Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-07-12


| When I pulled aside the blind just before
getting into bed and lookedIout into the misty
night hepatch of light ffom Mrs. Euthven's
window still lay across the lawn and the gravel
path. When IL ceased to shine--or, IL ct all,
before the day dawn put it out with its own
| clearer radiance-I know not, for fell into a
deep and dreamless sleep.
| CHAPTER IL
| Country people are very apt to suppose that
neither spring nor summer is of much account
| in London. There could not be greater mis-
take. Why. the flower vendors carts are
spring in themselves and rival any massed,
bedded-out blossoms in any gentleman's
garden, however we'll tended Like gorgeously
colored butterflies awakened from their winter
sleep they glide about the streets nodding
| their plumed heads and dazzling blossoms In
| the balmy breeze.
| Oh yes! it is balmy enough, even in the Cres-
cent, and as to the row of young linden trees
| that stand each in Q little sentry box OF its
| they put on their spring dress OF tender green,
With tiny tufts by way Of tassels, just as jaunt-
| lily rs your country trees every bit
There are other changes, too, that mark the
springtime for Sister Janet and myself We
| take out the velvet Innings Of our Leghorn bon
nets, remove the bows to match upon the
crowns and substitute silk or satin instead.
Once these changes are made We always feel
that the winter is past, and any little renewal
Of sleet or frost is sort OF accident. The mari
Colds keep pace with us and begin to put forth
tiny round, hard buttons here and there among
their fluffy leaves to show that orange-colored
flowers are on the way; while the tawny WALL
flowers follow suit.
In the year of which l am writing We had
| what is called an .'early spring." By notes in
our respective diaries for the former years we
found that fully fortnight if not more, diff
ference lay between the changing of our bon
net trimmings in the two consecutive years.
| / had Just remarked upon this fact and
Janet had retorted that certainly the biting
east wind of that particular afternoon made our
proceedings seem rather ironical. The kettle
was singing on the hob; the light was fading.
1t had CHANGED to be an off, afternoon Of
mine, and we had busy time Of it stitching
and unpicking.
| 1.-THE winter is past and gone and the flow
ers come again upon the earth" said 1, with
| glance at the two bonnets that now reposed
upon side table, not in the least applying the
! text in question to them. but still feeling that
| they made a very tolersble show.
| YES" said Sister Janet, giving the kettle q
touch, since it seemed rather inclined to tilt
| upon its nose, 1.-The years run by very quickly
in quiet lives like ours. I suppose each one is
so like the others that it is hard to distinguish
| them"
This has seemed somehow different" I
| hazarded, certain shy feeling coming over
| me as 1 spoke.
4
here nearly a year now" and she waved her
knitting pin toward Mrs. Ruthven's side of the
Crescent
Eight months and fortnight" I put in
[ lacOnically.
| What an accurate mind you have, Sister
Annie, replied my companion, II could not
| have told the exact time"
certain guilty Keeling came upon me-
Sister Janet was not Of a jealous disposition
but If she only knew how all my heart seemed
l drau 81 L.
next door; if she only knew the passion of SYM
patty that had grown up within mo, stirring
| my life to its depths as the angel troubled the
pool in the o)den time; if she only knew the
| wonderment, the dreamings, the forebodings
| that nlIed my waking hours, the way in which,
with all my soul in my ears. used to strain
| and listen for sounds in the next house-in the
| room that was only divided from mine by q
shallow wall, and yet might we'll have been
a hundred miles away for all that could read
| of the secrets 1t buried-what then would Sister
| Janet have said2
If ever you feel drawn to some one who is a
| stranger to you in this irresistible manner, be
sure 1t is heavens way Of telling you that you
are wanted to do something for them; that
| some hour 10 coming in which your hand is
destined to clasp theirs, your arm to uphold
and strengthen, your sympathy to console
and sustain them. l know this now did not
know it then. l felt the influence about me
and around me, but did not know the why or
i
| knew not what My whole life in some
strange sort seemed changed and renewed.
Its passionless calm was stirred. A passing
glance at the fair-haired boy, sight Of the
triaes az these marked q day as with white
| stone; sent me thrilling and trembling on my
| way; kept me waking and wondering jim the
| silent hours Of the night. Thus had it been
with me through the long winter. But the
days that we're 30 short and the nights that
were SO long had brought me no new knowl-
| edge. Sometimes the boy would disappear
| for days together. Then the window was
| seldom without a watcher, or we would see
Mrs. Ruthven set out in the morning and only
return as the dusk was falling, like a gray veil
over the Crescent; gray veil pierced here:and
| there by simmer of q star showing bright
in the frosty air.
There is great crush Of business on just
now" would Sister Janet say at such times;
| then perk her head and pucker up her mouth.
| They are killing that young fellow, whoever
| they are, she would say, Indignantly.
Something was evidently wearing him out
strangely, for when we did see him he would
look wan and worn, his eyes deeper and darker
Life in these days is a perfect Juggernautr
Sister Janet would say, still full Of righteous
| indignation.
used to say nothing.
Queer fancies would come over me-wicked
| fancies, maybe, and the echo Of fOotstep that
| Outlines paced the floor until the church be-
| hind the Crescent Ginning the small hours Of
the morning seemed to trample on my heart,
crushing it.
| But all this was in the winter. And WAS I
| not writing OF balmy spring? Had we not been
| putting spring Innings in our bonnets? And was
not Amelia about to bring in the tea? l say
| 'about," because am not sure that tea was
| ever brought in at ALL
| Sister Janet had moved to the window and
was about to pull down the striped chintz blind,
| when she gave a sharp sort of cry that brought
me to her side in a moment. There, out in the
gray dusk, was the tall, dark figure Of Mrs.
| Ruthven. She was standing by-no, clinging
| to-the gate at the end of the narrow tagged
pathway that led from the road to the porch
| $50 to heri Go to her!" cried Sister Janet,
| wringing her hands one in the other
| But l seemed rooted to the spot. II was as IL
something 1 had long expected had at last
come to pass. Then, while l hesitated, be-
numbed, as it were, by the intensity of my own
| feelings, we saw her move slowly and painfully
up the pathway, reach the bottom step, and
then sink down, dark heap, against the white
| stones.
1t seemed but a moment before I was by
her side, had rung frantic peal at the house
| bell, had raised the fallen head upon nv lap,
and was aobbing over the death pale face that
| was nigh as white as the widows can that
clipt it round. A strange way, truly, to be
going on about a complete stranger to me-
and yet way over which I had no control
That wondrous feeling We are all conscious of
| at times-the conviction that the thing that
moves MS has all haDpene ed hefora-vas ,,oun,