Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1886-07-23

While Harry stood gnawing his
moustach over this "cOnfoundedly
perplexing letter. Waring had
taken his easel into the woods, and
was preparing his canvas for a final
sketch of his favorite corner Of the
lake. He traced his outlines with
calm, deliberate strokes, though
his blood was boiling with indig.
nant rage, and his thoughts we're
divided between cursiDg himself
for his folly in ever revealing his
secret to any one, and contempt
for the worthless fellow who had
stolen his treasure from him before
his open eyes. Worn out at last
with his Improbable wrath, he fell
to picturing the two as he imagined
them at that moment, riding to.
gether by the river road, careless
and happy in each others compan-
ionship, and a sense of bitter lone.
illness stole over him. lie dropped
his canvas upon the grass and bur-
led his face in his hands. "It is my
fate,r he said. 81 have accepted it
all my life-why not nOw| Yet, as
he sat there pondering with his
eyes upon the ground, again and
again would arise before him a
picture which had grown so famil.
lar to him through these summer
months, of a slender, girlish figure
coming up the path through the
trees, calling to the birds as she
passed, and swinging in her hand
dinner pail which she carried to
her father in the bayfield,.
How purposely he had planned
these little meetings. How often
he had stopped her to ask some
fruitless question, and how like a
lasting sunshine to him had been
her modest smile, or the upward,
questioning glance 'of her deep,
thoughtful eyes a summer dream,
the sweetest he had ever known.
He icOuld not be awakened. He
raised his eyes and strained them
down the path, with longing de-
sire to see again the futter OF a
white dress among the trees. But
no, the waving trees alone cast their
shadows across the narrow moss
grown path. How he longed to
take her little hand in his once
more in friendly greeting. All, if
he held that hand again, could he
ever let it 60? He buried his face
again in his hands and dashed away
too unexpected tears, strange visl-
tors to those cold, gray eyes.
"Mr. Waring," said a timid voice
behind him, while a light hand
touched his shoulder. lie turned
upon her with dazed inquiry. Could
it be the object of his dream or
was it an angel sent from heaven
to comfort him?
Bella looked into his pale face
wonderlngly, and, as ifshe saw the
hunger and longing in his eyes, her
own eyes brimed with tears. He
took her hand instinctlvely in his.
"You are not riding with my cous-
in ~ he asked,
"No," she answered, 81 am not
riding with your cousin"
"YOu do not care for him "
81 care for him? have known
him Just one week, and | do not
like your cousin, Mr.. Waring. But
| was afraid he would not give you
my message as | meant it, and so
| have come to you myself Timid-
ly she repeated her apology, won
derIng when she had finished, at
his strange, absent expression.
"Ah," he said at last, a quiet
smile lighting up his puzzled face.
$50 this explains it all. And you
have come to ask my pardon for
that a! Oh, my darling, it is | who
should have asked forgiveness then
for stealing that sweet face, and now
for daring to ask for the original"
He hesitated, holding both her
hands.
81 forgive you," she faltered, with
downcast eyes, while a playful
smile qpivered upon her lips.
lie took her in his arms and drew
her down upon his knee. "Tbere is
a heaven upon earth for me, after
| oil ba said