River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1886-11-11
THE BASILISK.
A STORY OF TO-DAY.
CHAPTER VIII.
Condolences.


Twas, undoubtedly. interested in this
gentle girl. who seemed so ill-placed
with her proud and, feared.
tyrannical cousin. The way in which
Miss BeaufOy seemed to claim me was
more humiliating than flattering. or
would have been so, but for the strange
malignity of her last remark, which
gave an air of mysterious romance to
what would otherwise have seemed
rather insolent forwardness.
Out in the balmy September sun
shine. however, not merely breathing
the delicious air and imagining. as in
the dreary past, the visible splendor
that Knocked me with its warmth and
its fragrance, but actually beholding
once again the beds and banks of
flowers, the green grass flooded with
sunshine, and the sharp black line of
shade; seeing the Pickering tracery of
the shadows under big elms, and look
ing up through translucent leaves at
fretted visions of deepest blue above;
seeing clearly enough now the sweet
face and shining hair of the fair
guardian by my side. | soon felt such q
glow of exultation and rapture,
that L forgot for a moment the
sombre surroundings of Hanover
Lodge, and felt strong inclination to
take my companion into my CONT
dence, and let my pent-up delight find
some sort of outward expression.
But, gazing at her again, the look of
cOnstraint and sorrow which was plain
IN perceptible in her face brought back
to my mind. in all its vividness, the
idea that she was in some way the vic
tim of oppression. and revived the i'm
pulse / had already felt to devote some
of my restored power to her service.
| cOntented myself, therefore, with the
silent enjoyment of that most beautiful
union OF nature and art, an old garden,
and attempted to improve the occasion
by conversation with Mary Fortescue.
This IS very large place, is it
not p | asked.
Yes, she said. sit is part of an old
park which was broken up many years
ago.
1T must be delightful to live in such
place. said | thrilled with the de-
light of velvety turf and huge quiet
trees. which seemed TO remain utterly
independent of the vulgarizing influ-
ences of modern bricks and mortar.
ut is beautiful garden, she said,
in rather a sad tone.
I'D - 0ft Il
asked.
''Oh yes. / love this garden"
She spoke still with the reserve of
one who could have said much to ex-
plain why she did not say more.
Il could be perfectly happy in a
place like this | remarked, turning
away from her to survey the peaceful
beauty of the scene. lest she should
catch too much of the tell-tale intel
ligence of my opened eyes.
She stopped to pluck a flower, and
it was some little time before she
answered.
lit is very sweet out here" she said
at last, "but it is very lonely in the
house,
/ did not know her well, and under
more ordinary conditions | might not
have read so quickly in her voice the
tone of appeal, the assurance that she
would not resent nor misunderstood.
Besides. | was accustomed to the flat
tering handicap of affliction. People
used to be only too ready to treat me
on a more intimate footing because |
was blind, and it had been one Of the
sorest trials of my pride that it was so.
r. LH1-Fa-nr,a ha
seemed to imply. suffering, in q way,
| from isolation such as mine had been,
| could tighten her lot perhaps, and
End friend as well. l came to the
point without more ado.
Are you not happy here P'
looked at her as | asked the ques-
ton. She would not suspect that [
could see. and she did not even meet
the gaze of the eyes that she thought
blind. She turned half away from me.
and Dlucked q bud from a tall rose
bush. as she answered with very sad
little smile:
Not very" she said.
It sounded so sad, the way in which
she said it.
Are they net kind to youP" I
asked.
mo" she said dreamily; then, quick
" correcting herself: "Oh yes. they
are-very. owe everything to them
| hoEoe. and friends. and all | have.
Have you many friends, Miss For
tescue2"
mo. They are my only friends"
They are relations, are they mott"
[ asked.
Twas curious to find out, il possible,
/ why she lived here. as she was evident
" not an object of much affection to
! her imperiOus cousin. ct least.
Yes" she answered. MIR. Beaufoy
IS my uncle. and he is my guardian,
too. 1 have no one but them, she
added, in 3 chOked voice.
BY them" understood her uncle
/ and her cousin. Strictly it ought to
have meant the dual character Of the
hard Beaufoy.
We went wandering on down the
shaded gard n paths, gathering flow
ers as we went; Mary gathering them,
rather, and | carrying at least share
Of the garden treasures. We talked
on, my companion losing all traces of
the shyuess which had seemed so natur-
Il to her before; but keeping always
the divine reserve and sweet dignity.
which nv fancy already eXacted from
her as her due. Had she been much
less calculated TO gid the refined gold
of a splendid September afternoon,
should have found her fascinating, no
doubt, released at last from the CALLING
/ thraldom of darkness. But had come,
~ it were. straight out of the cherries
! ch Il of a frosty February into ''the
mid might and flourish of May,
From plying. tea-meeing chastened
sympathy zone of large-bOnneted, non
human temininity. into the wholesome
splendor of 8 lovable young life
clouded indeed with grief, but essenti-
ally as bright and as beautiful as
Northumberland morning of May.
. l learned. as we threaded the muskY
alleys, something of her life and hel
SORROWS. The tale was told IN frag
. ments, interrupted, s. we grew more
. intimate. by the requirements of he