Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1885-07-22
= MY FRIEND EDITH.
STORY OF A BACHELOR.
Temple Bari
CHAPTER ".

STORY OF BACHELOR.
Temple Bar.
CHAPTER ".
From that day Edith and / were on a
different footing. The interest felt in her
was changed rather than lessened; that
which she felt in me had been increased by
our mutual confidence. When we met,
cleverly parrying my efforts to ascertain
the name of her lover-and l confess was
curious-she turned the conversation to the
subject Of the estrangement with my
nephew.
The mysterious person referred to as
chez or sehim'' had evidently departed
from our neighborhood, and I think Edith
missed him good deal. Mrs. Lyall asked
me more than once if I did not think a
change would do her good, which gave me
an opportunity of teasing Edith on the sly.
1t ended, however, in her going on visit
to some friends. She departed with so
much cheerfullness that I fell convinced
she had contrived some means of seeing
the "nameless one," as called him, and |
accused her of it; but she only laughed
and said: s'Nonsensep' and that is easily
said, and we had quite touching little
parting in the ga:den, and called her 'smy
dear child" l found the place very dull
without her, and went abroad until the
following autumn. I was pleased to find
Edith did not forget me, and received sew
eral letters from her, in which she chopped
the waters were doing me good" for my
reason for expatriation was to drink of a
very nasty spring recommended for the
gout, which aff1icts me intermittently.
found she was still harping on my estrange-
ment with my nephew, for she trusted 1
had become feconciled with him. 81 am
sure" she wrote, eff you have, you will be
happier, for you have a kind heart although
rather an obstinate one." When I came
home in September l heard the Lyalls were
at the seaside; and having, as usual, moth
to do, 1 thought would 60 down and as
certain how Edith's love affair was pro-
crossing They were staying at little
place which had been familiar to me from
child, and which is mixed up with all my
early memories; its attractions therefore
were two-fold. I arrived there late in the
evening, and found I had forgotten their
address, so I went to the hotel, deciding to
ascertain in the morning. When it came
was awoke by numerous and noisy family
on my floor who were eager to catch the
first train. Nature had supplied them
with peculiarly penetrating voices. and
they could have hardly made more of their
feet if they had been centipedes. Sleep
being out Of the question, I dressed and
went out. The bright sea and sky put me
in good spirits, and the salt breeze made
me consider with some interest what would
be the incest breakfast l could order when
returned from my early walk 1 left the
little town, and made my way to the grassy
summit of the cliffs, which, sloping down
from the brink, shut out the sight of the
sea from the footpath marked at intervals
with patches of white chalk, landmarks at
night for the coast guardsmen in their lone
ly rounds. How well 1 remember the
place! Recalling the past with that strange
feeling, half pleasure, half pain, when we
scarce know whether to smile or sigh, | ad
vanced to the edge of the cliff very eau
tiously, just as l used to do when a boy,
and looked down at the yellow beach and
sparkling sea. l was never so astonished
in my life. There, below the beetling wall
of dazzling white, stood Edith Lyall and
my nephew Charlie. Their hands were
clasped in each others, and they were gaz-
ing as lovers l suppose, do, into each 9TH
er's face, needless of the sharp eyes watch
ing them from above. My intrusion
startled a jackdaw from chalky Granny,
and he flew off, the sunshine cleaning on
| his glossy wings, cawing clamorously; but
| they were too intent on their occupation to
look up By this time their figures were
| beginning to reel and dance in the haze,
seemingly to melt away into the pebbles
like shadowy wraiths rather than head
strong young people, and | was forced by a
feeling of gfddiness to avert my astonished
gaze. No wonder Edith took such interest
| in me! 1t did not arise at all from the
reasons | had fondly imagined. Then won
dering what might be the most satisfactory
use of my discovery, retraced my steps
and sat on bench on the parade, where a
| flight OF steps was the only means of as
cent from the beach below.
had no need to wait long. Edith ap-
peared alone. Charlie, for some diplomatic
reason, suppose, had been left behind.
She was even more astonished than when
1 met her at the style.
"Have you dropped from the clouds,
Mr.. Mertonp' she exclaimed.
"You don't look too pleased to see me-"
said I, as we shook hands.
"I'm too surprised to look glad," said
she; "but am, all the same"
"Was it a troubled conscience that called
you forth so early?" I enquired.
II don't know if I have conscience,
she said, smiling; II got up to bathe."
"You don't look as though you had been
bathing"
81 haven't this morning."
''What made you break so virtuous
rule? Anything to do with the nameless
one?''
''What a tease you are
"a tease, indeed. Are we not fellow
conspirators? Come, on what sly errand
bo M x,o,, hoop tb;c
But Edith looked at me with grave, gray
eyes, and said it was time to 60 in to
breakfast adding, eff you have nothing
else to do, perhaps you will take us on the
pier this morning."
"You will be sorry to hear" said I, on
our way to the house, "that I've heard
nothing of that scamp of nephew of
mine, ungrateful young rufian!'
II m sure he is not ungrateful," she an
swered warmly.
"Why! how on earth can you know,
Edith?''
because I'm sure he's notr'
''One would fancy yo1 spoke from per-
sonal knowledge"
81 remember what you said of him last
June. What has changed you?''
81 have become convinced there is no
good in the young fellow, and I'll do moth
ing for him."
you?"
The wrath that she strove to conceal
amused me. 1t was my revenge.
"You do take strange interest in
the young fellow! Enough to make the
nameless one jealous!
81 am surprised at the change in one 1
used to think SO kind" said She. ''The
change is not an improvement"
Her pretty face was so troubled that 1
half relented.
''Well, it can't matter to you," l said
airily. "He's nothing to either of US I'll
call after breakfast, and shall expect to be
amused"
And went off in my jauntiest manner,
leaving Edith on the steps of the house
gazing at me with wistful eyes.
CHAPTER V.
On calling after breakfast I found that,
for some inscrutable reason, Mrs. Lyall
had decided that she would stay at home,
and that was to take Edith alone.
''Do you particularly wish to go on the