Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1889-05-05

knov INV fate. / do not forget the great
difference between us. You, the petted
child of fortune and heiress to thou
sands: only a poor, struggling coun-
trv practitioner-heir to only so much
az by wears Of hard toll shall DO able TO
earn. But, the peasant may love ss well
as the prince--even though a princess
be the object OF his affections. Oh,
Eleanor. If Won can give me only a very
small part OF the love which L give you
| shall be satisfied"
Thus Robert plead his cause, and as
he talked on love loaned eloquence to
his words. He forgot the dark fore
bodings that had oppressed him only o
short while before, and the future was
brightly illumined by the twin stars
love and hope.
Eleanor did not ATTEMPT to speak or to
free her hands from his clasp. In the
secret of her heart, although she would
scarcelv acknowledge il to herself, she
had long wished for this moment, and
now as she listened TO the sweet music
of his words telling her Of his love a
sense of perfect happiness stole over her,
and she forgot the conversation OF few
moments before and it's pain IN her new
found ioy. Her breathing came quick
and fast. the color heightened on her
cheek. and her head dropped low on her
bosom.
Conyers noticed all this, and felt that
he had not plead his cause IN VAIN. lie
caught her in his arms, and would have
pressed her to his bosom, but she re-
pulsed him.
lyon surely forget yourself" she
said. freeing herself from his embrace.
and facing him with the air of an out
ragged queen.
A great change has come over her.
The color has heightened on her cheek,
and there is angry scorn in her eyes.
How dare you speak to me IN this
manner after your conversation OF few
moments ago. After telling me that you
mean to espouse the cause of treason
should You ever have the opportunity
YOU end by asking me to be your wife,
as if | could or would marry the up
holder of treason, traitor. There may
be no war, but | could never bear to
think that my husband was loyal only
because he had never had an opportu-
nifty of being otherwise. "
When Eleanor ceased speaking her
eyes were flashing and her bosom
heaving, rs though a personal insult had
been offered her.
As for Conyers, he stood as one turned
to stone, his hands tightly clasped be-
fore him, and look of wounded pride
in the blue eyes that was almost stern
ness. For a moment he did not speak,
and when he did it was in hoarse, sad
voice.
1.-THE motives that you give for re-
iecting my love are unworthy OF you,
Eleanor" he said. 81 did not think
you would ever speak to me thus, and
there was tinge of pain in his voice.
81 even fancied this evening"" he con-
tinued, that you loved rae, but | now
see how foolish | was to harbor for al
instant such a thought. But 1 will weary
YOU with this conversation no longer
| Let us return TO the house. But before
doing 80, Eleanor, let me remind you
that will always love you, even though
nv love is not returned. And should /,
in needing the call of duty ever give my
life for my principles, my last thought
nv last prayer, will be OF and for you
whom / have loved 50 long and 80 well,
| though in vain. Not in vain, though, fol
"iTis better 10 have loved and lost
Than never 10 have loved a. all"
In silence they returned to the house
At the door Eleanor paused. and turn
ing suddenly TO her companion said O!
she lifted her blue eyes TO his:
"Robert, please don't be angry Will
me. have spoken too harshly | know
but I did not wish to offend you.
have done so, bat won't you forgive
me?"
For an instant the stormy eyes gazec
down into those raised so beseechingy
to his, in which
"Tesrs are trembling
Like drops that linger on tho violet"
and they lost their angry CLEAN in lool
of warming tenderness as be said:
Il could not be angry with you il
wished, Eleanor. You have dispelleC
one OF my brightest Greams-I Cal
scarcely call it a hope-thrown pal
OF gloom and sadness over my future
but am not angry. [ promised you
brother long ago that would always be
a friend, n brother, to you, and l vii
keep my promise.
After the family had retired that nigh
Robert remembered that he had left hi
saddle-bags on tho lawn where he ha1
set them when he started to walk will
Eleanor, and went to fetch them to tn
house.
1t WAS beautiful autumn night. Al
nature seemed stilled and hushed, saw
the river, which murmured and moane'
as it flowed gently by. The star
shone brightly in perfectly clear sky
and the crisp, chilly air was fast trans
forming the heavy dew into hoar frost
Conyers was struck by the beauty O
the highland resolved to stay out shor
while longer. So. returning. he left hi
saddle-bags on the veranda and bega
pacing up and down the gravelled walk
When Eleanor retired TO her room he
heart was two heavy and her brain TO
busy to allow her to sleep, so wrappin
| a uthNN SIN ~ hiOuuh hNA1 PNO viz
open the window and seated herself O
the sill to do that which we so seldor
do-which none OF us do often enough
think.
As her thoughts REQUIRED to the col
versation OF the evening, only n fe'
hours before, and she recalled the harsh
cruel words she had spoken to Robel
then, and OF his sad yet manly bearing
a great wave of tenderness came oyt
her for him. Not that she at all regre
ted having rejected his proposal, for sll
did not. Such was her adherence OF tn
opinions which he held that it oyerba
anced her love or blinded her reason, {
both. But she was sorry for havin
spoken so harshIy to him. She thouel
OF how sad and lonely he must be OF
there in the darkness. She thought Z
him as being, as he had so often sai'
the last of his name, and OF how dal
and drear the future must be Tor hi
now. SO greatly did she pity him Tia
at last she resolved to at least speak
him. which would perhaps cheer him
little. Softly the ore word tloated OF
on the still, night air.