The Iola register. [volume] (Iola, Allen County, Kansas) 1875-1902, 1883-03-16

really made he feel nervous; and if we
had continued in the dark, think
should soon have been screaming, for
you were making me begin to feel as il
you were in earnest. Don't you
feel cold? am shivering."
She was trembling. apparently sim
ply as the natural result of a sud len
chill, and without any symptom of a2i-
tation. She looked round as if seeking
something to keep her warm. and he,
perceiving this. took soft rug from a
lounge, advanced. and p aced it round
her shoulders.
THAT is very kind" she continued;
''thank you. We were getting on nice
" with the play. but 1 am afraid we
must stop now"
"Yes, we had better stop now" he
echoed. gazing fiyedly upon her calm
face. He was mentally asking himself:
lis this affectation?-is it the shadows
or the depths which perplex me"'
There certainly had appeared to be
something real in the tone in which she
suggested that she would have liked
him to be able TO call her Lucy, and in
the emotion so evident in the tremor
of her voice as she asked him: Would
he have told Lucy that he loved her and
lived for her? And now she passed it
all off with covert sneer as mere est.
She lifted her eyes quickly; his manner
and voice had startled her. but her in
quiry was commonplace enough:
"ls there anything the matter w tn
you. Mr.. Calthorpe:"
II am afraid there is" he answered,
slowly; ''but if l were to attempt to ex-
plain it to You, it would only appear to
be continuation of the pla", in which
it is clear l can not be your collaboration,
as it seemed to me for a few minutes we
both thought could be-"
She tried to smile. but her under-lip
oui' cred slightly. and it was with con-
strained air that she said:
81 do not understand"
Nor do ]. You would be amused if
/ were to tell you what has been run
ming through my head since you Lit the
lamp. 1t seems to be far away from
our play, rs you call it; and yet in my
own mind there is some vague associa-
ton between the two things Shall |
tell youp''
"Go on" Her eyes had turned to the
lamp again. and she was apparently
much interested in arranging the wick
TO its proper height.
al suppose you ha e not paid much
attention to angling. but you have
heard, l dare say, that our stream here
used to be famous for its trout l re-
member once a gentleman who was an
expert angler visiting my father. and he
took me with him on some of h g pc
ditions, from which he rarely failed to
bring home a good basket. l was very
young at the time. and wasuproud to be
his companion, until On one occasion
when l saw him have what he called
capital play 1t was an angler
beautiful day-a somewhat dull SKY, a
gentle pattering rain which glistened
like golden threads in occasional flashes
of sunlight, and made piles on the
face of The water. lie had hooked fish
which made sturdy fight for its lie.
and he was delighted. He was in no
hurry to land it, as he knew it was safe.
and he admired its efforts TO get away.
He would humor it and let his line run
nearly off the reel: then. when the poor
thing was no doubt congratulating it
self upon escape, he would quietly
tighten the line and wind up the reel;
then let it run again. and SO cont nue.
until at last in triamph he lanled the
exhausted fish, tossed it into his basket.
and cast his fly again. That was real
sport 10 him; l should like to know
whit the fish thought of it."
IL do not quite see the application of
your story"
"And 1 unfortunately can not be more
explicit without the risk o being cruelty
misunderstood. You wished me TO
speak as if l were speaking to Lucy,
and did so. / made a mistake; L
thought you were in earnest
There was a flush upon her cheeks
and a quick fash in her e. es. She
seemed suddenly to grow tall and
strong. and in the place of the e,cited
and nervous cir! stood resolute woman
who-e face was full of scorn.
81 am in earnest" she retorted, her
teeth close. She unlocked a drawer of
the table and produ ed a book which
she flung before him.
"Do you see this?-- do you know it?"
It was a volume of Tennyson present
ed to Lucy Smith by Maurice Esmond.
with the quotation beneath the simp e
ms ription: Would that my tongue
could utter the thoughts that arise in
me-" He handled the book with some
thing like awe; he glanced at it and at
her flushed face alternately, with IN ex-
preston of eager anxiety.
"What does it mean? l gave this
book to her."
And did that quotation mean any
thing?"
"All that it says. 1 did wish to
speak to her even then, but my posi-
ton kept me silent for her sake as well
as m own"
"And your position now enables you
to say to Miss Cuthbert all that you
would have said to Lucy Smith. but
didn't" she excla med, sarcastically.
Then, rointing to the inscription with
finger trembling slightly: "Yet you
made her believe then all that YOU
would have me believe now. Oh, MIR.
Calthorpe. drop this piti.ul pretense.
You know me-you knew me at tn,
first 1t is my position which enables
you to speak now"'
Strange as the revelation was. and to-
tally ignorant as he was of the circum-
S ances which transformed the poor
into rich heiress, Maurice
did not feel any shock of surprise. The
declaration so nded in his ears as the
most commonpla obser alton about
the weather or any ordinarrt pic m ght
have done. HIS whole mind was occu-
pied with one thought which took !orm
in a monotonouS mental iteration of one
phrase:
land You are Lucy, and you can
think this and say this of me! q. . And
you are Lucy. and yon can think this