The Laurens advertiser. (Laurens, S.C.) 1885-1973, 1886-02-03
"Have l been so blindP" he questioned.
10 nv little DOrnm

so b. '" " WIN % IL
these things were truep That would be
like saying "Have you been deceiving
mt all these yearsP" He could not do
it. He must wait, with what patience
he could, until he 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-. 1t is something to
have an idea that can be acted upon at
once, and he retraced his steps toward
the house with this one purpose in
view. How shall he find q minute in
which to speak alone with DoraP He
feels that he cannot bear the suspense
until another day shall como, and then
mutters to himself, Fool! what if it
must last a lifetimep What if l am
never to knowP"
AS he reached the piazza u girlish
voice cried out eagerly: 30, Mr.. Long!
where have you been hiding YOURSELF"
and in an instant he was surrounded by
n laughing group, who scoldcd and
questioned with such yivacity that their
victim found it unnecessary to say a
word; it was, in fact, quite impossible.
Then Dora rose from the piano.
Here, Dorar' called Edith Stanly,
"herc is the descrter. What shall be
done to him?" And they led him be-
fore his bright-cyed Judge.
Dora had never before seemed to him
just rs she did ut that moment-so far
away, as if n great gulf were fixed between
them. He could scarcely believe in her
bright looks, everything seemed so I'M
real, his life was so shaken to its foun-
dations. 1t was only by Il great effort
that he aroused himself to make some
commonplace excusc.
Dora's first careless glance at his pal
lid face changed to one of alarm. Tho
light from an open window fell upon it
and she saw its deadly pallor. "Why,
Frcd!' she cried, ''you careless boy!
You will be sick again. Come and have
some tea" And she led the way to the
dining-room. How he longcd to say,
Come Dora, l have something to tell
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; here was this crowd of
chattcring girls-besides, she must not
know he had such doubts. Even if she
said, II 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 as best he could, and all
night long his heart tormented him with
ccascless questionings.
, Several days passed before he found
an opportunity to speak alone with Dora.
The house was filled with Il number of
young guests, and Dora must be every
where.
Fred Long IA just now taking n
~wcll-earned 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 happicst summer he
had known, but now an untimcly frost
had spoiled its beauty. Among the
friends whom Dora was entertaining
her cousin Florence Freeman was the
only n he had previously known. Nat
urally they drifted together during these
miserable days. With Dora he was
suddenly ill ut ease and restless; her
quick eyes noted the change, and she
looked about for n cause. Those same
quick eyes soor noticed the walks and
talks with cousin Florence. mo won
der she admircs him." she said, with q
sharp little pang at her heart, mentally
contrasting tall, handsome Florence
with her own little self.
Presently the flock of merry school
girls took flight. "Only Florence, and
you, and l." said Dora; .'just as it used
to be-" But for both the old charm
was destroyed.
One day they walked together along
the river bank, and Dora said, Our
playtime is done"
Yes" he answered, II must go back
to my law books and you must have
time for YOUR PAINTING"
A light came into her eyes. Then I
am to go on paintingp"
yes" he said slowly. 81 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 me n
year." she said eagerly, quite uncon-
scious OF the pain her words inflicted,
and only anxious for time wherein 10
prove whether, after all these years of
devotion, Fred could be won from her.
Very WELL" came the answer, calm
and steady. No trembling in the quiet
tones to betray tie hearts unutterablc
anguish as it whispered to itself, How
glad she is to be free even for n year"
AS for Dora, her heart was saying,
"He does 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
away n were gone forever.
Once more apart, their letters were ex-
changed at regular intcrvals-Fred's
kind and loving. "Of course" said
Dora, sit is his duty" while Dora's
were a curious study had her lover but
known. Each one a little cooler, a
little briefer than tho last, until by tho
time spring had dressed the fields and
woods in green again poor Fred had
well-nigh mad" up his mind that Flor
ence 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 wait-it Is better
it will soon DO over"
And Dora, working herself to a shad-
ow over her painting, would think:
THE end cannot DO far of. He will
soon be free"
Early In tho summer Fred found him
self again in the old familiar haunts,