The Sunday morning news. [volume] (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1886-1891, 1890-08-10

lt4tGs
/ Not too late surely to remember thi
night ton years ago.
Ee Teined in his horse sharply. aWha-
doyou1nean?v who are your heexclailned
eagerly peeri1lg forward to look closer
her
A dark shawl completely muffled tn
wonian's head, her face was in deepes
shadow, he coald see nothing but hei
hand, D small brown hand wasted an
claw like, which had clutched at Ii
horses rein.
There was q soft lnocking laugh, some
thing which reminded him family G
that weird sound which had startled him
few minutes ago, and which by this
time he had fully persuaded himself had
been nothing but the boot Of the owl.
Ali, you had better let me tell you
/ your fortune, my handsome gentleman
can tell you some pretty things. There
IS beautiful lady up on the hill"
/ aariing tossed her a shillin~ r.
| caught Ii dexrerousLy, ANA uatSal wtulA
jerk Of her wrist sent It spinning up into
the air and away over the hedge, where
it fell like a glittering star into the dark
ness of the hop garden.
The strangeness of this action seemed
remarkable. But that a gypsy should
ask for money only in order to throw it
away was an inconccivable thing.
s.yVell, he said encouragingly, Il viii
listen to You If you viii be quick, but
cannot wait long. What about this beau
tiful LADY,"
| eAh, the beautiful lady that lives up
ycnder,p she said, pointing back to the
dark hillside from which he had come
yes, she loves you, and you have prom
ised to wed her; but you don't love her,
sir; no, you don't love her.
"What do you mean9
..Ah, l dare say you think you do, but
you don't. You have not forgotten the
past. Can man who has once loved
dark eyes and southern blood love one
who has pale cold face and nothing but
milk and water in her veins? Your heart
is in coffin, coffin by which you wept
long ago; but no coffin and no grave can
hold back her soul from yours. She viii
haunt you on your marriage day; when
You stand before the altar with your fair,
pale bride, she will come between you,
her eyes will look into yours, her voice
viii ring IN your ears, her lips will an
swer to yours instead of the Others and
every echo in the earth and air will call
aloud to you with the changing of your
wedding bells, 'Myra, Myra, Myrap
woman, spirit, devil! who are you
that speak to me Of Myra" he cried,
wildly clutching at her arm, but she
only laughed with that soft, knocking
laugh Of hers and eluded his grasp. run
ming away before him swiftly down the
road He cantered after her, catching
her up more than once and calling out
to her, '.stopi stop What do you know
about Myras Why do you threaten me
with her name? Stop, tell youl"
But she ran on all the faster, and
presently, springing lightly to one side.
disappeared through gap in the hedge
into the hop garden beyond, where the
thick clustering boughs seemed to en-
gulf her at once into an ocean of yerdure.
For some minutes he rode backwards
and forwards at the spot where she had
vanished, calling out to her to come back,
to tell him more, to explain her meaning,
but there was no voice nor answer, nor
even the faintest rustic of her departing
footsteps.
In the end he gave it up as hopeless,
and went on along his homeward road
with troubled face and mind full of
gloom and perplexity.
Only long after she had disappeared
did it occur to him to remember that
although he had at first taken her for an
old woman, yet she had fed from him
with the heetness of an antelope, and that
although she had offered to reveal to him
his future she had nevertheless done
little more save to remind him Of his
past.
Full of a narrowing anxiety concern
ing he hardly knew what, Bernard Hard
ing reached at length the cross road that
led by short quarter Of mile to his
own gate. A sign post cleaning white
in the moonlight pointed finger either
way. On one it was written, ITO Stan
ton hail." on the other, ITO Stanton vii
lage" For moment or two he hest
| tated, then turning his back upon his
own house he trotted sharply down the
lane to the village.
The church tower lay dark and so-aber
in the hollow, but from the vicarage
windows hard by the lights within
| streaned out from the uncurtained win
dows.
Bernard got off his horse, tied him up
to the gate and walked quickly up to the
door.
1t was many years since he had crossed
the threshold of the vicarage Many
years since he and Arnold Grey had
stood face to face alone together; yet so
in earnest was he concerning that which
he had to say that almost he forgot how
strange his intrusion must seem to the
man he had come to visit.
A tall, thin man rose at his entrance
from the further side of the table; the
lamplight fell upon his pale, stern face
and upon the smooth, wide brow from
which the dark hair had worn away,
and the grave brown eyes lifted them
selves with strange questioning sur
prise upon the visitor.
"Harding!n
Yes, Arnold, it is I. Forgive me for
coming here, for disturbing yon at such
an hour; but want your help
The vicar held ont his thin white hand
IF You are in need of me, Bernard,
you are welcome"
It was ten years or more since their