The times and democrat. [volume] (Orangeburg, S.C.) 1881-current, 1885-04-02
Truth is always best. My heart has long
been in your keeping, and if you wish it,

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hear. The dreadful awakening ha
come! All his dreams of bliss have beer
shattered by this sudden and painful,
unexpected blow; and Dorothy, his low
whom he has believed as true as tho an
gels, is nothing more in his eyes nov
than practiced flirt and heartless woman
of the world.
His first thought is to return to thu
city;- his next to remain. Has he no
| heard somewhere second thoughts art
best2" Yes; he will remain, and see il
out to the bitter send; and when thi'
loathsome play has come to an end, ht
will tell her what he thinks of her, anc
how she has wilful;y broken his heart ano
ruined his life.
At dinner he is compelled to meet her
but everybody being present. his exceed
ingly cold greeting passes unnoticed by
all, except Dorothy herself. She cannot
mistake the change in his whole de
meanor. Where is the tender pressure
of his hand to which she has been accus
tomed2 Why did he come at all it he is
still filled with bitter thoughts? There
is some faint comfort in the remembrance
that she did not ask him to return.
He carefully avoids her all the even
ing; and next morning at breakfast is,
if possible, more markedly cold and dis
tant toward her.
She is sad6ened and disheartened; but
pride comes to her rescue. She decides
in herself TINT she will show him how
little she has taken to heart his GOODNESS
and Indifference.
Never before, perhaps, as during this
intcrminable day has Miss Bohua ap'
peared so gay, so bright, so full of life
and spirits; and yet in the solitude OF
her own room, while dressing for this
luckless play, she sheds many a bitter
tear.
At 8 o'clock the curtain rises. The
guests settle themselves in their seats,
and prepare for anything.
Miss Rodney, arrayed in very Qulx-
otto costume, fresh from Worth, appears
before the audience, simpering and
grimacing, and doing her utmost to imi-
tate q real live countess, while in reality
she only succeeds in resembling a very
inferior soubret.
While Miss FalkiDer, from the hall,
who is in private life her intimate friend,
now makes o poor pretense at waiting
upon her as confidential maid, aud
renders herself utterly ridiculous by Civ
ing herself sufficient airs for half q dozen
countesses.
Both are distinct failure. Everybody
tries to applaud, but disparaging remarks
fall lightly on the air.
The faint applause brings to life two
hardy veterans, who for some time past
have given themselves gratis to the open
arms of Morpheus, and have contentedly
reclined therein.
~ think Miss Rodney has better
chance of getting off than that girl in
green" sleepily drawls number one.
"Do your replies number two. "Well,
Pm not much of judge about that sort
OF thing; but my opinion is neither Evil
get off before the other. You see, my
dear fellow, when women are born with
a talent for acting like. those two-tgo
tyros, they don't get easily settled in
life."
Then the curtain draws up for the
second time, and somebody comes slowly
on to the stage-somebody who sets
Cyril's pulses swiftly throbbing.
1t is Dorothy. She is very pale, and
her eyes are little languid; but she is
just degree lovcler than she ever was
before.
Disney hardly hears how the play pro
crosses. Not a syllable makes itself
known to him; he can only tell himeli
how lovely she is looking, and that she
is rs false rs fair.
Her eyes are on the ground; but sud.
denly some words strike upon his ear
words that bring back to him scene
fraught with grief and anger. He starts,
and lifts his head; and for the first time
eagerly regards the players.
Ponsonby is OF his knees before her.
He is holding her hands. His whole at
titude is as it was that fatal afternoon in
the conservatory. He is again pouring
forth his soul in words of extravagant
passion.
And then Dorothy's voice rises, clear
but sad, and devoid of the warmth that
had characterized it during the rehear-
sal:
'My heart has long been in your keep
ing, and if you wish it, it is yours. ,"
As she finishes her speech she raises
her eyes, and fixes them steadily, and
with keepest reproach, on Disney, who
returns her gaze, his eyes full of contri-
ton.
Then the scene changes, and Miss
Bohun makes her exit, amid applaudings
loud and long
The curtain drops; so, I may almost
say, does Disney. How bitterly he now
repents his objectionable jealousy
Where shall he hide himself from Doro-
thy's Justly reproachful gaze3
Nothing he can ever do will make her
forgive him--of that he feels assured
and as he calls to mind the happy days
that might have been, Remembrance
sits upon him like ban:' he feels
"Thcy should beware who charges lay
in love-"
Yet in spite of despair, he determines
to make an effort to regain his lost posi-
tion.
He will 60 to her. Rising suddenly,
he follows her to the grcen.room, where
he knows she must be.
She Is there, and alone.
"Dorothy"' he says, cntreatingly.
She turns with a start.
"Can you spare few moments?"
Cant You wait until morning, or is it
matter of life or death?" she speaks
very coldly.
''That your answer shall decide"
"Mv answer"
Yes" Going up to her. he takes
both her hands in his, and holding them
in close clasp, says, eagerly, "Darling,
l have been fool, n brute. everything
unpar'lonable! Anything you could say
to me would not be hard enough.
will 90 on my knees for your forgive
ness. if You will only grant it! Did YOU
know half the misery have suffered /
am certain you would"
"I'm not so sure that shall"
What! l shall die if you throw me
over like this-I shall indeed"
Oh. no, you won't-not little bit!
says Miss Bohun.
But assure you will" exclaims Dis
ney. Life vii! be impossible without
you!"
"Well; but, you see I have promised
Mr.. Ponsonby."
''To be his wife?"
"No; not exactly that"
"Speak quickly!" he says, in low
tone. Suspens, Is maddening."