mothers hand would have beel
more gentle with the knife but one da,
her aunt, with whom she lived, cam
into her room to rudely break in upol
her day dreams.
"Clara," she said, II want to talk wit