The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1886-09-15
INTERESTING STORY.
AT WAR WITH HIS FATE,


BY Jove!" calculates Mr.. Cyril Lynd-
hurst, as sudden turn in the wooded road
brings into view grand old pile of white
stone masonry, with cleaning white YER
andas, touched to dazzling brilliancy by
the last rays of the sun, and surrounded by
sloping green lawns, brilliant terraces. and
groups of gayly-dressed people That
must be Ledge Towers. Whoa-driyer ;
Is that Ledge Towers Stop-I will go the
rest of the way on foot you may drive on
and say to your master that | will be along
presently"
With the easy, nonehalant grace peculiar
% himself, Cyril swings from the carriage,
md saunters down green, woodland path.
" It's good bit yet, sir,n calls the driver.
!" You're only on the edge of Ledgewood.
You'll meet more paths, sir; but stick to
the one that crosses the bridge, and you're
all right"
With which vague information he cracks
his whip. leaving Cyril to pursue his way
alone
Arriving at the point where the broad,
green path branches off into several narrow
ones, he losses a dollar up, with careless
laugh, to decide the question of which one
he shall take.
In after days he always recalls that care
less toss which decided his path for life, and
vaguely wondeIs if TINT bit of silver had
fallen differently, if the work the gods had
destined for him would have gone on Just
the same.
:" beautiful country he muses.
specializing, admiring CLEAN in the darn
eyes that have worked so much mischief
with their expressive beauty. "a grand,
cool country, untouched by the wild bust
ness-rush, and worry and babble of the
world. Yes, after all, am glad | decided
to accept old Uncle Jophet's invitation, and
SO bridge the feud between us. Hello!"
For all of sudden it had burst upon
him-the pretty rustic bridge, beneath
which the silvery swishing river flows ther
disappears again in the woods below"
But it is neither bridge nor the water il
spans which brings Cyril Lyndhurst to
sudden pause-a low exclamation on his
mustached lips, the light of passionate
admiration in those wondrous eyes, which
rarely CLEAN with admiration now
She is leaning on the railing of the bridge
"a slim, frail figure in white, with the pale,
spiritual face of an angel, just now touched
| With shade of reflection that is almost snr
row.
g Claire" cries Cyril ra7turously, ant
slowly, with wondrous, graceful sclf-con
troll, the white-robed figure turns; the sad
expression of the lovely face changes to
cold hauteur and:
oh!' she says carelessly, cruelty, since
hat great joy flashes in his eyes. You
here. Mr.. Lyndhurstl l supposed you
were in Joppa. Japan, Jupiter, or some
place commencing with ~ by this
time"
A slight shrug of the slender shoulders,
and slow smile around the corners of her
perfect mouth, add still more scorn to the
careless words.
Cyril fushes slightly, and
" You cared great DEAL" he says, hal
sngrily and her soft, low laugh floats out
harmonizing with the tril of an early night
ingale hidden somewhere in the wooded
depths.
Care ~ she says lightly. +" Why should
care? 1t would spoil my life. / am
afraid, if were to care where you went or
what became of you now, Mr.. Lyndhurst,
since am to marry your cousin. Are yor
not pleased to hear it ?"
He staggered back with low, gaspinf
,ry.
You do not mean it, Claire-you can
not" he whispered in hoarse, low voice.
I" He is not worthy of YOU"
No man is" she laughs. "But, being
Mortal, suppose must marry sone time.
After all, it is money that counts most, an6
Alvin Ledge has plenty of the guinea
stamps which go much to making the
man." *t
+" Money does not count" exclaims her
companion, G or bring the happiness that
people claim. You must be mad %
Indeed You speak from your own
experience, of course. Some time I may
peak from mine, but now"
Clairei" he exclaims quickly, gloating
golden, sun-kissed hair. % Claire, have yor
Zone of the old love left for me My dars
ing, if only you could forgive-if only you
would take the fragments of my worthless
life | Is my regret no atonement?"
A slow flush rises to the lovely, softly
rounded cheek, then dies away beneath the
frill of her white gown, leaving her pale,
fair and fragile as an early snowdrop.
A moment her haughtiness and cold.
hooking sarcasm drop from her like
mantle, while into the beautiful eyes fash
look of passion and reproacI.
To me, Cyril Lyndhurst, !" she says in
low, soft voice, yet full of scorn, the
fragments of your life are of no use. / am
quite as proud as you. Five years ago you
night have given me your life; but thss
you were like all the rest of your sex-sei-
fish, false, ambitiousl can only trust that
the wealth You married with seannie Leigh
quite satisfied your yearning Now that
she is dead Well, talking is of no
avail, Mr.. Lyndhurst, and my scorn for you
makes all words seem weak. Yonder road
leads to Ledge Towers. Good-evening.
She sweeps him low, mocking bow and
turns away, apparently forgetful of his
presence; and with one yearning, hopeless
look at the proud, frail figure of this woman
who, waking or sleeping, has been alwayi
in his thoughts as no other woman ever has
or can be, Cyril Lyndhurst passes on with
iull, heavy pain and disappointment at HE
heart.