The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1882-04-05
III.

Things do take their course, and
a very pleasant course it is. The
days pass quickly, and l have no
time to write letters. The Dinard
bathing season will soon be at its
height. The Partisan world, includ-
ing Mdlle. Berthe de Pontiac, will be
here-so Bonne-maman tells me
Horace never mentions her. ! often
long to ask him about her, but a
shy feeling closes my lips. Do ]
dread that her name should break
the spell of happiness cast around
my life !?
Alas +! after some weeks OF delight
ful enjoyment, the spell was broken,
and by Bonne-maman.
Horace had fred my imagination
by glowing account of fresh black
berries, the finest, blacklist, sweetest
that ever were seen. Working upon
my enthusiasm, he promised to take
me a-blackberrying.
The next morning, in high glee,
we sailed forth /; he armed with a
stout hooked stick, / with basket.
Past a cottage, with bright-eyed
maiden tending her pet lamb in the
kitchen, while her mother was sit
ting at the spinning-wheel in the
morning sun. Through lanes so
narrow, We had to scramble up the
steep bank to let the great white
horses with the numbering wagons
60 by. Through bush. through bri-
ar, we went and never blackberry
did l see, At last, ventured to re-
mark upon the singular fact of the
flowers and buds being still in full
bloom. | heard slight chuckle,
and looking up at my companions
face, saw a mild eleam of fun in it.
swell, you must indeed be a cock
ney born, to think of expecting
blackberries in August" For mo-
ment | was put out, then joining in
his merrlment / contented myself
with the wreath of wild flowers he
had gathered.
From this merry excursion we re-
turned in high glee and good humor,
my basket laden with flowers, my
hat decorated with berries and
brightly tinted leaves. Bonne-ma-
man, contrary to her usual hospital
ity, did not invite Horace to stay,
and he went off there and then to
his hotel. Then, having removed
my protector, was treated to q long
lecture on my reckless disregard of
the proprieties. Were these English
or the want of them ? This
running about the country with
young men for untold hours, this
liberty was unheard of in France,
and | must, at least while under her
roof, conform to French usages un-
married girls could not be too par
ticular.
Conscience-stricken, | could find
no words of excuse. The hot blood
dyed my face, unshed tears made
my eyes burn. STOPPING, / kissed
Bonne-maman in silence, and step
ping through the open window into
the garden / wandered away out Of
sight. Yes I had been unmaiden-
ly, immodest, undignified. Dishon-
orable, too. forgetting my plighted
troth If only Bonne-maman and
Mr.. Vernon knew, how they would
despise me. Heartsick, | turned
away from the garden and sought
the solitude of the orchard. There,
alone, under the shadowy trees, l
could think it out. My eyes ached;
my head burned / was humbled
to the dust, to have failed, when l
felt SO sure of myself Playing with
fire, how could | escape I? And he
never in words had he confessed his
love, but by thousand triAes light
as air l felt that he loved me. And
Berthe ? All! l thought bitterly, he
may like me but he will marry her.
Will he love her? / threw myself
on the soft cool grass, hiding my
face with my hands, and trying to
-A..x <,,x Az x,osr H. l