Litchfield enquirer., 1881-02-24
T ts li5 3BII E5F IIf5FE ' 3-tf-F' THE YOUNG LADY IN GRAY.

relatives anxious in me and for. me, that only perfect change would do me any good. 1 was in low way and wanted rousing was in g bad way, and fresh air aud foreign scene and character might bring about better state of
 mind, if were willing to help myself. they the outset; it was as if I doubted it myself,
 knowing what help wanted and how useless any efforts of my own would assuredlyf be-.
 T. Yes, was in bad way-even for 2 young Frenchman I had reflected too much, they
 told mel had studied too hard AI had become too philosophical andt argumentative. ,oI was
 versed in all the theories, of the French and | German schools" had analysed all beliefs, and yet believed in very little They said at , home that I was reading myself2to death.
 They were partly right and partly wrong. I Ihad lost energy and strength of late I had
 become morbid and misanthropcal,s and I let them send nie abroad, stipulating for only one
 condition-that I should be allowed to go :, alone Twas an only son. and accustomed to Il my d9kn company Il wascenceited enough to think that there was nothing like, it5 having a fair opinion of myself, and implicit credence I in my own wild specnlations.e My one tam
 bition was to be the founder of 8 new sect,2 but friends held alpof very, wisely, and Thought
 that was going mad. 1-g .,,,,,, s.,;s .,.s.d
 It is possible that I was not very wise, and
 that people saw change in me'; they called
 me clever fellow. but they ygwere not anxious fl for my company. 1 was, too deep lfUr them
 and knew too m.nch, they said, of, every thing but-r,er and woinen and the world! If tnis
 were satire, it was true enough. My world
 had been all books and all philosophes, and cared for little e1seitnMenI doubted, women
 thought childish and vain, and the world l
 knew was selfish hTteits backbone.Hl Si H3
 l Still, i.woulds go abroad Theyswere ana
 ous about it at home, where had no wish to stay; I was killing myself by over study and 1 had no particular desire to die, though Life seemed 8 dul. and commonplace affair to I me- -,ri4~f os7,4 s'f1~sfT e-,fcs&1 nceE 1 | I chose England for g resting-place. They
 were curious folks in England, I had heard,
 and there might be fortunate enough to meet kindred spirit,7a somebody to under
 stand me and sympathize with all my aspira. tions, my schemes for the general good of & community wbich in the aggregate I despised
 already. t*'"h f' ] 1 | found DO one of nay tastes and feelings;
 was an enthusiast, and English, folk were afraid of me- I raved and gesticulated too
 much for them in my heat of argument, and
 they were glad to get awayonsIn this English country had felt better for while; but the deep, deadly sense of an indifferency to man. kind came to me again, born of my experience I the sea -side7making toward my native France again after months of a change which had done me little good. This was the first step toward a new iife-tO the romance and mys- lery floating beyond tine world of science and sober fact in which had been submerged As
 the poets say, my time bad come at last-my fate had stepped across the border land toward me. And fate was s wo.nsin, of cotirse! Ills
 This fate, then--as dark rkliiaifed, dark.eyed
 lady of about the middle ,height,,a young lady ip gray, whose, years had not numbered q score, and who was so strangely beautiful that
 people gazed at Ter, as at a picture by some master hand, crossed my path, entered the same railway carriage with ue, glanced criti- callY but not boldly at the faces of her fellow passengers, and then looked steadily from the
 window until the train was moving from the | station. e. H~ b... r.d aa pslI
 Hers was a face which attracted me at once, although until that hour had been a woman
 ,hater. It was hardly it's beauty-say. rather,
 the strangepess of it's beauty and the depth, of
 it's expression. There was great intelligence,
 1 was sure, behind those well-drawn features l --there, was deep sadness even, endeayoring Il to disguise itself by set immobility-there 1 were trouble and anxiety, but there was also
 the courage to resist. Il thought all this, as
 watched my fellow-traveler and sketched story from her face very far from the truth as was natural, deep thinker though Twas.
 She did not seem to notice those who trav-
 eled with her again; Go the end of her journey she read numerous letters, which she drew J from small valise resting on her lap, letters I which were in various handwritings, and bore always foreign post marks. Once or twice
 during the perusal of these epistles observed
 that she smiled smiled brightly and hope fully@and the light upon her face then
 was very fair to see, That she attracted mo
 strangely, have said and that it was not for
 her beauty, l was assured. ,, One of my, facts or fallacies, in which the world would not, be, lieve, was that there were men or women, or both, born to meet each, other at a ,predestinesl period of life, who. were forever steadily, ap- l proaching to one fixed point, and were all their lives directly or indirectly influencing each ] other by strange subtle meaps, of which | philosophy knew nothing and cared less And
 this might be the. life that had been waiting for me, and was vas S already influencing my owl n. ioid not think So at the time althouglri,n pressed by, the sad, thoughtful face--byr the story in it. and marvelingi already, why she traveled alone, and whato + her mission on this 1 f., l scarcely. thought so at the hotel at FoTke
 stone where we met again.. although sI was struck by the coincidence winch took her there, and which sat her by my side at the
 table d'hote, where she ate little and thought deeply, and seemed unconscious of the ad- miring, curienss thoughtful glances bestowed freely upon her by the guests.s It struck me even that she was scarcely "a stranger there,
 and that people seemed to recognize her once | the manager of tue hotel came and spoke to
 her, aud bowed obsequiously to certain orders
 which, she gave to 1him5in allow voice. She ! wore at dinner the same dark gray dress iu which rQ lnH T ,1n,,
 her hands, which were n0Y. lngioRed, were
 totally destitute of rings. No one spoke to
 her, and she spoke to no one, but she was not embarrassed by the isolation of her position. on the contrary. looked steadily and almost
 critically about her attimes, as If expectant of
 friend ys,fa. .sls ta4l3 .s45t,.s4 esYsiifa4a c. | l did not address her, on my own part, albeit strangely tempted once or twice. J was pre-
 ternaturally reserved by the habits of my youth. and there was doubt in my mind
 whether she might not take it as an offense,
 and resent it. Ii 1 didnot belieSesshe had recog- nized me as her travelling companion, and |
 thought she was English and more reserved | than even. Before the table I'd hote was quite | finished she rose and walked gracefully the full length of the dining-reom,n looking at the guests, as she passed on, as if half expectant still of the friend among them somew where, but betraying no emotion or embarrassment at tue attentiOu Wnfcn sne reserved ID return. ! As she passed from the room, 2 short, stout
 man, who had sat op the other side of her,
 and who was to me the very personifcation of yulgarity, with his greasy face and coarse, broad smile. leaned across the chair left va I cant between 'hs by her departure, and said in I 8 loud voice heatssis.ii ..s
 .''Fns lady in igrayA fack aeainq esaaiGq'aft after al aal
 took odds 6n tte event last month. wv III, ldid hot respond at first then new curis l osity led me to ask Question, of this familiar l being. oi ;an Tsbia9o eaHn siEh2c as'i1F. 71'i l t'ls she often Ksre 7s asked. .t'e. as"e4f ' | 'Oh yes, very often. he replied; twin ter. as well as Summer, Irun against her. AL
 ways the same stand d-offish style. h I can't
 bear stgck-up people. And always in. that
 gray dress or in a dress of the same co,lor- hanged if I know which. "s h9htE31' Y17'sea "ls there anything remarkable in her being l here? You are here very often yourself I
 presume ?'a is99eI Yd bSSi4 fss F 79se13 3Es E. | : gEsa !