San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1886-05-13

"plu' MS N'Hul ltdltu Win LltaL VIII
thrOb which could have been neither hope
nor eNultatiOn, aud was therrfnrr-what?
He turned and approached her h. mad that
her eyes had already discovered him. Ills
limbs trcmbled and flood Of dark crimson
rushed Ia his brow; but Berthas beautiful
face was quite mtTOubpd, and she held out
her hand with Tranquil smile
But had almost sent Martha 10 recall to
monSieurs recollection his little pupil, 50
wicked and troublesome"
lie bowed silently over the white fingers.
not venturing this time to press them Ia his
lips Bertha made room for him beside her
and continued speaking without seeming to
notice his lack of reply. There are times
when woman is grateful for ten years eX-
! perience of the world: and If even this train
ing cannot keep the new light out of her
| eyes, the mOdeSty of such man as Monsieur
Max is a better veil than the gathering twl-
| light or the longest of Slkcn laSheS. Only
once did she falteT, and that was when mon
Sieur, having recovered the power of sp, e"h,
| used it To address her as Madame"
But no" she answered softly; no, mon
sieur lie PrOfcsScur. ! am still only demOi-
| selle"
God be- thanked" said monsieur invOlun-
tlrily, and watched, with eyes of inCredu-
lOus joy, the soft TOSe-tint creep over cheek
and brow. Only for moment; then she
spoke with all her former cOmpOsure of the
ten years that had passed since their parting;
and, aS he listened and answered. monsieur
asked himself whether he had dreamed of
that beautiful blush.
lie learned that Aunt Letitia still rocked,
knit, and dOzed at the Grove: that the gold
en-haired child was Bertha's mothprless
niece, the daughter of Henry CLAYTON. whose
wife had been dead for nearly a year; and
that Bertha herself was now on her way 10
spend the rest of the summer at the old home
stead which he remembered so tcnderly
And monsieur asked Bertha kindly.
"MademOiselr, need rest: and in F.,
in the home where was once 81 happy. it is
my hope 10 find it.
"Thcn You will come to the Grove. mon
Sicur? You will ne orr guest? You will let
me care for yOu?"
But Monsieur Max drew up his slender fig-
ure proudly, though his eyes were very ten
der, as he answered: Not now. madrmoi-
selle; not yet" and Bertha did not urge him
nor ask the meaning Of his strange reply
SO the old days seemed 10 come again to
the Grove. There were again the mornings
in the old schOOlrOOm, now Bcrthas study
and the pleaSanteSt room in the house. .lS
mons ieur and she concurred in saying Nor
was the term study a miSnOmer Much
work had been done within those four walls:
and the dark, bright eyes Of Monsieur Max
often ShOne with pleasure To see how the
grlSh mind he had helped 10 train had
grown and developed. She was now, il not
fully his intellectual equal, at least able to
comprehend and SympathiZe with him: and
when one has lived alone and lonely. A. had
Monsieur Max, one perceiyes the charm of
sympathy from such eyes and life.
Happy, indeed, were the mornings in the
Old SchoOl-rom: the drives and rlmbirS
along the shady, ToSe-trimmcd country roads.
and through wood and meadow: happy. too,
the evenings in the great. square parlnr,
where monsieur and Aunt Letitia contested
the hOnOrs OF the chCSs-board in many a hard
fought battle, while Bertha played softly on
the worn, old piano. But happipst of all.
perhaps, were monSicur'S walks to and from
the little town-waIkS which were not lone
ly, since Memory and Hope accompanied
him; nor deSOldte since Fancy had full per-
mission to deck his path with her most brill
liant flowers.
And perhaps the fragrance of these still
hung about him and bewildered him one aft.
ernoOn, when he found Bertha sitting. with |
her embroidery, under a great oak which had |
strayed from the forest into the old-fashion-
ed garden.
Monsieur, you look dazed-somnambu- |
listic, she said, as he silently took the seat |
beside her.
"SOmnambuistic? All! indeed have
walked hithrr in sweet dream, mldrnloi-
Selle; perhaps only Ia be- awakened.
il mot tr1ttI, b,ttar tI,,,, , In.
sieurr'
She had stolen one swift glance. at his face |
and her cheek was crimson. her voice tremu- |
ous. Monsieur Max answered her slowly |
and sadly.
so say the wise; nut when the dream is
70 bright and beautiful it is hard to be IA phil
,Sopher May tell it you, madcmoisplc?''
She bowed h,r head III silence, Willie her
fingers shook over her work as though the
dainty silks had been iron cables.
ut began, | can scarce remember how
many years ago said Monsieur Max, with
my love for little child. / saw her 81 good,
so beautiful, and so deiemSeleSS; and VOW
ed to my own soul to stand between her and
harm, to train and teach her in all that was
good until | could resign her to other hands,
which might be wOrthier but could not be
more faithful. But the moment came when,
if would truly keep my vow, must seem
to desert my trust. And kept it; left my
little one, my child, my pupil, and for ten
long years never looked upon her beautiful |
face. Then returned, to find her still more |
noble, more beautiful, more angcl-like than
l-even had ever dreamed. And-she |
was still free! while IL was also free: free |
TO say to her; Bertha, love, life of my life, | |
am old, poor, and unworthy, but | love you
with love that can never falter or grow
cold. Is that love so precious as to make me,
in your eyes, the equal Of other men?"
Now, monsieur! said Bertha, with a
smile which brought quick flush to the dark
cheek of Monsieur Max. lie caught her
hands in his, while the "'broidcry work
wrought about with divers cOlors'' slipped
to the ground.
What sayest thou, my best beloved%' he
II was but child when YOU left me- mon
'ieur, yet knew fet-as for thinking you
he equal of other men, every one knows"
aid Bertha, faltering under the rapture in
his dark eyes, that have always declared,
hough never knew why till you came back,
hat there was nobOdy-nO, not in all the
like Monsieur Max"
w