The Emporia weekly news. [volume] (Emporia, Kan.) 1881-1889, 1885-12-24

Il
uralIy they drifted together during these
miserable days. With Dora he was T.
suddenly i'll at ease and restless; her /
quick eyes noted the change, and she i
looked about for a cause. Those same /
Quick ewes soon noticed the walks and /
talks with cousin Florence. mo WON
der she admires him. she said, with a |
sharp little pang at her heart, mentally /
contrasting tail. handsome Florence
with her own little self
Presently the flock of merry school
girls took flight '4Only Florence, and
you. and ], said Dora; '.just as it used
was destroyed.
One day they walked together along
the river bank, and Dora said, ''Our
playtime is done"
YES" he answered, 81 must go back
to my law books and you must have
time for your painting"
A light came into her eyes. ''Then l
am to 90 on painting?"
Eyes" he said slowly. 81 am MAX
ing this sacrifice for you. do not wish
you to marry me until you have finished
this work you have set your heart upon.
It viii occupy your whole winter?"
Eyes; perhaps more. Give me a
year." she said eagerly, quite uncon-
scious of the pain her words inflicted,
and only anxious for time wherein to
prove whether, after all these years of
| devotion, Fred could be won from her.
Every WELL" came the answer, calm
and steady. No trembling in the quiet
tones to betray the hearts unutterable
anguish as it whispered to itself, '.How
/ glad she is to be free even for q year"
i As for Dora, her heart was saying,
'IHe does not care"
And then they talked of Indifferent
matters, these two foolish ones, and the
i precious hours in which they might
have understood each other slipped
away and were gone forever.
Once more apart, their letters were ex-
changed at regular intervals-Fred's
kind and loving. ''Of course" said
Dora, cit is his duty" while Dora's
were a curious study had her lover but
known. Each one a little cooler, q
little briefer than the last, until by the
time spring had dressed the fields and
woods in green again poor Fred had
well-nioh made up his mind that Flor
ence was right. Dora's heart was all in
her painting; she had grown quite
weary of him.
This suspense is killing me-" he
would say; ''but I'll wait-it is better
| it will soon be over"
And Dora, working herself to shad'
ow over her painting, would think,
1.-The end cannot be far of. He will
soon be free.
Early in the summer Fred found him
self again in the old familiar haunts
but, alas! the old joyous light was want
, ing everywhere. A shade, mist
seemed hanging over everything, and
Dora was farther away than ever
There were no merry guests to divide
her attention; but, so absorbed, SO 81
lent, did she seem, he could hardly be
, ieve it was the same Dora he had known
} in other days.
A week passed by-a week of minglet
; paradise and torment. Sometimes h'
: would be on the point of saying to her
, Dora, will stand in your way NJ
longer" but faint hope still fingered
| and he could not crush it SO ruthlessly
, At other times he could almost believ,
himself mistaken-all these months s
( fearful dream-when her eyes met hi
: so earnestly and seemed filled for mo
ment with the old, warm light.
, They sat together one day upon /;
little rustic seat, chatting and resting
? after walk. Fred had taken SOM
: letters from his pocket which he wished
to show to Dora. A picture fell from
| dulOn2 Iucl1 DOEd SUOOpSu 10 TOCONS
= it. cousin Florry," she murmured
, | place remark upon its correctness
! Then, glancing at his companions face
: he was startled at its deadly pallor
,, 'Dorar he cried, '.you are i'll. w,
: walked too far. You must rest. "
mo, I'm not ILL.," she said almos
: sharply. ''How lovely Florence isl
"Yes, indeed. She is wellnigh per
feet. But there is only one Dora in al
! the world" taking her little, cold hanC
in his. Without Dora the world il
meaningless to me-"
Dora's eyes were scanning the dis
: tant hills. She made no reply. Sh,
: was steeling her heart against him
''He wants to be true,'' she thought
''but I will have no such love-"
Dora, you are not happy"
! She started. 'tNot perfectly so. VIVA
mortal is?"
sit seems to me would be if onll
! things could be as they once were De
tween u.s."
This was the first allusion he haG
made to the fact that he had noticed
any change in their relations.
Dora realized that crisis was com
ing. She simply awaited it In silence.
! She would neither strive to avert nor to
: hasten it.
'I have sometimes feared that you
and have been mistaken. That is the
word, I think. If SO, I love you too well
! to ask you to keep a promise which has
become hateful to you"
Dora rose from her seat; a sudden
fire famed in her pale cheek. She
held her hand out toward him-the dear
: little hand that wore his ring. Some
thing in her air bewildered him. He
stood moment motionless, then seized
the hand in both his own. She shook
him off impatiently and drew the ring
from her finger. Now he understood.
without word, DoraP" he said,
struggling for self-command as a man
! might battle for life against the waves
of sea.
'What is there to sayP" asked Dora,
her voice clear as silver bell, while
her eyes shone like two stars. And
again he told himself that lie: 'tShe Is
gIadr'
And SO they parted. The tie formed
almost in childhood was broken, and
they went their separate ways.
Day after day Dora's pale, resolute
face bent over her canvas, and she
steadied her trembling hand for greater
achievements. She worked too hard,
they said. She was too ambitious; she
put too much of her life-blood into the
strokes of her brush, and few months
ended the struggle.
He came again to the dear old house
beside the river; crowd of friends had
. gathered there, but Dora gave them no
welcome. Pale and silent she lay and
stirred not finger nor an eyelash for
any of their tears. He stood there with
Florence, and that still form between
them; its smiling lips were no more ST.
lent now than they had been in life. A
dumb patience was marked on the
sweet face, but they never guessed its
meaning.
''H she might only have Ivedp' sobbed
Florence.
Fred spoke moi, but the bitter cry Of
his heart was, IF could only knosc that
she loved mep'
And they never dreamed, these two
her nearest and dearest-that they had
slain her.
Bird-Enemies.
From an out-of-door paper by John
Burroughs, in the December Centayz,
we quote the following:
sIFhe great buoaboO of the birds is