Semi-weekly south Kentuckian. [volume] (Hopkinsville, Ky.) 1883-1889, 1886-05-11
She made playful courtesy as she

bpOke.
"Only he fancied IL was laid away
underground, she added. perhaps
he has told you of our runaway match
when he was at college, and how angry
poor mamma was, and hushcd the
matter up, and carried me away to
Europe to finish my school days there
And there 1t was that mamma made
her brilliant second marriage-a real,
true German baron; and we went away
to Vienna to live. But first died; for
one must die-must h0t Onep--to get
into p"fadfde. Brian would never have
let me 90 there alive, so | sent him
lock of my hair and little scrawling
death-bed note inclosed in letter from
mammals maid, who had helped us to
run away the year before. You re-
member Fiiine, Brianp She has come
over with me now. Such clever soul!
l can't tell how | should ever, without
her, have managed to keep myself ii,-
formed Of your movements, and Of
course l had to do that, for all widowers
aren't so constant, and you might have
married, you know"
He interrupted her, hoarse with pas
sion: "And how do know that you"
"Oh, Brian, how can you! As IL that
were now just what my step-father ard
| quarrcled about! After dear mamma
died-she died last year" with a pref
ty, plaintive fall in voice and eyelids,
come and gone as swiftly as child's
grave look) )-''he was quite set on max
ing a match for me; and of course that
wouldn't do at all, you know. Dear
mamma was content to let me enjoy
life in my own way; but after she was
gone, the step-papa became just little
difficult. And So Well, Brian, !
knew you were no longer poor man,
and that should not drag you down
now. And so l have come back to you,
il you will have me-" She put out her
hands then in the prettiest pleading
way. II had been a man
But Brian did not soften in the least.
He had pent up his wrath now, and had
1t under his control; but his voice was
still hoarse as he said to her:
II shall take pains to learn whether
all this is truth. Meanwhile we will
not trespass any longer upon Miss
Deane's patience. shall take you
back to my house, and will set out
within the hour fE Vienna. Miss
Deane will pardon"
There he broke off huskily. He had
not once lifted his eyes to me since
first they fell upon her shadow which
the waning sunset cast between us.
But-how l had the strength I d..
not know-but / went straight up ts
her and took her hand, and kissed hei
on the pretty smooth white brow a.
she lifted up her face to mine. Is ther.
woman born who can keep anger for
pretty childP And there arc some peo
pie who never outgrow the charm ane
responsibility OF childhood; if the,
pluck at ones heart-strings with thei:
careless fingers until one could b.
stung into giving them blow or ,
shake, one must kiss and b.
friends afterward. And then !
turned to him-I must have had
vision OF how it would all end; for sh,
was wonderfully fair; she had been hii
first love; she would be his last. l
turned to him.
II am sure you will find all as she
has said, and that you will forgive her.
don't think l shall be here still when
you come back from your long journey,
so You must let me give you my best
wishes now" t
Our hands met for one instant-not
our eyes; we neither of us could bear
that. Then our hands fell apart, and
presently | was alone. My day was
over; twilight darkened in the window,
gray and blank.
And after twilight
just paragraph in book have
been turning over by my solitary fire.
side tonight has set me thinking Of all
this. 1t says:
"Therc are women who live all thor
lives long in the cold white moonlight
Of other peoples reflected Joy. 1t is
not a bad kind Of light to live in, after
all. 1t may leave some dark, ghostly
corners in the heart unwarmed, but,
like other moonlight, it lets gres!
deal be seen overhead that sunshine
hides. ."-Ha,per's Weekly.