The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1885-10-30

the queerly-shaped building that
| showed it's dark outlines in the moon
| light, just over the campus on the hill,
| she wondered what it was that
| prompted her to beg him to take her
| there, to exact the promise that on the
| very next night he would conduct her
| through the buildings that had been
built after her fathers orders. She
| persuaded herself that it was a desire
| to see some manuscripts ofher father 8
which Seymour told her had been left
there. Perhaps it was.
Notwithstanding her mothers
| mild remonstrance, the next evening
found her with Brent Seymour in the
| telescope room of the observatory.
The roof had been let down and she
| was watching the stars.
"I wonder if father often studied
them from his room?' said she.
"'Whenever the sky was clear
Il wonder if he can see them now?'
"'No, think that through one of
them he is looking at u.s.
"Far from science and astronomy.
far, very far from his scholarly stand
| point, the mans childish reply had
taken him, but it carried him nearer
to the heart of the girl than he
dreamed.
''Mrs Merdon's disapproval of her
daughters visit to the observatory
with Seymour broadened into anger
as his calls were repeated, and repeat
ed often. An intimacy grew between
the young people, that even to them
selves they did not undertake to ex-
plain. The girls friendship had open
p1 world tho h nd -oI
student. Had he known more of life,
he would have known he was falling in
love. Over the other a secret was steal
ing as steadily as comes over us the
morning. A month had passed since
the senior party. The two sat in the
telescope room. She seemed to be
studying the stars.
And do you remember she was
asking, that evening you thought
through some of them father was look
ing at us?'
"'Yes.'
DO you suppose he can see us
now?'
eyes, lin a surprised way.)
Then, hesitatingly, do you think
he is glad-is glad to see us together?'
Won't you,' (the voice was very
husky won you answer for me?'
Yes she said, in q voice as clear
as harp-cord, I know he is
Seymour wondered if his senses
were giving away. He hardly knew
what followed. He meant to ask-if
she did not think her father would be
glad to see them always together.
Somehow the words seemed long and
heavy and he could not make
the words come. He had a chok-
ing sensation in his throat and
his eyes were blinded with tears.
He felt just as he did in hegreenhouse,
the night of the senior party. He
wanted to kiss the hem of her gar
ment. He felt that he was in dept to
her and falling deeper in debt every
moment. He knew he was making
fool of himself, but he didn't care.
He was the happiest fool that moment
in Gods happy world.
"You are just as much mine,' she
said at last, her hands resting on his
head which some way or other had
found a place in her lap,-'you are
just as much mine as if I had done all
the wooing myself
'"The Merdon mansion had never
seen such a storm as followed Char
lotte's avowal of her betrothal. Her
mother insisted that she should never
consent, never in the world, and the
girl who had always honored her
wishes above everything else was in
distress.
"tBut you did not marry a rich man
yourself, mother; why should you
want me TOP she urged,
"s1 married a man who was great
whom everybody knew; why, if you
were to marry the man, whoever he is,
who will fill his chair, should be hap
py forever, but this fellow, and her
indignation almost overpowering her,
she left the room.
twas late in the evening when Char
lotte stole up stairs. Passing her
mothers S room, she saw the door was
partly opened. She knew what it
meant. Women, even among them
themselves, make their reconciliations
gracefully, gradually. She pushed the
door open as her mother intended she
should, and went in. The lady sat by
her writing table; her head resting on
her hand, and she was evidently sleep
ing. A little pile of letters lay before
her, picture beside them. Tears had
dropped upon the letters and the pic
ture bore the stain of tears. Char
lotte looked at the picture closely.
The face was familiar.
Surely she had seen it before. But
where?
She could not place it among her &C
quaintances. Whose face was it? A
broken uncertain voice seemed to say,
That's a picture of the president
sfIer lovers remark of the portrait on
the wall, the picture that her mother
cried over. It was all clear, very clear,
and she didn't care to read the open
letter by the picture.
"'My poor, dear mother she
thought, as, without awakening her,
glided from theroom, carrying with her
the greatest secret of her lifetime, save
one.
cit was after midnight when Mrs.
Merdon awoke. She had hoped her
daughter would come in. She wanted
to tell her that she was no longer angry,
she had been carried back over parts
nf har nup Iifo on1 che ,,orto1 RI toll