The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1883-07-11

toman. And, altogether, with her ell
very curls, her calm old face, her
ancient dress Of black brocade, her yell
low lace and the curious diamond brooch
on her bosom, she made one Of the
quaintest and sweetest Of pictures.
She sat with closed eyes, listening
drowsily to the music in the further end
Of the room where her companion and
Mr.. Clarence were rendering an exquis-
II duet from new Oratorio.
Presently she slept; the music had
stopped there were no sounds but that
Of Nictor's murmurous, pleading voice.
Beside him, at the piano, Dulcie sat quite
silent, a fitful tinge of scarlet wavering
over her soft cheek, her eyes hidden By
the ebon sweep of lashes, and q mysteri-
GUS and demure little smile quivering
around her delicious mouth.
Victor noticed the smile, and his
countenance saddened for an instant.
'Do only amuse your he asked al
most sternly. 81 have believed you too
perfect woman, Dulcie, 10 ever make
mock Of an honest love"
Then she lifted her eyes-those fear
less eyes of marvellous gray-proudly 10
his face.
SIT is not that" she protested quick
~ and gravely, "for oh, Victor, | honor
you and love you; but there is some
thing that must be xplained-some-
thing that is 50 unusual and so roman
tic and so amusing that l." And
then she paused. bcset by swift and
sweet confusion.
And just then flying spark from the
burning anthracite shot against the tall
peacock screen, beside witch her protec-
tress was doing, and kiadled all the
light and swaying fringes into lines of
flames. With startled exclamation,
Dulcie sprang across the room and
clutched the blazing thing with nervous
hands.
The lady-half aroused, half dream
ing still-opened her bewildered old |
eyes and beheld the girl wrestling with
what seemed to her dazed senses to be
deadly peril. She turned to Victor with
a wall of scared entreaty.
"Oh, save her, Victor" she cried.
"she is your wife-Dulcie is your long
lost wife"
"Dulcie is what?' he gasped, but in
comprehending the whole mys-
terry of the entire and gratifying truth
that had so long been hidden from him.
The girl had already extinguished the
fire and had tossed into the CRATE the
scorched and smoking remnants of the
gorgeous peacock screen. She went to-
ward her husband-him whom she had
once so much detested and whom she
now adored-then hesitated, smiling
nischievously and yet with shy and
fondness.
"Dulcie is your wifep repeated the
aroused lady, who evidently desired to
inish gracefully the calculation that in
| moment of fright she had begun, with
| somewhat inelegant abruptness. "She
5 the child you married at the bedside
If your dying uncle. You had no love
or her and she knew it. In her distress
he fled, and a fortunate accident
brought her to me. And all these years
he has been the most devoted of friends
md have been sufficiently grateful, or
perhaps sufficiently selfish rather to u
.eep her little secret. That was not diff
cult, however, with her fanciful pseu-
onym."
so have been wooing my own we'd
ed wife," he commented but not very
ally, for he was agitated by tender
ess and gratitude too profound for :
lirth. "Must we have another wedding
lso, my darling?" and he bent to kiss
he happy face of the bride who had
cen restored to him.
81 should never have found my love
| had never seen Alfred's picture" he
'ould sometimes say, That picture had
mission" I
IT. q DouJon Ea.u.I.