Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-03-28
MISS, CLARE.
By MARIA l. POOL.

lie looked at me ScrutlnlZlnSly, DuL He did not ask me any questions, as seemed natural. He resumed his polite air and said:
 "Unfortunately, can give you no in- formation.
 lin that case, will not intrude longer" responded, rising.
 At the door he said, with a peculiar laugh:
 We 60 not learn much, do we. Mr. Perron?'
 Ut appears so," I replied, and went down the steps. 1 no longer wondered that Miss Clare had left her uncle's house.
 One day, about six months after my return, I was standing by the window in book store on Washington street. l turned the leaves of book. but 1 was looking out on to the street. Suddenly drew back, for Mir. Clare was passing and on hisarm leaned Gilroy-emaciated, haggard, but still graceful, striking as ever. He walked slowly and evidently with some difficulty. shivered; it seemed to me that felt 6 cold wind like that which the legend tells announces the coming of the dreadful Luminous Shadow. 1 went back to my lodgings in an unnaturally depressed mood Not once since Miss Clare had gone had felt more miserably desponding. 1 attributed it in part to the temperature It was q cay in the latter part of August-almost at sunset \ white film was over the sky. the sun was red ball that hung like an evil eye in the horizon.
 1 did not take the horse carl pre- fcrred walking over the bridge, for hoped to get breath of salt sea air had lived for few weeks in Charlestown, in quiet street, whence could see the mouth of Mystic river and a glimpse of the bay. Preached the door of my lodg- ings, loitered there a moment, then sauntered on. l thought it would be more hot and stiiled in my room than it was under the sky.
 l walked slowly to the end of the street, down to the water. There was not the faintest scent of saltness in the air-no more than if had stood by the shores of an inland lake. It was a dead calm. The water lay almost black, tinged with a faint dark purple, the gift of the sun, which had just disappeared I listened for the ripple of the sea among tho stones. It was low tide-I heard nothing; the ripples were asleep, or per haps dead.
 A few Irish children sat flat on the sand, with their feet in the water. They did not talk loudly; the atmosphere was such as subdued even their garrulity. Far off. low down in the northern sky, there were flashes of pale lightning, but
 
 that reigned now-more awful, more op- pressive than the crashes of tempest.
 It seemed to me that I breathed with difficulty; the pulses of my heart were weakened; this great, brooding stiffness was suifocating 1 stretched out my hands toward the silent sea. implored it for one breath of it's saltness. It gave mo nothing save a sense of infinite weariness-almost of stagna;ion.
 Unable to endure this longer, turned and walked back. l had reached the house next to the one where 1 lived, sep arated from it by a little garden. Ks l passed slowly along I inhaled the per fume of heliotropc. Quickly, with memory acute and painful. glanced at the window I was passing It was open, and on it's ledge stood a pot of heliotropc. My heart no longer beat languidly-it bounded At that moment thought 1 recognized the plan. Ii was larger, it had grown, but it appeared ia miliar to me.
 Had l reasoned upon that belief should have laughed at myself, but did not reason; 1 felt inspired
 l mounted the steps of that house and rang the bell, and with the fragrance still floating about me asked if Miss Clare was in?"
 l knew that had but to apologize if she was not there.
 The servant did not hesitate. She re- piled:
 "Ycs, sir; come in." She opened the door, and saying, Miss Clare, a gentle man to see you," she closed the door and left mo alone with 8 lady who sat near where I stood.
 That lady was Viviane Clare.
 Her face was paler, her eyes were larger, her hands were thinner. I saw that while the servant announced me; 1 saw it with a pang of sorrow for her suffering.
 I watched the expressions chase each other over her face of surprise that any one should come to see her-of frightened inquiry of relief unutter- able
 The hand I took was cold, but not colder than mine Though I watched her so closely it did not seem to me that was self possessed in the least It was all could do to bring my rebelling frame into subiection.
 looked into her eyes. How famished, starved l had been for the glances of those eyes! How had I lived when could not see them? I wondered at that more than ever. now that I saw them again.
 l thought first of relieving any anxiety she might feel about Gilroy. said:
 "Mr. Gilroy is nearly we'll"
 "Yes, know it." with sigh of thank fulness.
 "How long have you been here?" I asked.
 ''Ever since I came from R." mention ing the place where we had stopped.
 "You came directly to Boston?' in quired incredulously.
 "Yes; directly" A momentary silence.