The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1890-01-03

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even know 1 have a cousin. l haven't
told him Mr.. Arnold is-you know, Nat,
you understand"
Il understand, Miss Erica" said the
man, slowly, land l wouldn't be the
one to make mischief. / won't say
uothin' about him"
Thank you, Nat"
Only those simple words. in which lay
who knows what humiliation and pain
to her to say, and she looked again over
the dancing waters, and could scarce
see them for the mist that clouded over
her eyes.
Nat, with a rough instinct that his
affection for Miss Erica gave him, turn
ed away from the subject.
Don't you want to go out, miss
ma'am?" said he; Its a nice afternoon.
You amt forgot your rowing?"
"Oh, no, Nat"
Erica st. John reused herself and
spoke brightly again.
"Mr. So. John is coming down in a
little while. He is a first-rate oarsman;
you'll like to see him pull. All, there
he is, coming down the beach,"
And with a light %springing step down
the shingles came the mar Ponyter had
seen that morning, tall and 1.-the, with
a singular grace and freedom of move
ment.
The eyes of these two men, who were
placed in their positions as widely apart
as the poles, yet whose lives We're to be
SO interviewer, met, and each scanned
the other in the brief moment that
Philip st. John took to reach the boat;
the gentleman with one sweeping
glance taking in the rough, untutored
face, the shrewd eyes, the close-set
mouth of the plebeian, seeing more in
that one glance than Nat Poynter could
read in the longer gaze of his eyes. But
the inward impression of neither was
entirely favorable.
Philip st. John answered. with a
courteous bend Of his head, the salute
an instant softening of every feature, to
Erica.
Il knew where to look for you, Erica"
he said. Making friends with the sea
and an old acquaintance
Aye, sir" said Nat; 'sme and Miss
Erica,s old friends-leastways, | mean
| Mrs. st. John. | axe your pardon. sir.
I'm so used to call her Miss Erica. I
don't know as how I shall ave get to
call her aught else"
"a slight offence, indeed, FRIEND"
with a half smile. grave, yet lighting up
his face for a moment with singular
brightness. Call her what you Will.
Habit is a close friend. Is this your
boat?"
YES, sir. 1 got it ready for missy.
afternoon arte r. t9ae 20 Viii MI Two you pt sir9p SUCH d "'''
The girl glanced up into Philips face
with a mute seconding of that request;
but she did not ask it in words.
Nevertheless, he seemed to read her
ewes, and smiled again.
II need not ask you, Seagull," he
said. "Ion are scarcely happy off the
water. Will you take an oar?H
"Oh yes, please, Philip"
"Rut you had better put in a pair of
SOULS. too Philip added, stepping into
the boat. which Poynter had dragged
down close to the SCI ready to be showed
Off. And Nat, producing. the required
sculls, gave the Water Nymph'a Wig
went dancing over the sparkling blue
water like a thing of life, and Erica
waved her hand back to him with a
smile.
What a deliciously exhilarating feel
ing it gives one said she, as Philips
long, swift stroke took them a little
distance from the shore. ''to feel the
boat go off and dance like a feather on
the water. Don't you seem to cut all
connection with the earth and all
trouble and care, Philip"
lie glanced up at her half smiling,
bending lightly to the oars, and then
slightly shook his head.
"As we carry ourselves with us every
where. | scarcely think we cut connec-
ton with care, Erica he said, an al
most unconscious bitterness in tone and
look; ''hut then you are young, and
there are all sorts of possibilities to
YOU
why, Philip" the girl said, "you
talk as if you had grown old. You are
only twenty-elght now, and that is
young
".Ah, yes, so it is. l was not talking
of years so much as feeling, though we
may be forty at twenty"
Erica for a moment was silent, then
she said, wistfnlly:
.Sas You hnt PTh Philip, Ne an ras{pa paused an b;s
under the warm sunshine that lay on
sea and sky.
You have no care, Philip" she said,
half timidly.
He pulled a few quick strokes before
he answered her. then once more lay to.
Il have none, Erica. that your bright
smile and gentle voice cannot lull to
rest: none but what a restless ambition
for which the world is all too slow;
none but what my own temper of mind
give me, and that, perhaps, is a legacy
of wrong. Did you look for a sunny
spirit in your husband. Erica? l don't
think am all yon fancied when l was
your lover. am 1?'
face, and flushed to her very brow. but
she answered him steadily.
Il never fancied you other than YOU
are, Philip. If understand you better
that is all the difference, if there is AM
difference"
She scarcely knew of any herself: that
underlined feeling she had for him,
mingling with, and perhaps shadowing,
all her deep love for him, had not arisen
since her marriage; it had always beer
in her heart.
"lIow should I have a sunny spirit?'
Philip said, leaning his cheek on his
hand, and speaking, it seemed. less tt
her than himself. GLOW should l be
other than | am? l have only known
what rest, happiness is since l knew
you, Erica, and thus / could scarcely
school myself to think that you really
loved me-"
Philip! Philip" Erica stretched out
hRa it"i'i'> lltl NJto vi Nlolllt pitdi'
ing. you know it now, don't youi
Why We're you mistrustful of meg"
why, Erica?" He had not noticed
her movement. and her hands dropped
again on her knees. because / haG
grown to think | was never meant fol
love. had never told you anything OF
my b~oyhood-it is difficult to me to drag
these things to light, even to you; but
the mood is on me now, I suppose, and
! can speak. / was the child of injus.
tice, and you know enough of me, per
haps, to wonder that | am not a devil
rather than a man who can love; yet, ]
am the eldest, but l was always thrust
aside and punished for wrongs l had
never done: rebuked for haughtiness
reserve, what not, when my heart only
yearned for love. My wishes were
thwarted at every turn. Perhaps it wa
my fault in part. / knowI am naughty
and passionate of temper, that I am dis.
dainful and impatient of inferiority
and | have a hundred other faults. Al
school and at college l made no friends
no II liked me. though everybody
praised me: some. I think now, would
have been my friends, but that l checked
all advances, deeming them in my cyni
cism mere sycophants. There vas only