The Washington critic., 1888-03-03


vision of beauty. Arrived on the
summit they grouped themselves
near the great fagstaff, erected there
on the day in which the famous
author had visited the ledge, when
he was then and there surprised and
touched by the unexpected proposal
that thenceforth the cliff should
bear his name, and by the
acclaim which greeted it. They
looked down on the fair maple
shaped town below-on the yet fairer
Glen Dyberry, city of the dead and of
peace. And this, as Wentworth had
foreseen, was but the beginning Of
excursions and picnics, on the lower
cliff, to Indian Orchard, to White
Mills and beyond, over the lovliest
and loneliest of woodland drives, to
the quiet, old town of Bethany, high
upon the hills, rejoicing still in having
been once the county seat and the
birthplace or early home of so many
who have since taken high places in
the councils of their native State
There were trips over the wonderful
gravity roads to all the near towns,
and to almost every beautiful grove
easily accessible from the foot of one
or another of its planes. Every
where Wentworth found himself Miss
Vinton's cavalier, or at any rate
thrown into her constant companion
ship. More than once, in the init
mate home converse of these en-
chanted days, he had heard Marion
question her of Paul Randolph's
health, and had heard herquiet replies.
There was no flushing or paling of the
cheek, no tremor in the voice, to hint
how intense or deep her feeling might
be. And why should he watch for
such, and care for its presence or alb
sence, he questioned with himself
angrily and bitterly enough. He was
forced to acknowledge, with an over
whelming sense of defeat, that sh"
had unconsciously throned herself id
his heart. There was but one COM
fort. June would soon be gone,
Marion's wedding over and she and
her husband far away. There would
be nothing then to bring Miss Ninton
into his path again, and he should
conquer in silence this love which had
no right to be cherished.
There were but two or three DAYS
remaining before the one set for Mars
den and Marion's marriage. "The
best excursion of all )" as Marion said,
had been reserved until the last
Ethel must see Shepherd s Crook, the
majestic scene "whose beauty would
be famous if it were in any part Of
Europe" The morning chosen
ushered in one of Lowell's "perfect
days" The party was one that in
sured delight in the days companion
ship. The tiny car flew up one long
plane after another, and down steep
grades and around sharp curves, Civ
ing to every one in it the sense Of
wings, while vista upon vista of love-
illness opened before them. At the
Crook they left it to speed upon
its way while they stood awhile
to enjoy the grandeur of the
scenery, the great gorge-a sea of
hemlock and maple boughs, crowded
together, hundreds of feet below-to
their right the mountain side lifting
itself still higher above them, dark
with primeval forests. Then they
retraced their steps from this mar
velous point of view to the winding
grassy path that led up the mountain,
to where, in the heart of deep groves,
singing torrent took the quick pre-
cipitous spring that was to land it
again in its pebbly bed three hundred
feet below.
After their sylvan dinner the party
separated. Wentworth and Ethel
started, as she gaily avowed, TO take
their last long walk together. We
shall be scattered widely in a few
days, and delightful experiences do
not repeat themselves. People should
always beware of revisiting a scene
where they have spent one OF the red
letter days of their lives' But, mu-
sically as her laugh was flung back as
they disappeared, the twain grew
quiet and serious enough directly they
found themselves quite alone. The
long walk" proved very short one,
coming to an end where Ethel
seated herself on the trunk of
a fallen hemlock in tiny glade
looking out across the wide
ravine, and Wentworth flung him
self on the grass near by. Was it the
spirit of the place, OF the sense of
coming irrevocable separation that
stilled them both ? Not q word was
spoken between them. Wentworth
bore with the silence and the throng
of quick-coming thoughts until he
could endure it no longer. He sprang
to his feet as if to go, and in doing SO
surprised his companion silently
weeping. Startled out of all self
possession at being so discovered,
Ethel turned suddenly to where a
great gnarled tree hung over a pre-
cipitous descent. The earth under
her feet gave way, she flung out her
hands toward low-hanging bough
to save herself, felt herself suddenly
drawn back, and sank into uncon-
sciousness with what seemed a great
cry of "My darling my darling |"
surging upon her fainting brain. She
came back to life with Wentworth's
kisses upon eyes and brow, and raised
herself with Ia face as crimson as it
had been pale moment before. She
turned from him, but would have
fallen again if he had not supported
her to seat in the bougbs Of the
fallen hemlock. Their eyes met for
q moment as she sank upon it, and
Wentworth knew that he did not
love, nor suffer, alone. He walked
apart little space, but presently came
back to her. "Let me speakr he
said hoarsely, vainly striving to steady
his voice. In that moment she was
the stronger. "No! you must not"
she answered. II know what you
would say. 1t is not our fault, per-
haps. But Paul is In no state to bear
my failing him, nor could we be
happy if ! did. He and | were be-
trothed when almost children, and |
didenot know until these last few
weeks that my heart had room for
any stronger affection than the quiet
one bear for him."
'But is it duty" he began; then
suddenly broke off. eyes, you are
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