The Londonderry sifter. (South Londonderry, Vt.) 1883-19??, 1890-11-06

stood as though petrifed. Through the
half-ruined arch OF the great gateway
there came, not little Miss Fitzgerald
and the residue Of the company, but
portly traveller, accompanied bya guide,
and who at the sight of the young man
smiled broadly and recognizingly under
his grey beard.
"Hello, Rob! Well met, my boy! And
you, Miss Mignon, tool Come and greet
your guardian, you little rogue, and
don't stand staring there! Yes, took
berth on one of the German lines just
week sooner than l expected. Found
l could get off and here am"
As he talked Mr.. Massey had been
looking from one of the young people to
the other, and the smile had begun to
fade from his face and to give place to
puzzled frown. What was amiss with
Rob Beckwithl He stood there, white,
speeches., with evasive eyes, not the
frank fellow he knew him to be at all.
And Mignon had passed from the dream
ing child as which her guardian remem-
bered her into stately woman whose
glance seemed to wither the young man
to the ground.
"Uncle!" she said slowly, and she
pointed to the suppositious Teutonic no.
bleman. $50 you know who this isl"
500 l know who Rob Beckwith isl I
should hope sol Aud am glad that you
seem to know, too. You've heard OF the
Beckwiths long ago, heaven knows.
They've been my neighbors at home for
years. l had no idea that Rob was
knocking about this part of Europe Just
now, however"
The last word expired abruptly, for
Mignon had turned from them without
sound and vanished through the cool
shadows of the gray aud broken arch
81 don't say that uphold him." cried
Mr.. Massey impatiently. II repeat that
it was knavish piece of deception--only
proving how lost to the laws of what il
honorable and what is not fellow can
become when he has the misfortune to
fall in love with one of you women. But
l do say that Rob meant no harm. It's
true that he loved you before ever you
laid eyes on him. He used to see you
coming to my house at home, and one
day he wrote to me, just before you
came abroad, telling me how he felt
about you. replied that your head
was so turned with nonsensical European
romance that believed he had not the
shadow of chance. So l suppose he
took the matter in his own hands. You
had made up your mind to marry title,
historic name, the scion of an old fam
lily, and he played Claude Melnotte to
the Lady of Lyons. Presumably he
thought if you once learned to love him
for himself you would not mind when
you discovered that he was, after all,
only plain Rob Beckwith -who is pos
sessed of very fair fortune of his own,
by the way"
"You need say nothing more, uncle"
Mignon spoke coldly, collectively, i'm
positively. "You need not excuse Mr..
Beckwith to me. He knows his own of.
tense, and know it. We will leave the
subject"
In silence they descended the stairs
and entered the carriage, where Miss
Fitzgerald already sat. Another carriage
behind carried their luggage. They
were going, Mignon had said, always
with the same strange calmness, that she
did not care where, only they must go.
Rob Beckwith's repeated prayers for an
interview, hearing, she had absolutely
disregarded.
81 have nothing to say, nor has he"
had been her one remark.
Down the town street they now rat
tied at brisk pace. Mignon had her
white, set face turned away, speaking no
word. Near the railroad station another
street crosses the one on which they were
driving, and a momentary confusion of
hurrying CARTS carriages and drays oc.
CURED. Still wrapped in her icy alb.
sorption, Mignon heard a sudden shrek
that pierced the air. Miss Fitzgerald
sat bolt upright with paid face, Mr..
Massey sprang out just as their own car.
rage halted, and then Mignon saw Rob
Beckwith's tense visage in the crowd,
saw him throw himself forward.
1t was like dream to the girl. Slowly
, the truth came to her benumbed percep-
J tions. A child--a pitiful little street
waif-had fallen under the horse's hoofs,
and Rob Beckwith, in the desperate at
tempt to save the child, had been dashed
! senseless to the ground.
: They raised him softly and bore him
| to the nearest house. Then Mr.. Massey
turned upon the girl face as white as
that inanimate one, but thrilled by q
strange passion Of scorn.
"Talk to me of your romantic dreams,
grill These are the true knights. this
t the heroism, the nobility that count men
among the great ones of the earth"
X
1t was long and slow battle, but Rof
= Beckwith pulled through. A week OF
: two of convalesceuce there was for hin
after the wasting fever and then he SAID
to his old friend:
! 81 must go home so soon as l can,
Mr.. Massey. You understand that / car
: never meet your ward again. 1t would
be miserable embarrassment. wisI
i to save myself and her. How much re
greet my most abominable folly no word:
can say. She can never forgive me, o.
course. Once | thought she loved me
, But that, naturally, must have passed
now. see, at present, how fallaciou:
was any hope l could ever have had tc
the contrary. Yes, must go at once
To this there was no reply. Wher
the young man looked up he saw thai
Mr.. Massey had left the room. But il
his place stood Mignon, with light il
her eyes such as had shone there when h,
kissed her lips under the shadows of tn,
ruined castle wall.
"Mignonl" he whispered, overcome
by awe, by the presence of hope toe
rapturous for belief.
"a l.