The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1883-12-19

for eleven years, that's all
Half an hour aftcrward they were sit
ting side by side in the gas-lit parlor.
Every trace of s%ensibility had left Eliza
bcth's face. The womanly melancholy
that had made her so lovely in the twi-
light garden had quite vanished. She
was now only Il keen, clever little woman.
But somehow John felt sure that she
had assumed q character, and was play
ing up to it. ''Shc is a clever actress,
and enjoys Interpreting her role; but
why she chooses to do SO is a question"
And from this evening forward John
Lawrence fell as completely under the
spell of Elizabeth Atkinson as Fanny
had donc-with this difference: Eliza
beth soon became aware that in this case
her slave was also her conuuercr.
Will was disguised with the whole
position. He took a couple of servants
and set off to the A~dirondacks without
John. who did not now want to go fish
ing. He seemed. indeed, to desire moth
ing but to idle away the long summer
DAYS in Fanny's garden or parlors. Neccs-
sarilv Elizabeth and he were often left
alone, and it was a noticeable thing that
aftcrthe first two weeks of their acquaint-
ancc they found nothing to dispute
about in their interviews. Elizabeth sat
quietly rocking and pretending to sew,
and John watched her and pretended to
read.
sometimes they gIanccd at eacn other,
sometimes they said 4 few words, but
John was really gaining a silent victory.
Then there would be days in which Eliza
beth rebclled against this growing power
over her, and at such times she resolutcly
refused to leave her W room; but such
struggles only left her more weak and
unreasonable. John conquered by his
absence as surely as by his presence.
The first really hot weather had sent the
Danverscs out to their country homc-an
old stone house among great pine woods
and John spent most of his time with
them. But not one word of love did he
say during those charmed weeks of hot
summer-tide. They wandered through
the pines, and played with the baby, and
sailed down the river in the cool morn
ings and the moonlight nights, and John
said nothing beyond the pleasant courtc-
Gus words Of an intimate acquaintance.
In those days Elizabeth was often very
weary. 81 must wear my mask" she
thought; she must not know how really
weak and tender l am. Once. all! once
But what did it bring me? Contempt.
If women show they have a heart, they
invite a bctrayer."
1t was the last day of August, and
Elizabeth was to return to England early
in September. 1t had been a still, hot;
exhaustive day. Fanny had a bad head
ache, John was in the city, and Elizabeth
was slowly walking her little namesake
to sleep in the darkening parIor. BY
and-by John came home, and sat down.
Elizabeth smiled family at him, and con-
tinucd her monotonous walk and lullaby.
John followed her every movement.
Then the child was asleep, and h was
leaving the room.
He stood before her, all his soul in his
face. "You will come back, Elizabeth
| want to speak to you"
1t was the first time he had ever called
her Elizabeth. She knew what he wanted
to say, and yet she answered, almost in
a whisper, II will come back"
He was awaiting her return with the
greatest impaticnce. Now that he could
no longer withhold speech, he was eager
for his opportunity. He met her as she
entered and drawing her ~passionately
toward him, said: sob, Elizabeth, you
must not leave me now. l have loved
you, darling, loved YOU and sought you,
for eleven years"
"Oh, John, l love you, too. But you
must know the truth: l have loved some
one else the greater part of those eleven
ARSON one who bascly won my
childish heart, and then left me to such
hopeless misery as makes me tremble yet
to think of. l was a simple, loving,
romantic soul, and he thought it but a
holiday to take all the glory out Of my
life. and all the trust out of my heart. "
care YOU sure of that, darling?"
''Quitc sure. He left me in Rome one
first of November; Incver saw himagain,
and he never wrote me a line"
''Hc was killed three days aftcrward,
dearest, in a pass of the Apennincs.
There was a long letter to you in his
pocket. but it was unfinished and had no
address. / have it here. Will you read
it,"
"No, no, John; it is too late now.
You knew Stephcni"
''Hc was my dearest friend. We were
travelling together. | knew that he was
deeply in love with a young English girl,
but he was very secret and jealous about
this matter. l did not care to irritatc
him with questions, for he regarded the
subject as too sacred a one for common
conversation. Sooner or later | was sure
he would give me his confidence. Alas
he had only strength afterh he was stabbed
to whisper some words which were quite
inaudiblc, and explained nothing. The
brigands who had attacked us suffered
me t 0 redeem my friends body and my
own life, and ! kept az IL sacred trust and
relic the letter he had intended for YOU,
and your picture. The lovely face
gradually became Il dream and Il hope t,
me; I sought YOU all over Europe; have
not found YOU now only to lose you, hav.
/. Elizabcth?'
She answered first by a passion of tear
and sobs. 1t was a gracious rain. ant
washed away all the sense Of wrong tina
had imbittercd SO many years. 1t Wa
| lust, also, that she should first give trib
ute to the memory of a lost and wrongct
love. John understood the feeling, ant
shared it. After all, it was Il short Sor
row, from which was to spring for then
long years of confident joy.-IMpe'
Weekly.