San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1886-08-16

Tor could see no IauIT III neT. 1 nau
been a fortnight at button Manor, and
but for this il would have been very
happy fortnight. Lance and had fall
en- into the old loving terms of intima-
Cy, and Frances made most lOvable
and harmonious third. A whole fort
night had studied her, criticised her,
and was more bewildeTed than ever
more sure of two things: the first was,
that it was next to impossible that she
had ever been anything different to
what she was now; the second, that she
must be the woman had seen on the
pier. What, under those ciTcumstan-
ces, was any man to dOE
No single incident had happened to
interrupt the tranquil course of life,
but from day to d=y | grew more
wretched with the weight of my miser-
able secret.
One afternoon, | remember that the
lilacs were all in bloom, and Lance sat
with his beautiful wife where a great
group of the trees stood. When |
reached them they We're speaking of the
sea.
II always long for the sea in Summer
time, said Lance, when the sun is hot
and the air full of dust, and no trees
give shade, and the grass seems burned,
| long for the sea. Love of water
seems almost mania with me, from
the deep blue ocean, with its fOaming
pillows, to the smallest pool hidden in
wood. 1t is strange, Frances, with
your beauty-loving soul, that you dis
like the sea"
She had gathered spray of the beau
tiful lilac, and held il to her lips. Was
it the shade Of the flower, or did the
color leave her face? II so, it was the
first time had seen it change.
do you really dislike the sea, Mrs.
Fleming?" asked.
Yes" she replied, laConically.
"Why?' | asked again.
81 cannot tell she answered. 1T
must be on the old principle
"T do not ike thee, Doctor Fell,
Tho reason WHY cannot tell
But only this know full well,
do not like thee, Doctor Fellr"
"ThOse lines hardly apply to the sea"
/ said. IL thought love of the sea was
Unborn with every man and woman in
England"
1T is not with me, she said.
She spoke quite gently. There was
not the least hurry or confusion, but |
was quite sure the color had faded from
her face. Was it possible that had
found a hole in the strong armOr at
last?
Lance turned a laughing face to me.
MY wife is as strong in her dislikes
as in her likes" he said. She never
will go to the sea. Last year | spent
whole month in trying to persuade her;
this year | have began in good time,
and intend to give it three months
good trial, but | am afraid it will be
quite in vain"
"Why do you dislike the sea?" l re-
peated. you must have reason"
II think" she replied. sit makes me
melancholy and low-spirited"
"Well it might | thought, for the
rush and fall of the waves must be like
a vast requiem to her.
THAT is not the effect the sea has
upon most people" | said.
mo, | suppose not; it has upon me-"
she said. Then smiling at me she went
on: you seem to think it is my fault,
Mr.. Ford, that do not love the sea-
ut Is your misfortune" | said, and
our eyes met.
Imeant nothing by the words, but
shifting, curious look came into her
face, and for the first time since / had
been there her eyes fell before mine.
81 suppose it is" she said, quietly;
but from that moment we were never
quite the same again. She watched me
curiOusly, and | knew it.
Like or dislike, Frances, give way
this time" said Lance, land John will
go with u.s."
DO you really wish il. >" she asked.
81 should like it; think it would do
us all good. And, after all, yours is but
fancy, Frances"
"If we go at all. >" she said, "let us 90
to the great Northern sea. not to the
South, where it is smiling and treacher-
Ous."
Those southern seas hide much" |
said; and again she looked at me with
a curious, intent gaZe--a far-Of gaze, as
though she were trying to make some
thing ont.
What do they hide, JOhn?" asked
Lance, indifferently.
"Sharp rocks and shifting sands" I
answered.
80 do the northern seas" he replied.
a soft, sweet voice said: Everyone
has their own taste. | love the coun-
try; you love the sea. | find more beau
ty in this bunch of lilac than | should
in all the seaweed that was ever thrown
on the beach; to me there is more poet
ry and more loneliness in the ripple of
the leaves, the changeful hues of the
trees and flowers, the corn in the fields.
the fruit in the orchards. than in I'll:
I7e b .(ct.rtausdl