The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-07-08

1
found meeting place; and from tha1
they had diverged to books generally
and a comparison of what they has
read and liked.
Father Sydney had said. entering
the library the day after Count Linden
helms arrival. and cautiously closing
the door behind her. where is Schiller!
You know told you that it was poetry
not tennis. he would require to amuse
him. Well, he has already proved me
right. He is going to read aloud TO me
and of course"
is going To read Schiller" interposed
Mr.. Lorraine. Here it is"
Il hope, replied Sydney, smiling. ~he
viii not choose The Glove though |
| suppose there is very little use hoping.
| They all begin with that. At least. that
Is the result of my large experience"
| : on are very ungrateful, my dear
sydney" was her fathers comment, as
| he put the book into her hands.
But fifteen days had passed since
| then. Poetry had been abandoned for
| conversation, sometimes indeed for ST.
lence. whilst Sydney sat and worked.
| And il was not only with Miss Lorraine
that Count ven Lindenheim had made
| himself something more than casual
| visitor. Old Mr.. Lorraine had grown to
| find his presence very welcome. His
gentle courtesy always pleased him and
the interest with which he entered into
his work, and the affectionateness with
| which be would walk up and down with
! him in the summer twilight. listening
| 10 the stories OF long ago, brought back,
IN measure, his youth TO the older
man.
The sun is setting, mademoiselle. he
has deserted the garden. and it grows
| chilly. Let us follow him to the other
| side of the house."
At the sound of the voice with the
| little foreign accent that she had learnt
| TO know so well. Sydney Lorraine rose to
her feet. and put down her book.
| tits you" She said. Where have YOU
| been these one, two. three hours?"
Il have been for long walk" was his
reply.
An alone?s
4All alone. l have been thinking"
And could YOU not think here? It
| would have been very much cooler and
| pleasanter."
Cooler and pleasanter," he repeated,
| but 1t would not have been thinking.
But now, come quickly, let us go to the
| terrace"
The light smile had died away that
had been visible when she first spoke.
and she was quite grave as she accom-
>.
And then, as if shaking off the shadowy
anxiety: What sun-worshiper YOU
are." she said. You are never happy
unless he is shining down upon you.
Do you feel the cold very much?"
Very much. | only live in the sum-
mer."
You are not strong" she said, more
as If stating fact than asking a ques-
ton.
Il am much stronger than was" he
answered. evasively.
She looked up at him quickly, as if to
read the truth of his words in his face.
But she did not speak. Neither did he,
though he did not turn his eyes away,
but let them rest on hers.
She hesitated "a second, then gave
quick little sigh. But, 1T is a pity for
a man not 10 be strong" was all she
said.
1T makes their lives more difficult"
he answered.
They were standing nowon the broad
terrace, up and down which peacOcks
were Haunting, apparently well pleased
with the attention they were exciting,
Sydney in her white dress and large
shady hat, her grave eyes looking steadi
ly over the meadows beneath. far away
to where shOne the riverin the sunlight.
Not once did she lift them to the man
standing beside her, with fair, uncover
ed head, his eyes following the direction
of hers.
AT last: "Let us go down." he said
"Down to the river, | mean. We shall
not be able to do it very much oftener."
And why?" she interrupted, lifting
her eyes swiftly.
"Oh, the weather will change-or /
shall be gone. Everything comes to an
end"
Everything comes to the end, !" she re-
peated softly. is that so, | wonder?
1t is rather a hard world, is itnot, when
| one comes to think that that is the text
of it?"
He did not answer.
Down by the river the glory of the
sunset was beginning to fade, and
faint gray shadow seemed to haunt the
river. The only sign of life was tall,
black-robed wOman's figure across the
water, vending her homeward way over
| the fields-dark and distinct against the
sky; and smaller dark figure of child,
! that ran about hither and thither search
ing for flowers, needless of its mother.
at is sad" Sydney said. Somehow,
| the moment of sunset is always little
suggestive of death-loneliness-s
ness. One feels something has been
taken out of our life"
"Mademoiselle."
1t was no answer to her words, no
comment on them that was coming.
The tones were little excited-a GER
| tain thrill in them which seemed to
presage the coming of something
| special.
| Sydney turned her head with a GER
| tain consciousness of the unusualness
of his voice, and almost instinctively
| took step away from him, shaking off
her dreaminess as she did so. But as
| she SO moved. before his next word
reached her. there rang through the still
! summer evening air a shrill, terrified
scream, that. before it had time TO die
away, was caught up and echoed in
woman 5 agonized tones. and then: 1T
| is the child" Sydney cried. "Oh, seei"
| pointing to where a small dark head
| showed on the smooth current. Then
| she was aware, III misty. uncertain
| fashion-for eyes and brain for the mo-
ment alike seemed clouded-that the
man beside her had moved forward TO
| the edge of the steep bank that formed
| the border of the river. and that She
was it indeed she?-with hands tight
clasped about his arm, was imploring
| him to stay. Was it her own voice?
Not you. Oh, do not go!''
She felt the hold of her hands loosen
| ed. 1t seemed TO her she felt also a
| light kiss upon them ere they were re-
| leased. and then they were hanging
/ down by her side. and she was staining
| straight and tall on the bank, the sun
| shining broadly down, and she realized,
| all in moment, that she. in her white
| gown, and that other black-rObed figure
opposite, were both alike standing, one
on either side of the river, waiting and
praying for the life that was dearest to
| them on earth.
But though she felt it she did not
| move, did not even clasp her hands,
could not even think. Past and to come,
even the present seemed vague and un-
defined compared with the golden sum
light that was writing her love in letters
| of iire across the evening sky and green
meadows, even in faint reflective fash
ion, ON the surface of the flowing river.
He was across now-the little dark
headed child was safe in its mother s
arms; the blonde-llaired man was hold
ing the mothers hand, and listening
doubtless to the words that her love
and gratitude prompted.
And now through the sunlight. a lit
tie flame of gold all about him, he had
turned quickly away toward the bridge,
that half mile off formed the connect
ing link between Hayes and the village
of Morland.
And as he thus turned away, thought
and the power of movement seemed te
return TO her.
Her first instinct was to try and real
ize what she had said and done in thest
last few moments; her second. to hasteT
toward her home and the protecting
presence that there awaited her. There
was something calming in the thought
, of the kind old man TO whom her adyen
vas never uDwelcome-
So. obeying it after that moment
hesitation, she turned homeward. step
ping lightly over the short meadow
lrr-sass rIll,f et1ri lad 1,nrsr ,sr-rr rafarl,