The Pickens sentinel. [volume] (Pickens, S.C.) 1871-1903, 1886-01-28
"Have been SO blindP" he questioned.
20, my little Dora!" s....

these things were truoP That would be
like saying "Have you been deceiving
mo all these yearsP" He could not do
it. He must wait, with what patience
he could, until no could decide for him
self. He was very thankful that Dora
had not quite decided to be married in
the fall, as that would be one test he
could put her to. II is something to
have an idea that can be acted upon at
once, and he retraced his steps toward
the house with this ono purpose in
view. How shall he find minute in
which to speak alone with Dora? He
feels that he cannot bear the suspense
until another day shall como, and then
mutters to himself, "Fool what il it
must last lifetimep What If am
never TO knowP"
AS he reached the piazza a girlish
voice cried out eagerly: 20, Mr.. Long!
where have you been hiding yourselfP'
and in an instant he was surrounded by
laughing group. who scolded and
questioned with such vivacity that their
victim found it unnecessary to say q
word; it was, in fact, quite impossible.
Then Dora rose from the piano.
Here, Doram called Edith Stanly,
"here is the deserter. What shall bo
fore his bright-cyed Judge.
Dora had never before seemed to him
just as she did at that momcnt--so far
away as if great gulf wero fixed between
them. He could scarcely believe in her
bright looks, everything seemed so un-
real, his life was SO shaken to its foun-
dations. 1t was only by great effort
that he aroused himself to make some
commonplace excuse.
Dora's first careless glance at his pal
I'D face changed to one of alarm. Tho
light from an open window fell upon it
and she saw its deadly pallor. "Why,
Fred!' she cried, ''you careless boy!
You will be sick again. Como and have
some tea" And she led tho way to the
dining-room. How he longed to say,
"Colho Dora, l have something to toll
YOU" and then, having her all to him
self; pour out these miserable doubts
and fears in her ear and so be free from
them. But no; hero was this crowd OF
chattcring girls-bosidcs, she must not
know he had such doubts. Even if she
said, Il love you," could he be sure she
was not saying it because she believed
it to be her duty. And so he finished
the evening rs best he could. and all
ccaseless questicnings.
Several days passed before he found
an opportunity to speak alonc with Dora.
young guests, and Dora must be every
where.
Fred Long was just now taking a
well-earnod vacation. After years of
hard work and months of illness he had
come back to the home of his childhood
to regain lost health and strength. He
had called this the happiest summer he
had known, but now an untimely frost
had spoiled its beauty. Among the
friends whom Dora was entertaining
her cousin Florence Freeman was the
only one he had previously known. Nat
urally they drifted together during these
miserable days. With Dora he was
suddenly i'll at case and restless; her
quick eyes noted the change, and she
looked about for cause. Those same
quick eyes soon noticed the walks and
talks with cousin Florence. mo won
der she admires him." she said with q
sharp little pang at her heart, mentally
contrasting tall, handsome Florence
with hor own little self.
Presently the flock of merry school
girls took fight. "Only Florence, and
you. and l." said Dora; ''just as it used
to be-" But for both tho old charm
was destroyed
One day they walked together along
the river bank, and Dora said, "Our
playtimc is done"
Yes" he answered, II must 60 back
to my law books and you must have
time for your painting"
A light came into her eyes. "Then
am to 60 on paintingP"
Yes" he said slowly. II am max
ing this sacrifice for you. / do not wish
you to marry me until you have finished
this work you have set your heart upon.
1t will occupy your whole winter?"
"Yes; perhaps more. Give mo
year." she said eagerly, quite uncon-
scious of the pain her words inflicted,
and only anxious for time wherein to
prove whether, after all these years of
devotion, Fred could bo won from her.
"Very WE'LL" came the answer, calm
and steady. No trembling in the quiet
tones to betray the hearts unutterable
anguish as it whispered to itself, How
glad she is to be free even for year"
AS for Dora, her heart was saying,
''He docs not care"
And then they talked of Indifferent
matters, these two, foolish. ones, and the
precious hours in which they might
have understood each other slipped
lway and were gone forever.
Once more apart, their letters were ex-
changed at regular mtervals-Fred's
| kind and loving. "Of course" said
Dora, "it is his duty" while Dora's
were a curious study had her lover but
known. Each one little cooler, q
little briefer than the last, until by the
time spring had dressed tho fields and
woods in green again poor Fred had
well-nigh made up his mind that Flor
cncc was right. Dora's heart was all in
her painting; she had grown quite
weary Of him.
This suspense is killing me-" he
would say; "but I'll waitit is better
it will soon be over"
And Dora, working herself to shad-
ow over hor painting, would think;
"Tho end cannot be far Off He will
soon be frec."
Early in the summer Fred found him
self again in the old familiar haunts,
but, alas! the old joyous light was want
Ia 4 .s,N