The Bottineau pioneer. (Bottineau, N.D.) 1885-1895, 1888-02-16

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Irene like q stab."or, u ii, i fear
he is falling into the VIZ OF amusing
and a~bstracting hipksslf as he may,
and takes far atQS much wine for his
safety. Don't make me any reply.
my dear. BnEwhen You go intovou
roomthtnk Of itcalmly, judicially, with
an eye to Geryais's best good, as
have, and / am sure you a come
but to one decision. Iwouid not see
him again. / would return his letters,
his hifling gifts, and put an end to
the whole vexatious business at once.
Now, if you will open the Sign 81 the
Lyre'-where were you? That Story
iron q Dictionary wasn't it?"
AS the king said, so it was done.
I was toying with my pencils a day
or two afterward, when Mrs. Adriance
came up and rung presently for Irene,
who brought in her hand a book con-
tanning some fanciful arabesque de-
signs which Mrs. Adriance wished me
to see; the book, 1.-THE Thousand and
One Nights"
Mrs. Adriance threw herself back in.
to the depths OF the wicker chair, I'm
winding the scarf and lace she had on
her head. "Now lam your sitter.
SIT" said She. land, Irene, read me
something, anything, SO that I shall
notTgo to Slept want some vivacitys
in the pictured" And Irene opened the
book at random. and with a falter-4
ing voice began reading the tale OF the
prince whose beautiful wife leaves him
at night, and whom he discovers to
be g vampire at her horrid feast.
What did you understand a YAM
pire to be, before this reading?',f zsT
asked at it's conclusion.
bat ofsome sort" said Mrs. Ad.
rance, hesitatingly-
II never quite knew. I associate the
idea with that Of the ghoul who de-
voursat the deadR,,s2 gsfI ds
"But it is revoltinelp', 4ts .,s<sss3
II see now, however, that it is one
OF the dead who obtains what passes
for life by absorbing the life 81. The liv.
ing. U.s. ~ r&%d sZf3 33+Sst4iA&W
tsYou make me shudder,n cried Mrs.
Adriance. fs sss fyggs s@.sa
Didn't the .story?"
"Too unreal, after ALL" a
cit all resolves itself into the ques-
ton OF what it is to, live, and what it
is.tog be dead. To I~ive--is to be senti-
ent OF all other life, to feel the emo
tions and sensations Of all other be.
ings, stosbe aware, through every pore
and at every pulse of the life of 9th
ers-" -
4 How few i've" said Irene, looking
up with her sad eyes. '@." | 10 "a
sFThatis very pretty poetry" said
Mrs. Adriance. a9"But poetry. And
about the dead?"q aat.g@y sse Ne
eve will have no dealings with the
dead" said. "But The vampire-the
ghoui-we meet her any day" And I
went on with my painting.
That night after Mrs. Adriance had
gone out, radiant in her claret velvets
and diamonds, Irene came softly down
the stars. her face white az the little
ivory chest she carried. the shrine no
doubt that held her love letters and
her keepsakes. 1t was Gervais who
waited for her in the above off the
drawing-room where the lights were
low. / went out for a stroll in the
frosty air '7'' myself. Perhaps
I did not. stay long enough;
tor, letting myself in again
IL UiiO COuISt vi au uOur, i
heard q broken cry, I saw a passion
ate embrace and Gervias dashed
headlong by me, and Irene fell faint
ing-to the loor-if ! had not caught
her in season. ~
1t was a tear-sodden face that
1relre brought to the table next morn
ing, where by her aunt she was pro-
nounced to have q decided influenza.
But at dinner she was unable to be
present at all, and for several days
thereafter she failed to appear
ut is quite, the best so,"' said Mrs.
Adriance. "Once over an affair Of
that sort the nerve is dead and done
WITH And then it is for the chiid's.
lasting good. Yet it is Incompetent
sible-and with such taste as hers in
everything else-that yellow hair Of
his always looked so crude-for my
W part 4 could never: endure this
Gervais very near me. And he was
inefflbly wearisome." i.
a !, suspended my work for some
weeks at this time in order that
Mrs. Adriance might accompany. her
husband on a southern journey, and
] didanot return to the house during
that time-being occupied, / may IS
well say, with the care OF Gervais, who
wild with grief and rage and longing
and despair needed such care as be-
longs ito a hayward child his face
:ghastly, his health shattered, his rea-s
son unsettled, and his heart broken.
1T is OF no use,"s he cried. eaThere
is nothing for me to do about'it. She
herself gave the coup de grace. She
saidit had been an idle fancy; she
said she wished for her freedom. She
has cared nothing for me. she
has triled with me, she has played
upon me, and She has driven me mad!,'
did the ~bestaIecould in the way 81
comfort-it was nothing. II one had
gone to the house and kidnapped
Irene and brought her to him and laid
her III his arms, is would have been
nothing. She'had herself put out the
light. And otherwise Irene would not
have come. She had understood that
she WAS sacrificing herself; and she had
sacrificed both herself and Gervais.
When nextI went to the Adriance
mansion. Mrs. Adriance, lying back
among the cushions Of her purple vel
vet chair, superb in gold-colored gaus-
es and great scarlet poppies. seemed
to me the most magnificent thing in
flesh and blood that I had ever seen.
HoW.riehWas the onsrhe, olive
OF her cheek, how snmptuous thecrim-
son lips, how ike Soft fire in mid
night beams the lustre Of those black
fringed eyesL The masses of her
black hair glittered with their own re-
hections like the spikes OF a silver