The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1890-03-08

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come to their picnic stranger to most
of the party, was introduced to Charlie,
and easily guessed him to be the gentle
man whose ring Miss Mayne was wear
ing. He was a lively, good-hearted,
rattle-headed young fellow, with little
ambition other than to live to his liking
on an inherited fortune, wearing parti-
colored flannel suits, and chasing lawn
tennis balls. Comprehending at a
glance the young mans shallow ma
ture, Melville frequently found himself
wondering how Laura Mayne, a superior
girl, girl with ideas, could find his So
ciety congenial or even tolerable. Fail
ing to solve the p&oblem to his satisfac-
ton, he gave it up; but only to find it
ever recurring to his mind.
Meanwhile the summer days drifted
by. Melville, who had known Laura's
brother at college, was welcome caller
at their house, and the girl, who cared
little for the sports which interested
her .fGnce, walked and talked with the
entertaining, thoughtful stranger, whose
wit, wide experience, easy courtesy, and
good-humored cynicism made him a
charming companion. In converse with
him, they wandered in broader fields of
thought, far above the stratum of small
talk and trivialities in which so many
very respectable people pass their lives.
Indeed, so far removed from the ordi-
nary were the themes of their converse
ton, that, by a tacit understanding,
they usually changed the subject on the
approach of others-came down to the
laughing, frivolous level of the gay
young people summering in the village.
Gradually it began to dawn on Mel
vile that the morning seemed long and
tedious in which he found no oppor-
tunity to chat with Laura. OF course
he could read or write letters, or talk
with other well-informed guests of the
hotel; he could do these things if he
wished to; but the trouble was that he
someway didn't feel like it-found him
self more inclined, in Laura's absence,
to take solitary ride or ramble, in the
course of which his meditations were,
for the most part, about his last or his
next meeting with her. He knew she
was engaged to Charlie. and assumed
that she loved him; and, knowing this,
he would not admit, even in the depth
of his own heart; that he was or would
ever be any thing more than her loyal
friend; while as for her frankly acknowl-
edged friendship ever deepening into
any warmer feeling, he had too little
vanity to give such possibility seri-
Gus second thought
So the month went by, and the cooler
autumn evenings became an unwelcome
reminder that he must soon leave the
village; and with this began to come
sudden pangs, a sense of impending
loss, which somehow robbed the future
of hope and incentive to action. Re-
volving this one evening as he paced to
and fro on the deserted porch of the
hotel, he for the first time looked the
matter squarely in the face. What did
it all mean? All! he could deceive him
self no longer; his FOOLS paradise was at
an end; he must pay for it now with a
long struggle to forget. Yes, he was
in love, though he had been calling it
friendship-had thought that the new
name he gave it made it different
thing.
He loved woman who loved another,
who was to be welded in less than a
month; and, moreover, he had known
all along that such was to be the case.
He must leave her, must go away i'm
mediately; nothing could be more evil
dent; but should he not see her again
once more before he went? All! there
was the rub; and if he saw her, how
should he say: ''Good-bye?"
After long doubt, he resolved that it
would be wiser not to meet her-to be
called away suddenly and write her his
adieus. He could certainly wish her
JOY on paper; his handwriting would
tell no secrets, whatever his face and
voice might show. In this resolution
he next morning met two young ladies
of the village, who had called to invite
him to lawn-party.
You must be sure to come,' they had
said; but, knowing whom he should
meet there, he pleaded, on the spur of
the moment, the necessity of journey
to the near city as possibility which
might prevent his acceptance of their
kind invitation.
Persisting in his determination to
avoid Laura, he did leave town that
afternoon, though not, as he had con-
templated, for the city. In the mood
he was, he wished to be alone with his
thoughts; and to that end boarded lake
steamer, found quiet seat on the upper
deck, and, with unread papers in his lap,
remained in melancholy reverie until
The boat was far on its way. Then,
glancing up, his heart gave quick leap.
Fate, it is fate said he; for Laura
had just passed him, and was now sitting
alone, her elbow on the rail, gazing out
pensively over the bow of the boat.
Uncontrollably drawn, he went for
ward and took seat beside her. you
on this boat? How strange it ISL said
he.
Her surprise equaled his own, but
she gave it no voice. II am going to
Wayland," she replied simply, ito meet
a school-friend who is coming to visit
me-"
After this, little was said, each one
seeming to be occupied with somber
thoughts. Finally, pleading too cool
breeze, she went below, and they did
not meet again until on the return boat.
Laura's friend had not come Fate had