Indian chieftain. [volume] (Vinita, Indian Territory [Okla.]) 1882-1902, 1886-02-11


but to-day's in-gathering I meant to
keep ell to myself
AZ 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 Il
had brought ms; but tonight, when he
was gone, then would tell Aunt Mar
garet that was to be his wife. said
the word In a little flutter as we stood
there together, for already he had been
asking me how long l meant 10 keep
his own from him. As / said u,
glanced up shyly at him, and il would
have discomfited me 10 see how his
face changed, paling at that word, II
his hand had not closed on mine with
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; 81 have 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 1t you nowP Or can
you trust me that IL 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 Il 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 go away
TO his bachelors hall. when IL 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 Lcthe's able admin
istration. So we two were standing
together in the bay-window, watching
the crimson glow fade of from the
wide snow stretch of lawn that slOped
down to the lane, dotted here and there
with black-grcen pyramid Of fir, be-
tween the naked oaks, when presently
] caught sight Of something moving
across their shadows flung stiff and
dark against the white.
"Some one is coming" said, break
ing the happy siler1e "A lady,
thought thou wonder who it could
be, walking"
"What boreW
"Oh, she'll not be shown in here,
and unless you feel disposed TO go TO
Aunt Margarct's assistance"
Here | saw the side door of the IL
brary opening from lie lawn. The
visitor must have observed MS at the
window; some one on sufficiently un-
ceremorious terms.
IL was q stranger.
She had closed the door behind her,
and had come forward into the full
glow Of the Chris tmas wood fire blaz-
ing on the hearth. A stranger, GER
tainly; il had ever seen her before, |
should never have forgotten her.
She was standing on the hearth, and
drew her slender gloyed hands out Of
the folds Of her cashmere shawl, hold
ing them to the warmth, before she
turned 80 us the fairest face have ever
seen-the fairest face one ever dreamed.
Only that would have been u strange,
Fouque-like dream in which such q Vis-
ion should come.
1t could not have been after-kmowl-
edge on my part, for before she spoke,
while she still fronted us with that gay
smile upon her perfect lips, thought
Of Undine in her soulless loveliness,
light-hearted, glad, careless Of others
pain because she could not feel it,
There is the Undine nature in a child,
too, for whom there exists no pain that
does not bruisc its own tender flesh,
and that soft hardness made itself felt
in every line and curve about this wom-
an, as she stood there, white and gold
en-. looking at us out Of those great
brilliant eyes, Of which l have read
somewhere:
Alive N their depths, a. the kraken beneath
the sea blue =
eyes which would fain have followed,
for they fixed themselves on Brian.
Only could not, that face so held me.
''They told me at your house that
you were here, perhaps; that you were
often here; aud so came" she said,
still looking at Brian.
/ turned and looked at him too then;
the clear. soft, shallow, child voice
broke the spell.
But he never saw me. His eyes were
riveted on her-just as a man might
look who sees a ghost.
And then she smiled. She had been
beautiful before, but now her beauty
was bewildering. She stretched out
her hands to him.
" Have you never a word of well
come, Brian, for your wife?'
lie drew a long, hard breath, and
passed his hand heavily over his eyes.
He never once glanced my way, though
felt he saw me all the while. He an
swered her slowly:
How is il you are not dead, Louise?
For nearly seven years you have al
lowed me 10 believe you were.
She laughed a mocking little laugh.
Though she did not turn toward me. l
knew she had flashed a glance AZ me.
I" Have you been a discOnsolate
widower all that time, my poor BrianP
II was very wicked Of me, of course.
But then, you see, always hated pow
erty; and you were so very impecuni-
Gus at that time. / really thought it
better TO die of your hands"
Here she turned suddenly TO me with
a sweet graeiousness Of manner, while
her eyes, alive with mOcking spirits,
looked me thrOuoh and through