The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-07-15

for the last time.
CHAPTER III.
"UND WAS DU EWIG LIEBST, Isr EwIG
DEM"
Hayes in August. under eloudless
summer skies, roses and jasmine look
ing in at every window. was a very diff
ferent place from Hayes on cold wet
day in May, with a avid west wind howl
ing out of doors, daShing cold showers
OF rain against the windows, and max
ing the warm, firelit drawing-room a
very desirable place in which to listen
to the warning elements without.
Up and down the long room, in the
fashion that was familiar to them, walk
ed Sydney Lorraine and her father, talk
ing occasionally, and then remaining
silent, both thinking their own thoughts,
in the way that long-tried affection only
dare venture upon.
They had been in London for some
| weeks; it was only this afternoon they
had returned, and Sydney was congrat-
ulating herself on being once more at
| home.
not, dear father? Do you know, L some
| times wonder if the rest of the world
| finds us as dull as we find it. What a
| comfort it is we never fail TO interest
/ and amuSe each otherl"
Il quite forgot to tell you, Sydney
| that / asked Roy Carteret to come down
here!"
"Why did you do that?"- Sydney half
paused in her walk, but went on again
| directly-"I do not believe you forgot L
| think you were afraid to tell me-"
! DO you pot like him? Did you not
wish him to come? / thought he inter
ested you, and he has promised to take
| some sketches for me. But if | had
| thought"
Dear father, do not mind me. OF
| course L am glad you asked him. Ny
| remarks were general, not particular
Men are not, as rule, very interest
ing"
@But he is interesting" went ON Mr..
| Lorraine, with unusual persistence. "He
is clever, amusing, and draws well; be-
| sides, he has helped me a great deal in
a way that has given him not a little
| trouble"
HE is quite aware of his advantages"
/ Sydney replied, with a shade of bitter
ness in the tones that used not 20 be
| there. Sometimes, father, l think peo-
| pie know the value of everything be-
| longing to them, including unselfish-
ness and all their other virtues. Now
do not scold me for being uncharitable
and hard. / say that to you, but to him
/ will be charming: interested and ap-
| preciative of everything, including
sketches and unseltishness."
Mr.. Loraine's only reply in words
was, Il am glad you judge me more
kindly than you do the words" but for
a few minutes his thoughts did not
wander away to the subject of the new
! book which was engrossing him at pres
l ent; they remained with the tail. slender
| daughter, by whose side he was walk
/ ing. Sometimes now, as he found him
| self growing older and his hair grayer.
| the thought would fash across him that
| if he could have seen her proud and
| happy wife, with children clinging about
| her, the future would not have seemed
so gray and dull, to which one day he
would have to leave her.
But though used to wish she might
not leave me | have never influenced
| her, and | would always have done any
thing for her happiness. 1t is she her
| self who has ever been unwilling to
quit her home. She is capable of love,
[ know it, but somehow it seems that
no man has ever been able to touch her
! heart" But his thoughts being thus
turned to the subject he sighed. when
at the library door he paused and enter
ed it.
What sigh, father. That is forbid
| den." kissing him. Are yon going to
| write tonight? You ought to be too
tired for that, but you grow two years
younger every year, and |, half smil-
| ing. two years older"
"We shall soon be the same age at
! that rate. Come in and light my can
dies"
when does Mr.. Carteret arrive?" she
| questioned. the taper in her hand.
Tomorrow about five. | promised
| we would send to meet him."
She made no comment on his words,
| but, having lit the candles, returned to
! the drawlng-room.
| Back there, she stirred the fire into
| brighter blaze. then recommended her
walk to and fro. noting as she walked,
| now and again with satisfaction, some
| familiar object that after the months
| absence it was pleasure to see again;
| but at length pausing i'll her slow walk,
| she sat down in the wide armchair on
| the hearth-rug, and pursued her train
| of thought with eyes fixed on the fire,
| as if she read story there.
! AS she sits thus, her hands lightly
| clasped on her knee, the lamplight
| above her shows the changes that time
| has brought to her. 1t is different wo
man from the one in the white dress
| who faltered out her heart-broken fare
wells in this very room. The face is
| thinner than of old, and the lamplight
| shows gray hairs in the dark head; the
| gray eyes are a little harder, little
colder, and the grave mouth smiles less
often than it did. The world with its
disappointments and troubles has
| way, hardening to those who have to
| fight many of its battles, and nearly five
| years have gone by since Esme Won Lin
/ denheim said in this very room, If /
regain my freedom | will return, if not
| | will write:" and he had not returned,
| had not even written. One little note
| had come from him to Mr.. Lorraine
| posted from Berlin, thanking him for
his kindness, telling him of his arrival
so far.
Il am arranging for leave to go home
| at once" A message of remembrance
| to his daughter, and that was all From
| then till now silence so great, that not
one word had reached her listening ears.
Pride, passion, bitter jealousy all war
| ring in her desolate heart, all telling her
that the silence meant he had failed,
and that he could not, or would not,
write and say so.
But I would rather know it, far
rather. though L said / should under
stand" And. mingled with the thoughts
of her despair. would come remem-
brances of her own words. you will re-
turn to her, and then this win seem an
interlude- Your love for her viii all
come back What is a fortnight in a
mans llfes For you it will be all as it
was before
What is it?1 she would cry, leaning
out into the cold wintry night from the
| window where in the moonlight he had
told her of his love. What is it? Tell
me where you are. what you are doing,"
And in the pain and grief of those win
ter nights the gray hairs were sown. the
soft mouth forgot its smiles Months
Il i. r -