The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1886-02-24

word in little futter as we stood to-
gether, for already he had been asking
me how long meant to keep his own
from him. As l said it, 1 glanced up
shyly at him, and it would have discom-
fited me to see how his face changed, pal
ing at that word, if his hand had not
closed on mine with Tightening grasp
which made me ashamed of a dawning
doubt that he wanted it.
"Annie-"
The voice, fulh of a strange pain,
startled me. Could this day have any
pain in it 2
Perhaps he read that thought-he was
always so quick to understand-for he
said: 81 have a story to tell you, Annie,
a story that may take some of the bright
ness out of this hour for you, as it has
taken all the brightness out of the last
seven years of my life until now. Shall
I tell it you now9 Or can you trust me
that it is nothing which ought to part
us and would you rather wait to hear it
until tomorrow 2"
l could trust him; ay, rather, could
not distrust him; and told him so. Let
us live this day out without a shadow
afterward, if shadows must come, he
should lead me safely through them.
"There is no danger in the shadow,
Annie; there is only something for us
both to forget"
Let us forget it now, then. See there
is Aunt Margaret at the window signing
to me; she is afraid shall let her neigh
Dor so offend against her good old
fashioned hospitality as to go away to his
bachelors hall, when it is three o'clock
and our dinner hour"
The shortest day of all the year. We
were watching its setting from the libra
ry window, we two left alone, for Madge
and Fanny had driven into the village
for the mail, and Aunt Margaret was
summoned to one of those kitchen-cabi-
net councils which grew more and more
frequent under old Lethe's administra-
ton. SO we two were standing together
in the bay-window, watching the Grim
son glow fade off from the wide snow
stretch of lawn that sloped down to the
lane, dotted here and there with black
green pyramid of fir, between the naked
oaks, when presently l caught sight of
something moving across their shadows
flung stiff and dark across the white.
"Some one is coming" said, break
ing the happy silence. GA lady, 1
thought-though wonder who it could
be, walking"
''What bore!"
ooh, she'll not be shown in here, un-
less you feel disposed to go to Aunt Mar
garet's assistance"
Here I saw the side door of the library
opening from the lawn. The visitor
must have observed us at the window /;
some one on sufficiently unceremonious
terms.
1t was a stranger.
She had closed the door behind her,
and had come forward into the full glow
of the wood fire blazing on the hearth
"A stranger, certainly; If had ever seen
her before, l should never have forgotten
her.
She was standing on the hearth, and
drew her slender gloved hands out of the
folds of her cashmere shawl, holding
them to the warmth, before she turned to
us the fairest face have ever seen-the
fairest face one ever dreamed. Only that
would have been a strange, Fouque-like
dream in which such a vision should
come.
1t could not have been after knowledge
on my part, for before she spoke, while
she still fronted us with that gay smile
upon her perfect lips, thought of I'm
dine in her soulless loveliness, light
hearted, glad, careless of Others pain be-
cause she could not feel it. There is
the Undine nature in a child too, for
whom there exists no pain that does not
bruise its own tender flesh, and that soft
hardness made itself felt in every line
and curve about this woman, as she stood
there, white and golden, looking at us
out of those great brilliant eyes, of which
l have read somewhere:
"Alive in their depths, as the Kraken beneath
the sea blue
eyes which l would fain have followed,
for they fixed themselves on Brian. Only
could not, that face so held me.
"They told me at your house that you
were here; and so l came, " she said, still
looking at Brian.
turned and looked at him too, then;
the clear, soft, shallow, child voice broke
the spell
But he never saw me. His eyes were
riveted on her-just as a man might look
who sees a ghost.
And then she smiled. She had been
beautiful before, but now her beauty was
bewildering. She stretched out her hands
to him.
''Have you never a word of welcome,
Brian, for your wife ? ~
lie drew a long, hard BREATH and
passed his hand heavily over his eyes.
He never once glanced my way, though
l felt he saw me all the while. He
answered her very slowly;
"How is it you are not dead, Louise
For nearly seven years you have allowed
me to believe you were"
She laughed mocking little laugh.
Though she did not turn toward me, /
knew she had flashed a glance at me.
''Have you been a disconsolate widower
all that time, my poor Brian . 1t was
very wicked of me, of course. But
then, you see, always hated poverty:
and you were so very impecunious at that