Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1886-03-04

hands were In his.
"Miss Deane--Annie--I can help you
with my whole life, Annie"
And, after that, is it any wonder II
the sun shone straight into my hearth
I 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, il my superior
knowledge of the science had not set
him right. We did find the crow-foot.
however, and, us / had expected, not
too deep in the snow. But when he
had torn up long spray Of it and
flung it trailing over my shoulder, l
STAYED his hand. Madge and could
come some other day for some there
was plenty of time before Christmas
but to-day's- in-gathering ] meant to
keep all to myself
At least for this one day, 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 it
had brought me; but tonight, when he
was gone, then / would tell Aunt Mar
garet that / was to be his wife. said
| the word in little fiutter as we stood
there together, for already he had been
asking me how long / meant to keep
| his own from him. AS l said it,
glanced up shyly at him, and it would
have discounted me to see how his
| face changed, paling at that word, if
his hand had not closed on mine with
a tightening grasp which made me
ashamed of a dawning doubt that he
wanted it.
Annie"
The voice, full of 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 a story to tell you,
Annie, 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 / 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 l told him SO.
Let us live this day out without shad-
ow; 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 neighbor so offend against her good
old-fashioned hospitality as to 60 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, for
Madge and Fanny had driven into the
village for the mail, and Aunt Marga-
ret was summoned to one of those
kitchen-cabinet councils which in view
of Christmas cheer grew more and more
frequent under old Lethes able admin.
stration. So we two were standing
together in the bay-window, watching
: the crimson glow fade off from thu
wide snow stretch of lawn that slopet
down to the lane, dotted here and there
, with black-green pyramid of fir, be
, tween the naked oaks, when presently
/ caught sight of something moving
across their shadows flung stiff ant
, dark against the white.
: "Some one is coming" Isaid, break
ing the happy silence. "a lady,
!. thought-though wonder who it coult
: be, walking"
"What bore!"
l "Oh, she'll not be shown in here
(, and unless you feel disposed to 60 tt
It Aunt Margaret's assistance
q Here saw the side door of the Ii
. brary opening from the lawn. Tn
= visitor must have observed us at tn
IL window; some one on sufficiently un
), ceremonious terms.
y 1t was stranger.
d She had closed the door behind hel
u and had come forward into the fuI
IL glow of the Christmas wood fire blaz
e ing on the hearth. A stranger, Gel
tainly; if l had ever seen her before,
II should never have forgotten her.
le She was standing on the hearth, an
= drew her slender gloved hands out c
the folds of her cashmere shawl, hold
III ing them to the warmth, before sh
II turned to us the fairest face | have eve
:, seen--the farest face one ever dreamed
~ Only that would have been a strange
ia Fouque-like dream In which such a vii
III ion should come.
s. 1t could not have been after-know
u edge on my part, for before she spoke
u while she still fronted us with that ga
Is smile upon her perfect lips, | though
III of Undine in her soulless lovelines
;, light-heartod, glad, careless of other
IL pain because she could not feel
10 There is the Undine nature in a chill
" too, for whom there exists no pain thi
te does not bruse its own tender ilesl
AZ and that soft hardness made itself fe
P, in every line and curve about this won
III an, as she stood there, white and gol,
y en-, looking at us out of those gre,
III brilliant eyes, of which | have rea
Y somewhere:
OF "Alive in their depths, as the Kraken benea
re the sea blue
it eyes which | would fain have followe
st for they fixed themselves on Brial
so Only could not, that face so held m
S, They told me at your house tn
ed you were here, perhaps; that you we
ct often here; and so | came" she sal
r. still looking at Brian.
Id turned and looked at him too the
be the clear, soft, shallow, child vol
e, broke the spell.
I'd But he never saw me. His eyes we
riveted on her-just as a man mig
mt look who sees ghost.
at And then she smiled. She had be,
,ff beautiful before, but now her beau
w was bewilderipg. She stretched o
1n her hands to him.
"a Have you never a word of We
he come, Brian, for your wife?"
Is, He drew long, hard breath, al