Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1881-03-26
D0RY.
"a STORY IN FIVE PARTS. ]

'tBeaten?"
quite; but surrender my racket with
all the satisfaction of being conquered by a
gallant foe.
Then there was merry laugh, and the
maiden aud the youth ceased their game
it was lawn tennis-and sauntered leisure.
ly across the lawn of Erlsmere. At first
they kept well within sight of the windows
of the old mansion, the residence of George
Hareourt; but by and by they wandered
down the wooded path toward the river,
she bantering, and, with apparent unkind-
ness, making fun of the pale-faced, dark
haired young man who was her companion.
A little girl, with bright blue eyes,
which seemed to be the reflection of sun
light, and lips pretty enough to have
tempted St. Anthony, although they indi-
Gated an inclination to laugh at anything
that might approach sentimentality.
She was the ward Of George Harcourt, the
Squire of Erlsmere, an estate of some i'm
portance situated near Dunthorpe. In his
early years he had been in the Guards, and
the father If Derothea Willis had been his
eomrade. When Captain Willis died underf
fire In India he had Entrusted the care
his motherless child to his friend. Har-
court shortly afterward retired from the
service. The child, Dorothea, was-al-
though a mischievous imp, always getting
into scrapes-a tender and lovable girl
some people would have called her a
'hoyden.
She grew up with Mr. Harcourt's
daughter Agnes, receiving the same educa-
lion and the same tender care. But her
sense of humor was greater than her love
of learning and while Agnes was gravely
studying botany, the elements of all the
sciences, or diligently practicing the piano,
Dory was seampering about the fields on
the bare back of any pony or horse she
could catch, or gathering wild. flowers,
staying out the whole day and returning to
the house in the evening, to slip in by the
kitchen door with an excellent appetite for
ibread and milk, with the good.natured
tlousekeeper was always ready to supply
her.
Squire Harcourt was much troubled to
know what was to become of her, for her
wild ways were combined with so much
healthy mirthfulness that to his serious
mind it appeared that she was in danger of
making some very foolish love engagement
And it seemed now that the danger was
very near for while he had settled in his
o vn mind that she would marry Hugh
Montgomery. young fellow blessed with
a handsome face and handsome fortune,
she seemed to have made up her mind to
accept the son of the Vicar of the parish.
William Arnold, who had nothing what
ever but his own talents to depend upon in
order to make fortune and boldly to at
tempt to win the love of Dory. She was
L i
sarcasm, or blush at some hooking allusion
to the work which he had chosen-and yet
he could not help loving her. 81 wish 1
could forget her, or turn away from her"
was his mental cry and the next moment
the tolls of the charmer were round him
again.
" And so You have written a play ," she
exclaimed, clasping her hands as if in de-
voted admiration. My goodness l am
in the presence of real live author.
What is the play? Is it tragedy"
"No, he answered quietly. "Trage-
dies are not in fashion at present. Tie
taste is more for burlesque operas. have
contented myself with trying to produce
simple comedy.
"And what is the story? About love,
Of course ?"
Is Certainly ; for love is the theme which
is always new, and appeals to the heart of
every man and woman"
" What growing poetical now :"
He laughed at the question, for he knew
she was only trying to provoke him.
"No. I never make attempts at play
ing the poet; but do try to utter the in
most thought of my heart
"0h, dear.-but you have forgotten the
story"
would you very much like to hear
1t he asked, with curious smile, as he
carelesslY plucked twig from bay tree
which they were slowly passing.
''0f course l would, or why should l
ask about it
He swung the twig of the tree between
mis- fingers, and looked dreamily into her
merry blue eyes.
" It is a story of the devotion of lover
to one who did not seem to be capable of
love and yet he believed that she could
love if she would. He is with her some
times, and yearns to tell her of his feelings
but"
He paused, and she appeared to wait i'm
patiently for the rest of the sentence and
so exclaimed
g Well, what is the but 2"
. He was afraid of her.
Dory elapped. her hands, and laughed
bithely, saying
That is what 1 call true woman's
rights-the right to accept the man she
likes best, l am sure your play will sue
coed and I shall be there to see it.
The hero grants her the right to choose
for herself; and it so happens that she
does not give her affection to another man. "
And what does the hero do?
g He submits, because he wishes her to
be happy above all things" he answered
in a melancholy tone, which she perfectly
understood.
The conversation was interrupted by
the appearance of Hugh Montgomery in
shooting eostume-gun under his arm, and
walking with a light, strong step, which
indicated that he could keep on the moors
for many hours without thinking of
fatigue. Dory was sorry that he had come,
and ye glad, for it saved her from the diff
Guilty she would have found In answering
lightly to words so earnestly spoken.
Good morning, cried Montgomery, in
q loud, CHEEKY voice. "'Why don't you get
s gun, Arnold, and come along with US
l warrant you we shall have rare sport to-
day, end capital hamper has gone on be.
fore Us for luncheon"
arnold eyes glittered asif with tears, but