The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1884-01-12


those others that little country mouse
like you, however highly bred, could not
acquire for years
II cannot see how even the Queen can
be more than lady, says the child with
pretty dignity, "and surely Wriothesly
may lay claim to that old title
birth and breeding have nothing to do
with it, says Stainer with touch Of wea-
riness. She is too ignorant of the worlds
ways to understand him. He is unaware
that he himself is too ignorant of heavens
ways to understand the sweet soul within
her. "With these women speak of, who
have spent their days in whirl Of excite
ment ever since their schoolroom doors
closed upon them, you would be misunder
stood You would find yourself miles be-
hind them in earthly lore"
''Could | not learn it p leaning forward
eagerly.
Better not try No. The material for
that sort of thing was not born with you.
You are trife too earnest for fashionable
life. These others l speak of wouldn't
like it in you
Not even those aesthetic people of whom
you sometimes tell me? Might not this
crime of mine, this earnestness you condemn,
be deepened into intensity? If Iproved
myself intense they should claim me as
sister Should they not p
There would be q triAing objection"
says Stainer, laughing again. ''Their ear
nestness is all sham, yours startling real
ity Once they found out they would
never forgive you"
/ $50 you think l shall never make a
great 'ladye, says she. with smile that is
thoughtful
Never"
''Yet | should like to try. | would that
some fairy sent me fortune, and face so
| fair that all the world should bow to it
then we should see.'
! He shakes his head. 'The strain would
be too heavy for you. You are too simple
a child to make sensation in society.
Give up all such ambitious views and wish
for something else.
'.Then | shall wish for your return
every minute in the day until we meet
again" she says prettiy.
by Jove! that reminds me, exclaims
he, springing to his feet, 81 must 60 at
once, unless wish to miss my train, and
| am due at Lady Blands tonight. Good
by, my darling, and believe l shall never
forget you-nevcr, and that the last month,
spent in this sweet Devonshire of yours, has
been the happiest of my life.
"You did not ask me to remember you,
says the girl, standing back from him.
She is clad in a soft, white, clinging gown,
and her hands are clasped loosely before
her. "Though indeed there was no need
to ask" she adds, with touch of solemni-
ty in her young voice; II shall never for
get"
"Oh, that [ know that" he says with
careless, comfortable trust in her affection.
And then he takes her in his arms, and at
the very last she so far forgets her lesson,
as to give nature sway, and clings to him
and lets him kiss her at his will. And
then it is all over, and he goes up to town,
finding solace-even as he thinks Of her
in cigar, while she spoils her lovely eyes
in weeping for him all that livelong night.
He wrote her fifteen letters in all, includ-
ing one from Calais, where he stopped on
his way to Berlin, as military attache, and
then he came to the conclusion that he
must marry for money if he meant to keep
up the old place as it should be kept-a
matter that for many weeks had been trou
bling him-and then he told himself he
was heartless fellow, and then-he forgot
her
PATTI is singing and deathly silence
reigns, save for the grand tones that swell
and fade and rise again, filling the wide ex-
panse of the vast theatre with rapturoIs
melody. Through the great hush the mu-
sic il sobbing-thrillipg holding, as in
spell, the hearts of the mighty concoursc,
Who shall say what unforgotten memories
are brought into vivid life by these charm
ing sounds? What sad but exquisite recol-
iections make the pulses beat At least
they bring tears into the eyes of one.
! She is quite young girl; and in her
absorption is leaning rather more over the
cushions of her boy thap she is aware.
Her whole soul is in her face, which is ex-
extremely beautiful. III
'.Sit back little dearest; you should
think sometimes, says pretty woman,
half dozen years her senior and evidently
her chaperon, tapping her furtively with her
fan. aYou know how people watch you
every moment and they will not believe
"What does it matter ? Let her be hap
pv in her own way" says young man
hurriedly to the pretty woman, stopping
| eooond messasa from the fam
Indeed the girl has gone unheeded.
Her ewes are full of passionate delight,
tinctured with sadness-who is ever "mer-
nv when she hears sweet music? her lips
are slightly parted. Her gown is of costly
white silk, broidefed with pearls, and she
is older, gFaVer, yet altogether strangely
unaltered since that time, q yeaF ago, when
she sat amidst the fragrant clover aad
watched the roses dying and listened, with
far-off dreamy gaze, to the plaintive mur-
muring of the waves as they beat their
foamy breasts against the cruel rocks far
down below
Then her 0false love- sat beside her;
now. Her eyes grow dim. Slowly,
as though some inward force compels her,
she turns them from the stage and looks
into the stalls below. There she sees him.
ssVera! = the voice comes to her vaguely,
indistinctly, as it were through hazy mist:
1t is her cousin, Lady Vynor's voice, and
: it awakes her to the necessity for calm.
She is still leaning on the cushions of the
box, but now she draws herself up, and
leans back, until she is so hidden by the
curtains on her side that she is no longer
visible to the stalls beneath. Raising her
hand she passes it hurriedly across her
forehead.
She is ILL.," says Lord Digby, hastily.
He is the young man who had taken her
part moment since.
"Ah! so she is" says Lady Vynor, in
frightened way. "Vera, dearest-
at is only the heat. )" says the girl, COM