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

The Kentish weald lay dim and misty
beneath the darkening evening shadows,
tho air was redolent with the pungeni
doors Of newly gathered hops. Already
the fires of the gypsy like encampments
of the hop piekers CLEANED out redly
across the great wide plain below,
whilst the furnaces of the cast houses
belched out gusts Of lurid smoke from
every cluster Of farm buildings far and
near.
Presently the silver moon arose be
hind the shoulder of the far western
hills, and all the land became bathed in
the tender radiance. The rnists cleared
away, the dim vague shadows became
black and distinct, the open fields shone
Ike silver. Every hop garden with III
long trails of ungathered blooms fes-
tooned from pole to pole in graceful
garlands, every pocket slung ham
mock wise between two stakes where the
days toll had ended, every little settle
ment where the gatherers rested, or slept,
or talked IN low voices together in the
gloom, stood cut picture like and with
startling individuality IN the cold and
searching light which flooded the fairest
Of Kent's fair valleys from north to south
and from east to west.
"Good night" said a woman's voice
far up the side of tho long range of hills
that guarded the northern boundary of
that glorious plain
Good night" was the answer in
mans deeper voice.
Yet they did not part.
She stood leaning upon the railing of
the wide veranda that encircled the
white house beneath an archway greenly
twined with summer creepers and
studded with starlike jasmine flowers.
Her silver gray satin draperies reflected
the CLEAN Of the moonlight, and shone
with the chaste cold colors of Diana. Her
face too in that pale radiance seemed to
have gathered its almost unearthly
beauty from nights pure queen herself.
The white brow, the faxen crown Of soft
hair, the delicate features, even the pale
blue eyes, tender yet q trife cold and
passionless- -all seemed In harmony with
the white beauty of the moonlight.
The man stood below her at the foot
Of the short flight of stone steps. she
reached out her hand to him:
AFTER all these years, she said softly,
''all these years in which have loved
you, whilst you knew it not, at last it has
come to me--to be happyI'
He lifted the white hand glittering
with diamonds to his lips.
~ am not worthy" he 1nurmured as
he kissed. ssIf you knew alp
may, dearest, she answered quickly,
81 do not want to know your past. You
have travelled, you have seen the world
you have lved-perhaps even you have
lovedl ! viii never ask, I VIII never
seek to know. It is enough for me that
yo1 have returned at last to the one Low
ing heart who has cared for you ever
since we were boy and girl together, in
thnt long ago before you went away, and
before had begun to live through that
dark chapter Of my life, which is now,
thank God, over for ever. We viii both
forget the past---all ask is to live in the
prese~t.
you ara too good, too generousg' he
murmursd.
Lax xaiilton laughed softly.
"Oh, y am not good. I am only
happy, BERNARD. It is SO easy to seem
good when one is happy. Come early
tomorrow. Tank of me as you ride
home. Good night"
"Good night, Constance" he said
again He walked quickly down the
short drive. At the gate groom waited
with his horse. He sprang lightly into
the saddle.
"Good night, SIR
"Good night. he said once more. The
gate changed to noisily behind him. The
mans footsteps died away upon the
gravel beyond.
Bernard Harding rode slowly down the
hill toward the plain. The road was
steep, and the overarching trees cast
strange Pickering shadows across its
wilderness; the woods on either side lay
darkly shrouded in mysterious gloom.
The horse picked his way carefully, and
the horseman seemed content TO leave
him to guide himself
Presently the woods cleared away and
horse and man stepped out into the full
brightness of the summer night. The
sight Of the weald, with the glamour Of
moonlight flooding it with pale radiance
was so beautiful that instinctively Hard
ing refined in his animal