The sun. [volume] (Morris, Stevens County, Minn.) 1882-1895, 1886-01-21

chant. She couldn't help wonderin.
whether Lauriston had also found ou'
who she was.
"lf he had only been thrown in front
of our house." she murmured to her
self, as she returned homeward, chow
wonderful that would have been!
should have watched over him and
taken care of him, and-oh, why can't
something happen in this dull old
world?" She promptly placed Laulis
ton in a state ofprolonged and danger
Gus illness, with herself as nurse.
Going out into one of her fathers
budding vineyards, she enacted We
hemently the scene of the accident.
Lauriston being brought into the
house insensible. Afterward came the
convalescence, and then at'moments
she transformed herself into Lauris-
ton, carrying on pathetic dialogue
between himself and her. The last
scene in her improviseddrama treated
of their first walk, when the hand
some Invalid was able to GO out. And
here occurred a most trying episode;
he began to make love to her
''Dear mel" exclaimed Blanche.
"What am ] abr TT? This won't do at
all. But, anyway" she went on,
"Tam going to see what IT'S like, and
what l shall say" So she continued
the affair thro Ugh a highly impas.
stoned CONVEX sation, the result OF
which was that, in spite of his misery,
his implorations and promises, she
gave him no hope. .'Our spheres are
different" she told him, "and you
must leave me forever" Then she
was sorry she had done so. Her invis-
ible admirer obediently left her with a
broken heart, and Blanche went in to
tea with a face so tragic that her
mother was alarmed.
In a. few days Blanche made pict-
uresque discovery. The willow sprig
which Lauriston had left in the ground
remained there, and it had takenroot
and begun to sprout. The girl became
intensely interested. Every day she
watered it, and she made her father
put a frame around it to protect it
against small boys and other noxious
animals. AS the sprig grew into sap
ling, something else which had taken
root-namely, a resolve in Blanche's
mind-also grew. This resolve was that
she would become an actress. She had
never seen a good performance, but
she had many ideas as to what it
ought to be like. She read all the
plays she could get hold of, and gave
renderings before spectral audience
in the garden with immense success.
By and by it happened that some rel
atives, removing to New York, invit-
ed her to make them a visit.
"Why, my child" cried the matron-
ly cousin who received her on her ar
rival, chow you have grown, and how
large your eyes are. They seem to be
full of ideas about something. What
is it?"
The cousin was not long in finding
out, for Blanche went boldly to a
manager one day, and asked him to
employ her. 1t so happened that
the manager, while struck with her
inexperience was also impressed with
her talant, and in spite of much oppo-
sition from her family she was put in
tho way of learning the art for which
she was born.
Five years later, Lauriston, going in
to one of the theaters with a party of
friends, found pleasant memory
blending with the scene on the stage.
What was it? He looked and looked
again; his thoughts went back to his
May day ride on the Hudson banks
so long before, though he could not tell
why. All, yes; now he caught the as
sociation! Surely the face of that
young actress was the same as the
face of the odd girl whom he had met
then near the landing albeit grown
maturer, more sweetly intelligent now.
AS she made her entrances and exits,
the old memory came and went in his
mind. She was playing under her own
name, which he had never quite for
gotten. y Lauriston soon be-
came known as a frequenter of the
Orbic Theater, where Miss Pomeroy
was regularly engaged; but he confded
to no one what the fascination was
that drew him. And there he sat many
nights in the stalls, seeing her in all her
parts, watching her grow in public
favor, and weaving sentimental rever
les about her until he felt as ifhe had
known her for long time. AS for
Blanche, she recognized him too. See
ing him there so often, she fell into the
way of playing her best for him; and
on the nights that he was not present
she found it hard to reach the highest
mark.
So the winter months passed by,
and this strange acquaintance of
theirs, so vivid in it's reality to both
of them, remained perfectly silent
one, without single sign that either
knew who the other was. Only at
intervals, among the many tributes of
that came to her, baskets
of flowers were left at her rooms to
which no name was attached. She
felt sure, however, that they came
from him. Yet he never threw flow
ers to her at the theatre, although
others sometime did so, Blanche won
dered at this, but it also pleased her.
It seemed to mean that he would not
fling bouquets to her as favor,
but preferred to send them
as gentle Offering. Neverthe
less, his distant demeanor was annoy
ing, when SO many other men were
glad enough to establish the slightest
acquaintance with her. She kept |
them all at distance, but it was not
SO pleasant to have Lauriston keeping
himself at distance without her aid.
Perhaps her little fancy drama in the
vineyard had told the truth-that
their spheres were different.
She heard a good deal about Lau-
riston from common friends, and
knew that he was considered an ex-
fine fellow, somewhat criti-
cal and fastidious, and not disposed
to marry. And the more she rose in
public estimation, the less sympa-
thetic he was; so she began to think.
At length, after another winter, he
vanished. Not for some time did
it come to her knowledge that |
he had departed for long so
journ in South America, whittier
the business of hides and leather called |
him. The errand was prosaic enough, |
but it did not prevent q shadow from
creeping over Blanche's life; and she
now the feeling she had |
had when she saw the bright sail on
/ l. 4 L. l.