San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1886-08-02

looking out at the dull, grey sky. She does
not care, she is only too glad that day is
here. Another night like the one I've Just
passed and / should die" she thinks to her
self; thinks il sadly. All defiance is gone.
But she cannot stand the confinement Of
this room. She cannot meet the familiar
faces at the table. She cannot oh, she can
not She was strong yesterday, even so she
is weak to-day. Well, she will 90 to walk;
she often does. 1t is going to rain, truly,
but what matter; she will not mind storm;
she will welcome it.
So she takes her hat and goes down with
nOiseless step out into the kitchen. The
woman starts when she sees her.
Law sakes, alive, Miss EInOr, but you
do look bad"
"Oh, no, Mary" striving to smile; Oh, no.
Pm going for walk. Tell my uncle, please"
but it's gwine to rain, Miss EPnOr, and
you amt had no breakfast"
But don't want any breakfast; I'm not
hungry, and as for rain, you know, | don't
mind that Here, to please you, will drink
this milk. | always loved milk IN tin pals"
She drinks the milk and turns away. The
two great settlers rise slowly from their re-
spectlve mats and follow her gravely, and
the old woman stands quite still watching
the slight glrllSh figure out of sight
She turns into the little path that leads up
the hill; the wcll-knOwn path with the
dropping willow trees and gray, hanging
moss; with the tangled blackberry vines and
streams and hollow to cross, this steep up
ward path, steep as the path OF life
She goes on quietly, stopping now and
then TO detach her dress from some wayside
bush, and the dogs stop too, and look up at
her with their great soft ewes as though try-
ing to tathOm the sadness of that usually
happy face. But she never looks at them;
never word or caress. She is glad to be
alone; glad TO be away from everything and
everyone.
The path grows sleeper and more steep.
She Is gaining the summit now, but she
misses the hands that helped her here last
time. On, why think OF it nOwP Why can
she not forget? Surely, years have passed
since yesterday. Only one night? ImpOssi.
bic.
She pauses for rest Why has she come
here alone on this dark, threatening mOrn-
ing? Why has she come? She whom they
term the Dolce far Hiente;" who is rarely
out of bed at eight ia the morning, much less
on the hillside with only two dogs for CON-
pany.
The path widens now. All, she has
reached the top. The cool breeze fans her
hot cheeks as she stands there with her
hands idly locked; stands there close by the
old llchened rock, gazing out over the still
world. And meanwhile the storm creeps on;
darker and darker the gray sky has grown;
lower and lower hang the clouds, and even
low rumbling of thunder can be heard.
Eleanor, Eleanor, you would be better in
the parsonage than on this wild hillside
And now the peculiar calm which pTecedes
storm settles down. Not leaf Stirs, not a
sound breaks the stiffness.
She has seated herself close beside the
rock and the dogs lie like great Numidian
lions on either side. Now and then Trico
pushes his nose into her hand, and droOps
bis ears mournfutly when size takes no notice
of him.
How long she might have sat there,
can not tell, for she Is deep In her waking
dreams Sad dreams they must be you would
fancy to look at her. But now the wind, as
though weary of absence, breaks forth in 9
fury, whirling all before ii. The trees bend
and sway; ay, break under the fury OF the
storm, and through it all the thunder sounds
with crashing din and the lightning flashes
through the sky.
Eleanor has risen to her feet She totters
under the force of this whirlwind, and throws
both arms about slender, little sapling for
support
What a terrible storm 1t is. The rain will
begin in moment. What will she do up
here all alone? She was mad to come. The
wind dashes on, but brings no answer.
But someone is coming, Through the
wind and binding dust she dimly descries
the figure of q man coming towards her, and
she wonders vaguely who it is.
Nearer and nearer he comes, and when he
Is quite close upon her she sees and knows
him-DallaS Carew!
Her arms loosen their hold; she staggers
back.
IL thought you had gone" she says.
He is looking at her eagerly; looking at
her pale cheeks and heavy, dark-ringed
eyes; and looking at her he knows that her
cheeks are pale for him; her eyes sad and
heavy for him. Yesterday she was cold,
self-pOsseSSed woman who babe him good
bye with not culver of the lips or falter
in her voice. That was the mask; this Is
the reality.
The wind has ceased a little; the rain Is
falling IN great pattering drops; fallen
quickly as though glad to come.
What are you doing here% she asks,
striving for cOmpOSure, this time OF day ami
in this storm? Why did you comeT
why did you come, EleanorT'
IL came for a walk. l was so tired"
she murmurs, so low that he can Just catch
the words.
II will be more truthful than you, Eleanor.
take care of you. Take my arm. / will get
you out of this rain as soon as possible"
Il had rather not, Mr.. Carew. do not
need your ARM" But She stumbles even as
she speaks.
He takes her hand and places 1t in bis
arm, saying as coldly as she had spoken:
Excuse me- but you do need it, and now
open this umbrella. How wish for one Of
those huts that novels always have so con-
yeniently near"
THE parsonage is the only. thing OF the
kind that have to offer YOU" she said. .
She is regaining her usual control and she
has wonderful Self-possesSlon, this girl.
They go on quite IN silence. Indeed, Q
pouring rain, accompanied by thunder and
lightning, Is not very encouraging for con-
yersation. Once she turns and calls to tho
dogs who look quite worn out poor crea-