Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1882-11-02
Sibyl SartOris' Peril.
[Chicago Tribune. |

God help me now!'
| Sibyl Sartoris, as she stood beneath the
grateful shade of the locust trees that sensu.
GUS day in June, when the kissing winds Of
summer were balmy with the prefume Of the
rose-leaves that the storm of the previous
evening had scattered along the graveled
walks Of Coastcliff Castle, spoke these words
in dreamy, languid fashion, and yet be-
meath the Indifference Of her speech, under
the air Of hauteur that sat so well upon
the finely-chiseled lips, there was sense of
unrest, a haunting, desolate, where-has-the-
nutmeg gratergone-to feeling that all the
insOuciance of her Prairie avenue mature
could not stifle or suppress.
God alone knows how I have suffered for
your sake, Bertram McMurtry," the girl said,
plucking as she spoke q blossom from the
bush that was Haunting it's scarlet beauties
so saucily against the vivid green of the
close-trimmed lawn. "And you, little rose
bud" she continued, pressing the velvety
petals of the flower against lips that were
equally soft and crimson, 'you would not, if
you could, even whisper my secret to the
world, for you, too, have troubles, and are
buffetted about by the cruel winds that blow
so rudely against thy pretty face. Not even
the star-eyed pansies, or the modest violets
that nod so demurely in the summer zephyrs,
shall know my secret"-and with little
laugh that was half sob Sibyl started for
the melon-patch.
But ere the little bunionless feet that
peeped out so coquettishly from beneath the
fieecy white dress had taken many steps
Sibyl felt a touch upon her off shoulder
Turning suddenly, she stood face to face with
Bertram McMurtry He was a strong, manly
fellow, and the rich, bock-beer tones of his
voice thrilled her very blood.
"Why are you sad 2" he asked.
The pretty red lips are dropping now, and
the hazel eyes dimmed by tears that cannot
be repressed.
do you still love me, Bertram?" she
asks.
"You know love you dearly" he replies
Gas much as you did last Thursday ?"-
and the pretty face looks into his with
pleading expression that shows how she has
staked her all upon that love.
Gust as much" he answers, drawing her
1.-THE form over in his ward.
Then" she says, II will tell you every
thing. And Oh, [ am SO desolate, Bertram,
so desolate"
what is the matter, my darling?' he
asks, bending over her in alarm.
"All is lost" she says. "All, all !"
"All what ?"
Nesting close to the man whose matinee
tickets she loves, Sibyl says in low, agonized
tones: "All my chewing-gum," and then her
head falls upon his shoulder amid storm of
sobs
A Picture of the Greatest English
General.
New York Sun.
When Sir Garnet Wolseley was young he
was good deal of fop in Dublin, as was
the Duke of Wellington in his youth, and
he used to drive drag with his brothers
daily into Dycer's repository, now the family
seat, near Dublin. He then wore long curls.
Time had worked much change while he
was staying at the Clarendon here in 1862
with Colonel Rowan. 1t has worked still
greater since. He is now spare, lantern
jawed, with short gray hair and blonde
He wears yellow sun helmet,
wound about with handkerchief of white
and violet check his red coat is open at the
chest, and spotted with many stains of
grease; he has yarigated necktie, a woolen
shirt of loud pattern, gray checked trous-
ers yellow riding boots and spurs, an opera
glass with yellow case and strap, and yell
low revolver belt with cartridge case, yellow
gauntlets, violet pocket handkerchief stuck
in his red coat, a gigantic pair of dark blue
spectacles, and in his hand he fourishes a
fan to keep off the flies.