Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-10-22

CI uSr EeHIle NOlCS 4QaU ufSG interview and the drive in Mrs. Westervliet's barouche that followed, sufficed to drive away the shy ness and timidity of the young girl: and by the time that they had gone through two set of the Lancers (then at the height of its pop ularity) at the Fillmore hop, and had whirled through 0 galop to the delicious strains ot the "Poliuto Galop," Florence was chatting as merrily to her neE acquaintance as though they were old friends Mir Hurst was wealthy southern planter, and his pretty young daughter was his only child. This trip to Newport was her first experience of society, and she was charmed and de lighted by the new world thus unfolded to her gaze, while Harry Danvers was only toe happy to act as her guide among the varying scenes of that unknown region. Mrs West ervliet offered to act as Florence's chaperone and MT. Hurst, ever more inclined for rub Der at whist or q discussion with some lead. ing politician than to such novel and uncon- genial scenes as hops and fetes, willingly re. signed her to the guardianship of his cid friend, the scheming New York matron
 What need is there to tell the story of those summer days at Newport as they fled past, wearing for Florence Hurst and Harry Dan. vers their gayest guise, and gliding away on their brightest and most noiseless pinionsi They were young, they loved each other, and they were happy. Is not the whole history told in those brief wordsi An, life is lovely to the youngl We are like poor moths shared in some subtle spiders web, and knowing naught of the monster that waits to make us his prey. How gently the summer breezes sigh around us; how bright is the sun, how sweet the flowers; how soft is the silken cord that holds us suspended in its shining coils! But some day the grim spider, whose name is Pain, or Care, or Sorrow, rushes forth and seiZes upon us, and it is only then, while the poisoned fangs are in our hearts and our life blood is ebbing drop by drop away, that we learn the true secret of our existence and the meaning of the silvery threads that wrap us round-threads that we may not break, and that only chain us that we may suffer and endure without the Dossi- bility of escape.
 But glad and minimizing as youthful lovers ever are, Florence Hurst and Harry Danvers trod' gayly along the fowery paths of these sunny days, nor asked themselves whither they were wandering, nor how soon this bright existence would end. And yet the sweet secret of their mutual attachment was unwhispered and unrevealed, but they were constantly together, and the consciousness of mutual affection lent charm to their in- tercourse and an added brightness to every pleasure and fete And Newport was then. as now, the very paradise of summer Joys The drives were delightful, though the beau tlful Sea road as yet was not, and Cod dington Point was a terra incognita for dainty vehicles and prancing steeds. There were hops and fetes and balls, and one night there were tableaux vivants at the Bellevue -tableaux wherein Florence figured as Q guardian angel, and afterward came shyiy down in her white robes divested of their glittering wings, to sit between Mrs Wester- vliet and Harry, and to admire the remain ing scenes.
 "Mr. Danvers," she whispered softly, as a or rather caricature of Ary Scheffer's well known painting, was disclosed.
 "What is it, Miss Florenoe2"
 "Was not Beatrice disembodied spirit when Dante met herl"
 "Yes, believe she was"
 'Do you think that the angels wore hoops ill heaven in thoseslaysa' And her mirthful glance directed Harry to observe the dis tended garments of the poets seraphio love. the widespread folds of which betrayed too clearly the sustaining influence of duplex elliptic
 A few evenings later, splendid ball was given by the owner of one of the elegant villas which, though then few and far be
 
 supremacy in gayety and fashion with the large hotels. It was cool, clear evening; September had come to lend freshness and sparkle to the days and chilling bree9es to the nights; but unheeding the latter, Harry Danvers and Florence Hurst wandered be- meath the trees in the spacious grounds, and exchanged ill whispers their tender conf1- dences and all the sweet secrets of their mutual love. That night Harry had avowed his love, and Florence had listened with dropping head and blushing cheek, and such faint, murmured words as are dearer to the hearts of lovers than all the eloguence of a Webster Everett.
 They had been strolling slowly to and fro, bent on their mutual avowaIs and revela- tions, for some time The lighted windows of the house glowed invitingly; the strains of Heimsmuller's ochestra playing "Marianita" and the "Poliuto" galops (who plays them more, wonder0 foated on the breeze: and gay groups fitted about the shrubbery or posed in graceful attitudes on the plaza; but they needed none of these. Sometimes, too. merry pair would pass them with a whis- pered comment oil 'that desperate fi<ta- tion," but the laughing eyes were unseen by them, and the whispers were unheard. At last a sharper breeze than usual swept over them, and Florence shivered slightly,
 "You are cold, dearest" said Harry ten derly, as he paused to draw the cashmere opera cloak closer around the slender form beside him. 1T must not risk the loss of my treasure now that I have just won it."
 ''Ah, Harry, all this time we have never thought of my father"
 "Your father-what of him, dear onef'
 ''He may refuse his consent-he may ob- ject. l know he has formed a plan for my marriage"
 ''He cannot object; he cannot fail to con- sent" And Harry, secure in the conscious ness of good birth, good character, and @ modest estate, smiled securely,
 s'If he should"-
 "What then, dearestl"
 1T think l should die"
 The answer came, low and thrilling in its intense earnestness, and Harry, too much moved to speak, could only press the delicate arm within his own close against his heart.
 ''We will not think of such a contingency" he said at last ::Let us be happy, dear one, nor take trouble'-
 A cry from Florence interrupted him.
 "Look-lookl' she cried, 'slook at the heavensl What can that strange light be3n
 Harry looked up and around him. They had emerged from the shadow of the trees