The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-06-21

THE SHADE BY WHICH MY LIFE WAS ChOSI.
An English landscape. It seemed to Weldon
Stukely that he had seen nothing so beautiful
tor the last seven years; and yet he had been
where nature had lavished her richest coloring,
her grandest forms. He had been soJourner
IN the ancient world, the cradle OF civilization,
of religion, language, science, art, poetry, and
war, the immemorial East-from which antique
: Greece, with all her glory, was but an offshoot
He had been traveller in the Himalayas, had
looked upward at the unapproachable summit of
Mount Everest, and now, as the little hired Ian
in wooded road, and the village green. with its
pond and herd Of lazy kline, drinking, breast
Deep in the shining water, its old inn, and
horse-trough, and signpost, and three fine elms
spreading their broad shadows on the patch of
grass between the porch and the highway. and
the laborers in their russell brown frocks loung-
ing on the stout oaken bench in front of the
rough-cast wall-it seemed to the returning
traveller as il this simple rustic English land
scape, this little picture of homely village life,
surpassed all the loveliness Of the tropics And
we all know, which needs perhaps the glamor
of a summer sunset, the feeling Of eventide re-
pose to make it beautiful
THANK God for England, said Colonel Stuke-
~, as he looked at the village green.
While he was looking back at it the fly drove
in at the gates of Darnel Park, and large ma
tron was curtseying and smiling at him at the
gate of her tiny lodge garden, a garden so
crammed with flowers as to leave no room for
the sole of foot
How dye do, Mrs Drabble," said the Colonel
heartily, as to an old friend. ''As young as
ever, but not any thinner, I see."
Mrs. Drabble laughed and shook her head.
She had been a slim slip of girl, once upon a
time, but it was so long ago that she had for
gotten the sensation.
Darnel Park was one of those places which
leave within the mind an impression of perfect
beauty, especially when seen for the first time in
the summer sunset. It was full of fine old
timber, and had all those undulations and inc
qualities of surface which make domain pic
turesque. The house was as old as Sir Christie
pher Wren, a delightful age for country gen.
tleman's mansion, as it allows Of lofty ceiling,
spacious rooms, plenteous light and air. Fine
Aold oaks and beeches dotted the broad sweeps of
grass. plantations of larch and Douglas fir shell
tered the park from the outer world; while on
one side Of the house there was wide expanse
of broken ground, region of deep hollows and
craggy banks mighty thickets of rhododendron
and axalia which Colonel Stukely called the
jungle.
He was an expected guest at Darnel, but he
had arrived by an earlier train than that by
which he was supposed to travel hence the hired
fly, and hence also the fact that on alighting at
den, the old butler, that Sir Allan and Lady
Darnel had not yet returned from their drive.
'"There was flower show at Walton, Colonel
and Sir George and my lady were obliged to be
present. Your rooms are ready, Colonel Shall
i show you to them at once; or would you like to
see Miss Darnel frstl She is in the morning
room expecting YOU"
"Miss Darnel," cried the Colonel, eagerly,
Miss Grace, you meanp
.'No sir Miss Darnel; Sir Adams sister,
Colonel. believe from a strict point of view,
added the butler, gravely, deliberately, apollo
getically, ''our own young lady is Miss Darnel,
but Sir Allan's sister would never give in to it.
should never have the pluck to allude to her
as Miss Dora"
Purden was an old military servant of Sir
Allan. He had known the Colonel when
Stukely and Darnel were brother officers, and
felt himself privileged to chatter.
"Oh," said the Colonel, "Sir Allans sister is
in the morning ROOM" as if the reminder of
that lady's existence came upon him somewhat
as a shock. eyes, will 90 and see Miss Darnel
before go to my room. My man will bring my
portmanteau in presently was in too great a
hurry to wait for him"
He followed Purden along corridor, and into
one of those gracious, home-like interiors which
are the slow growth Of generations; panneled
walls mellowed by time; old Sheraton furni-
ture; old Indian china; flowers in profusion,
and on scarlet Japanese table by the window
an old-fashioned mahogany tea tray, with brass
handles, a George the Second teapot, and cups
and saucers fresh from the royal factory al
Worcester. Beside the tea table, with her face
toward the door, smiling, expectant, sat lady
whose aspect was certainly not calculated to
repel or to alarm any man.
She was little woman, fragile, gracefully
fashioned, with small face, delicately tinted,
light brown hair and dark brown eyes, fine eyes,
penetrating, just little imperious, the distin
gushing feature in a face which might other
wise have been Insignificant. She was daintily
dressed in pale gray gown Of some soft, gauzy
material, the low tints Of which harmonized
exquisitely with her delicate complexion. Colonel
Stukely knew that she was eight and thirty, but
q stranger would as easily have believed that she
was only eight and twenty Happy result OF
having taken the utmost care Of ones self under
all the varied circumstances and agitations Of
life.
She welcomed the traveller with gentle cor
diality, little touch of suppressed emotion,
= which ought to have been delightful to any man.
But the Colonel was not enthusiastic. He had
thanked God for the English landscape just
now; but he had not the air Of thanking God for
Dora larnal He coated h,unself e., 4ho Ioxr