The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1884-09-11

J
humored face; the other, tall, dark and
| very grave.
Il am SO glad fell in with you, old
fellow" the younger one is saying.
'Wherc have you kept yourself since
we last met in Paris?''
Abroad" is the answer Il only
returned last week. impelled by de-
sire To once more set loot on my native
soil; but find now that am here that
l have no desire 10 remain. The asso-
Citations i've the old pain too keenly.
shall take the next steamer out again
if nothing happens to change my deter
minatiOn."
Mark Blair looked up into the dark
face beside him curiously; but he had
not known him long enough to possess
the clue 10 lis gloom.
With ready tact he turned the con-
vers"tion.
"Well, while you are here you might
rs we'll have little social enjoyment.
What say you 10 making a call with me
Tonight? | have an aunt who has u
villa here. who is the soul of hospitali-
", and would be charmed. | know, to
make your acquaintance. VIII you
Gomez By-the-by. she has n friend
stopping with her who is as beautiful
as Peri, and is a magnificent musi-
cian."
The latter is an inducement."
Marks companion answered. II am
passionatrly fond of music. But | am
afraid nv society manners are sadly
out of repair. However, if you wish it
l will accompany you willingly"
And SD ut nine O'Clock. just rs n
young moon filings her pale radiance
over the waters, the gentlemen walk
slowly along the path to the villa,
whose grounds slope in a succession of
terraces down to the sands.
As they near the house they retard
their steps, for through the open win
dow sweet sounds steal out upon the
night air.
Pausing beneath the balcony they
| listen.
The song is n sad one. and is sung in
Il voice whose melting pathos pene-
trates one mans heart with a potency
so strong as to cause his face to pale
and his limbs 10 tremble beneath him.
! He laid his hand on Marks arm with
an urgent pressure.
do not go yet" he said. ''Wait
and see if she sings again"
"All right" Mark whispered back.
bul lOu oIC CIIlIIllcu Will ueE
voice, just wait until you once see her
face"
But the song ended; there came not
another. Instead. u tread of feet. n
rustic of silkcn drapery above their
heads. appraised them that the secret
songsLress. accompanied by another,
had emerged from the room into the
! balcony.
Another moment, before the two men
had time to make their presence known,
they became unintentional listeners TO
an ardent love-declaration.
Il have looked in vain this whole
week for an opportunity to speak with
you alone. Oh, Violet, thank you,
| thank you for granting it to me at last.
Surely you know what | am going TO
tell you-how mar!ly. desperately, l
! love you. Violet, your manner to me
has never given me encouragement,
| but | cannot believe that | am wholly
Indifferent 10 you. Such devotion as
| mine must win some return"
A soft voice interrupts him.
'.Do not thank me, cousin Ralph"
it says. "i indeed did understand your
desire for an interview, but l only
granted it to show you the hopelessness
of your attachment"
''Why 'hopclessness' There is ut
ter despair in that word. You are your
own mistress. young and beautiful, ca
pable of loving and inspiring love.
Why say .hopelessnessP"
Because" comes the sad reply, sit
is the right word for me to use. Cousin
Ralph, | have loved, but he who alone
ever possessed my heart is cold in his
grave, and all my hope is buried with
him. Ralph, l am now going TO tell
you something which will cause YOU
pain, and what, had it not been for this
avowal. you would never have known.
"One day, as you remember, six
years ago, you came to my house, in
the absence of my husband, to beg
from me the means of assistance and
concealment In fit of passion YOU
had challenged fellow student to an
unlawful duel. You had fought, and
had fed, wounded yourself, from the
field where you left your contestant as
you thought mortally injured.
You had succeeded in reaching the
Hall before the alarm was given and
the pursuit begun. listened to your
story with horror. You implored me
by the ties of blood and old acquaint-
ance. and for the honor of our name,
to hide you until your hurt should be
healed, and you could make your es
cape to another country. | did SO.
1.-The excitement in the town ran
high. for the young man you wounded
lay between life and death; but, at i'm
minent risk to myself, i concealed you
in an empty tooi-house within my own
park, and miniStered myself to your
wants. by my action in thus befriend-
ing YOU | ruined my whole life.
My husband returned two days be-
fore you effected your escape. A
treacherous member of my household
aroused his suspicious. My solemn
promise to you bound me in iron fet-
tiers, and when he questioned me, and
implored me. if it were indeed possible,
to explain my mysterious nightly alb
sences from my home. was obliged to
remain silent.
''All that sustained me through that
dreadful interview was the hope that
in a brief while you would be far away
and safe from the disgraceful conse-
quences of your rashness, and that then
/ could tell my husband all. But that
hope was not to be realiZad.
''He LETT me in bttor anger, and /
have never seen him since, nor heard
|
abroad sent me papers containing IN
account of the loss of French steamer
one of whose ill-fated passengers he
was. thought then l should die, but
God wiiled it otherwise.
cousin Ralph, surely now you will
never approach me again upon subject
which can only add one more pang to
the sorrow that through you-I must
say it, though it wound you-must for
ever bar the entrance of happiness into
my heart"
There was a moments pause, then q
mans troubled voice breaks it.
"And it was my hand that wrought
you this suffering? Though he whom
wounded recovered from his hurt, and
nv hand is free from the blood of fell
low-bcing. | have slain soul! Cousin
Violet, forgive me if you CAM can
never forgive myself"
There was sound of retreating foot
steps, and of n woman's sob; then, un-
nj, 10 q In 4 J.