The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-07-15
ESA1E-
Count Won Lindenheim.
leoxcLUDEDI

lI was a mistake, she repeated
dreaTily. All why do men make sucl
miStakes2 Tell me7-speaking low am,
breathlesSly--di YOU love her5 Wha
am [ saying5 OF course you did, Yol
have told her so hundreds of times
and-only month ago.
She was standing in the embrasure O
| the window, and she wrung her hand,
together with certain despairing gest
ure, born of her pain and her despair
Hearing her, Count Lindenheim stoot
up. and, coming near, put his arm abou
| her. He was 50 tall that when he helC
her thus in his firm hold she was power
| less TO move.
Listen" he said, in clear, determin
ate tones, and with one burning hand
over her elasped ones. ~You shall heal
me once. and you shall believe me. Dc
not taunt me with the past; it was q
| mistake. | shall 90 back TO her, shall
/ tell her so. She is a good woman: she
/ VIII give me back nv freedom. If she
doeS"-his arm was now clasped more
| tightly about her-~I VIII come back.
and | will remind you of to-night-of
| your tender words, your tender looks. "
And if she will not?" 1t was sgd
/ ney voice that asked the question
| Sydney's voice. so low that he had TO
l bNAIA AlAo AAGttu W DCctl Nt4dk Silt Sttttl.
She felt the clasp of his hand tighten,
but his voice was steady as he answer
| ed, Then in some happy future you
must forget me-" But his voice faltered
as he spoke.
Il cannot, I cannot" she cried. and
he felt the quiekened heartbeats, the
passionate vibration of her voice. "Oh,
come back to mel'
When | come back" he answered. Il
will say all TO you that | am forbidden
to say tonight. When | come back, T"
his voice losing its determination and
growing tender and loving. Il Will ask
for the kiss that | Will not take tonight.
Now, l Will only" putting her at lit
tie distance from him-"I will only look
at you once more, and ask you to trust
me- 1t viii not be for very long, but
trust me until you see me again. VIII
you promise?"
Il promise" she answered. "Do not
believe me except when | say that |
trust you. and VIII trust you until l see
You again"
He shivered little after her words,
and 1t served TO remind her of what she
had wellnigh forgotten.
You ought not to be here" she said.
tenderly., You know you promised
that, If | would listen to what you had
TO say, you would take care of yourself
afterward. And it is not taking care
staying in this cold. dark room-is it?"
Il am happy here" he answered-he
was walking restlessly up and down the
long room-"and who knows" But
his words were cut short by cough
Don t scold me" he said breathlessly;
Il told you | had caught cold. | will go
to bed, and begin to take care, or shall
not be fit for my journey tomorrow"
ho
how" she answered, looking anxious1y
at him, but it is as well to try. So
goodnight; l am going back to father"
He took her hand in his. Good
night" he said; then of a sudden, kneel-
ing before her, he lifted it to his lips.
You are good" she said, gently, Il
am sure you are good. Forgive me if
have been unkind. 1t is only because 1
am SO very, very unhappy" And, with
these words, she stopped and lightly
kissed the fair bent head.
But the Journey on which so much de-
pended was not to be taken ON the NOR
row. The FateS interposed. and Sgd
ney Lorraine scarcely knew whether to-
be most glad or sorry when she learnt
in the morning that there was no chance
of Count Won Lindenheim leaving their
house that day.
'Or his room," Mr.. Lorraine added.
"He has had bad night, and is fever
ish and i'll this morning. | hope" with
unusual sharpness, that Mrs. Robert
son is sufficiently grateful for her imp,
and will not encourage its fiower-gath-
ering propensities."
Sydney, who was walking across the
room, stopped and kissed the gray head
"Ah! she was grateful, father, we
know that; and even We" with a little
smile, would not have had it other
wise. Although" after a moments
pause, there certainly are great many
children in the world"
And only one ESme Won Lindenheim.
eh?"
She did not answer; but moment
later began arranging some faint-scent-
ed cream-colored roses and fern leaves
in glass.
you can take them up with you.
father, when you go; it will show that
he is not forgotten. And tell him that
though / grieve for the reason, still [
am glad he is not going away to-day.
I You are listening, father, you viii not
forget?"
"Do ever forget?" And inproof that
he did not, he brought her later on. to
where she sat under the tulipa-tree
ldllng, making no pretense even of
working or reading, folded slip of pa
per, on which was written in pencil his
thanks, a few words in German, and be-
low them his name-Esme Won Linden
helm.
you judge from that, / hope. that /
did not forget, and that your message
and flowers pleased him"
And he still looked i'll, when, three
days later, he reappeared downstairs.
The old doctor had come and given his
advice. Rest and warmth, no more
talking than was necessary, and, to in
sure all this, bed, that was by far the
best place. He was interested in the
stranger, as most people were who knew
him, and he was not surprised that his
hostess should follow him out on to the
sunny terrace and ask what he thought,
and If there were anything she could do.
No, no; quiet is the best thing, and
this lovely weather is in his favor. His
lungs are delicate, and with so much
fever one always fears Inflammation;
but we must hope it won't come to
that"
Her heart seemed to die within her as
she stood in the golden sunlight, with
the bright unclouded morning sky above
her; but the kindly old eyes looking in
to hers saw no shadow of the pain there,
heard no infection of it IN the tones of
her steady voice.
No." she repeated, I'VE must hope it
Il
great care"
1--WE can't let him owe his death to
us" the doctor said, cheerily. turning
away; we'll take too much care for
that
At his words Sydney shivered. and
felt cold through all the glory of the
August sunshine.
Though after all, shade of defiance
in her thoughts as she made her way
back to the garden, Il am not really I'M
easy. Why should / be? He only needs
care
But words did not Danish the shadow
of anxiety.
But now the days were over, had been
lived through somehow: and on this
Sunday evening in the long drawing
room. with the windows closed against
possibly treacherous evening air, the
lamps lighted, and a miniature wood
fire burning on the wide. open hearth,
Sydney sat in old Mr.. Loraine's great
armchair by the fireplace, Count Won
Lindenheim on low seat by her side.
They were alone, for after dinner Mr..
Lorraine had slipped into his beloved
library, and after time. the voices dis
| turbing him. he had closed the door of
communication But now. though they
were thus alone, they seemed to have
| but little to say. although the knowl-
edge was theirs that tomorrow the
parting so long postponed must take
| place.
Z would rather GO. Count Linden
helm had said. Il am not getting well:
I am worried. for / ought TO be at home.
| I shall not get well here And the doc
| tor had given somewhat unwilling
consent for his departure, seeing the
| truth of his words.
| So this was the last night. Sad. In as
| far as it was the last, and yet to Sydney
there was. mingled with the sadness, q