Semi-weekly south Kentuckian. [volume] (Hopkinsville, Ky.) 1883-1889, 1886-05-11

"Miss Deane-Annie-I can help you
with my whole life, Annie"
And, after that, is it any wonder il
the sun shone straight into my hearth
/ don't think our researches would
have added much to the cause OF either
zoology or botany that day. On the
latter especially my lover would have
made strange confusion, insisting that
we were passing under quite number
Of mistletoe boughs, II my superior
knowledge of the science had not set
him right. We did find the crow-foot.
however, and,- rs | had expected. not
too deep in tho snow. But when he
had torn up long spray Of it and
flung 1t trailing over my shoulder, l
stayed his hand. Madge and could
come some other day for some-therc
was plenty OF time before Christmas
but to-day's in-gathcring meant to
keep all to myself.
At least for this one day, l told him,
when we had reached the house and
paused together in the porch-for
this one day we would not call in any
one, however friendly, to see what 1t
had brought me; but tonight, when he
was gone, then would tell Aunt Mar
garet that l was to be his wife. / said
the word in little flutter as we stood
there together, for already he had been
asking me how long I meant to keep
his own from him. AS / said it, /
glanced up shyly at him. and it would
have discounted me to see how his
face changed, paling at that word, il
his hand had not closed OH mine with
tightening grasp which made me
ashamed Of dawning doubt that he
wanted it,
Annie"
The voice, full Of q strange pain,
startled me. Could this day have any
pain in itp
Perhaps he read that thought-he
was always so quick to understand
for he said: II have story to tell you,
Annie, a story that may take some OF
the brightness 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 nowP Or can
you trust me that it is nothing which
ought to part usP and would you rath.
or wait to hear it until tomorrow"
could trust him; ay, rather, could
not distrust him; and | told him so.
Let us live this day out without shad.
ow; afterward. IL 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 LEI
her neighbor so offend against her good
old-fashioned hospitality as to 90 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
library window, we two left alone, fol
Madge and Fanny had driven into the
village for the mail, and Aunt Marga
ret was summoned to one Of thost
kitchen-cabinet councils which in view
of Christmas cheer grew more and morr
frequent under old Lcthe's able admin
istration. So we two were standing
together in the bay-window, watching
the crimson glow fade off from tn,
wide snow stretch Of lawn that slopet
down to the lane, dotted here and thcr,
with black-green pyramid Of fir, be
tween the naked oaks, when present.,
| caught sight of something moving
across their shadows flung stiff ant
dark against the white.
"Some one is coming" said, break
ing the happy silence. "a lady,
thought-though wonder who it tcoul,
be, walking."7 4..1t
"What borcr
"Oh, she'll not be shown in here
and unless you feel disposed to go t,
Aunt Margaret's assistance"
i Hero / saw tho side door of the Ii
brary opening from the lawn. Tn
visitor must have observed us ut tn
window; some one on sufficiently un
ceremonious terms. tJtI
| 1t was stranger.
I She had closed the door behind her
and had come forward into the ful
glow of the Christmas wood fire blaz
ing on the hearth. A stranger, Gel
tainly; IL had ever seen her before,
should never have forgotten her.
She was standing on the hearth. an
4 drew her slender gloved hands ont @
the folds Of her cashmere shawl, hold
ing them to the warmth, before sh
turned to us the fairest face have eve
seen-the fairest face one ever dreamed
Only that would have been strange
Fouque-like dream IN which such q VIZ
ien should come,
II could not have been after-know
edge on my part for before she spoke
while she still froptcd us with that ga
smile upon her perfect lips, l though
of Undine in her soulless loveliAes.
light-hearbed. glad, careless Of other.
pain because she could not feel i
There is the Undine nature in chile
too, for whom there exists no pain tbs
does not brpise its own tender fiesl
aud that soft hardness made itself fe
In every line and curve about this won
an, as she stood there, white and golt
en-, looking at us out of those grct
brilliant eyes, of which l have rea
somewhere:
"Allve In thelr depths, as the Kraken beneai
the sen blue
eyes which would fain have followed
! for they fixed themselves on Brial
, Only I.could not, that face so held m,
"They told me at your house til,
you were here, perhaps; that you wei
often here; and SO came" she sait
: still looking at Brian. xl 81.
| l turned and looked at him too theI
} the clear, soft, shallow, child voit
broke the spell.
| But he never saw me. His eyes wei
riveted on her--just as man migl
t look who sees ghost. 'te lHI
And then she smiled. She had bee
! beautiful before, but now her beaul
? was bewildering. She stretched OF
1 her hands to him. s, eN1.l. tti
q Have you never word Of we
Q come, Brian, for your wifep"
!, He drew long, hard breath, an
/, passed his hand heavily over his eye
He never once glanced my way, thoue
? l felt he saw me all the while. He 81
k swered her slowly: AAt
=. How is it you are not dead, Louis'
b For nearly seven years you have q
4 lowed me to believe you werc."
q She laughed a mooking little laug
4 Though she did not turn toward me,
| IL 4. H. 4