Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1884-02-12
Rnpert's Request.
''Come hither, Beryl."

Stuyvesant Nutwood spoke in kindly
to les to his daughter, and yet the girl no
tlced, or imagined that she did, a slight
tramor in his voice, but thinking it was due
to the involuntary loosening of his false
teeth, gave the m utter no further attention
ohe crossed the room to where her father
was sitting in his great arm chair beside the
window.
Beryl had grown up on her father s
farm almost without society, but not with
out education, for every year she had at
nded the seminary at Acornville, and in
her eighteenth year had graduated with all
the hcnors and percale dress. And then
she had gone back to the farm again. but
somehow her life there was not as satisfac-
tory as before. There were times when
beryl felt sense of ennui with an indef-
nlte feeling of restlessness that would
cause her to wander aimlessly around the
place IN reverie until recalled tothe things
u this world by stepping on her ankle
But though she strove to conceal, even from
herself, the real cause of this feeling, her
neart would ever and anon give great
5hrob as she thought of Rupert Hollings-
worth, who was now a struggling lawyer
in Western town. There had been no
words OF love between them, but on the
day Rupert graduated they bad met for the
asst time, and, standing beneath the shade
)f grand old oak that guarded the en-
trance to the college campus, Rupert had
aiken Beryl's hand IN his and said to her,
while his dark brown eyes seemed looking
INTO her very soul: "You will not forget me
entirely, Miss Stuyvesanta"
81 sh IL never forget you," she replied.
with grave earnestness, 'as long as live"
He had once stepped on her toes
When Beryl had crossed the room her
father motioned her to a seat by his side,
md as she cuddled up costly on hassock
md, placing her arms upon her knees,
looked up in his face with a wondering ex-
pression in her great blue eyes, Stuyvesant
Nutwood felt a great thrill of sorrow in the
knowledge that one day this beautiful girl,
with all her wealth of love and bandoline,
would leave him forever.
81 have received letter from Rupert
Hnllingswortn, Beryl," he said.
The girl gave sudden start, and wave
OF crimson swept over the pure, sweet face,
but she did not speak.
Can you not guess,' he continued,
"what the purport of his letter is?''
Beryl could no longer look in her fathers
face. She knew full well why Rupert
Hollingsworth had written
He had gone away only two years before,
in all the vigor Of his glad manhood, and
MS splendid talents had gained for him sue
cess where others had failed. And now,
crowned with the laurel wreath of victory,
he had written to her father for permission
to urge his suit with her. She knew all
this full well, and yet when her father
asked her the question to which her heart
had already given answer, she did not reply
You could never guess, little one," SAID
Stuyvesant Nutwood. merry twinkle in
his eyes, ''why Rupert has written. Do
you think you could?'
A deeper blush overspead the pretty face.
''But | will tell you" he continued, ''be-
cause you two were at college together.
Still, perhaps l had better be silent"-and
again the laughing light came into her
fathers eyes
Tell me, papa" whispered Beryl, no
longer able 10 conceal her eagerness, ''why
he has written,'
''He wants Something" was the reply.
'Can you not guess what it is?'
Every fiber Of Beryl's being is throbbing
with expectancy now. The sun has passed
from SIGHT, and great bands of rosy light
that stream up from below the horizons
rim cast a strange halo over the silent earth.
'DGiyt lStIS tio lhliuOLCCo VI INC
twilight hour, but no word comes from her
lips.
Can you not guess, =" repeats her father,
''what Rupert Hollingsworth desires?"
For an instant she does not reply. To
answer the question in the affirmative would
seem bold and forward, and yet can she
.leny, even to herself, II knowledge Of what
Rupert desires? So she simply says to her
father: ''Tell me what he wants."
Bending tenderly over his daughter
Stuyves.n5 Nutwood whispers with infinite
oathos in her ear: Twenty five dollars to
get home home with. ."-Chicago Tribune