The Londonderry sifter. (South Londonderry, Vt.) 1883-19??, 1890-02-06
LOVE AND AMBITION.
by KATHERINE rEcurIe.

Tess than that, tins question Tor lame.
And Tom Landsie caught the hands of
the young girl, and looks pleadingly
down into her face.
"No, Tom," she replies, rising, ait is
useless to talk any longer about it; you
know l have always looked forward and
dreamed of the time when | could go
abroad to continue my studies. II only
seemed vain dream until lately, and
oh, Tom! if you really loved me, you
would be glad of my good fortune"
They had been talking under the large
maple tree at the foot of the old-fash-
toned garden, and as she finishes speak
ing, she moves from him up the garden
path.
He hastily follows her and, drawing
her to him, says: "But, Rene, darling,
how can rejoice at any fortune which
takes you from met"
600 you suppose l do not feel alsol"
she replies. "Do you think am under
taking this thing without considering all
the contentious will meet with2 All!
have thought it over many, many times.
7 have even prayed to be delivered from
this burning ambition, this miserable dis
y,ntent, this longing for something more
,'aan the average girl. Don't think do
not know that to be good wife is the
highest sphere of woman. Bus l have so
many misgivings concerning myself.
Would not the monotony and trials of
domestic life tire us both2 Would we
not, in time, grow cold toward each
other? And then imagine the miserable
existence we would lead. Is is not bet
ter to part thus, and putting our love
away as some sacred souvenir, to be re-
membered as some sweet dream in after
years."
A shadow comes over Landsie's hand
some face. every well, Miss Nicely, if
my pleadings are all in vain, | suppose
there is nothing else to be said except
good-by."
"That is all, she says, slowly, and
she reaches out her hands to him; but he
is too angry to see them, and picking up
his hat from the rustic bench, he leaves
her.
She stands motionless, her arms
dropped to her side, watching his re-
treating form in the gloom. Presently
the gate clicks. Then she hears the
sounds of his footballs on the gravel
walk they grow fainter and fainter until
they are lost in the distance. Even after
the last faint sound has died away she
stands there as one in trance; her
thoughts even seem to have left her.
Presently a SILVER passes over her, and,
drawing her light shawl closely around
her, she slowly moves toward the house.
She reaches the little ivy-covered porch;
the door is partly open and light shines
from within. She mechanically enters
the room, shading her eyes with her
hand A middle-aged lady, with a
sweet sad face, is sitting at a center table
with her back to the door.
''Is that you?" she asks, as Rene enters
and without looking up from her sew
ing.
Yes, auntie," and Rene goes over to
the table and stands there, idly lingering
over the buttons in her aunts little work
basket.
irene, dear, don't you think you had
better retire now? you know you have to
start so early in the morning. Everything
is ready believe, and | shall go to bed
myself in little while.
Rene without word leaves the room,
and returning presently with small lamp
in her hand, she stoops and kissing her
aunt, says gently, "Good night, auntie,
DEAR" Then slowly leaving the room she
ascends to her own little room, which
now had bare appearance, as if the walls
and furniture had lately been stripped of
their fancy ornaments. In one corner a
large trunk stood open and a satchel and
shawl strap lay on the stand. She put
the lamp down slowly on the bureau and
stood looking at herself in the mirror.
She saw a girl, tall and extremely,
wonderfully slender, yet her frame was
so small and spirit like that there were
no angles visible in all her graceful length.
She was as natural as grasses swayed by
soft breezes. Her small head was well
poised; her profile extremely sweet and
delicately cut; her hair abundant, and of
the darkest brown hue. Her complexion
was white with the lightest undertint of
pink. But her beauty depended upon
her eyes, which were large, full, and
dark brown. They were the very win
dows of her soul. Delicate red lips and
little, even pearl white teeth completed
this face which at first sight was thought
interesting, at second exquisitely re-
fined and pretty. A scornful expression
comes over her face as she looks.
care you stone, Rene Nicely, that you
feel so little?" she says. ''Why are you
not bathed in tears2 Would not any 9TH
er girl be who had just left the man she
loved for years, perhaps ever?" Then
thoughtfully: "But was it love l felt for
him. Well, whatever it was it is all over
now; have chosen between him and my
art. Oh!'' with sigh, cit is so hard to
know what is the right thing to do in
this world. What if, after all. l have
made mistake, and my talent amounts
to nothing" And drawing the pins
slowly from her hair, she uncois it and
brushes it, thinking now of her past and
then of her future.
Lorene Nicely was an orphan, her
mother having died when she was mere
child, and her father, after two years of
grief, followed her, leaving the little
child with no worldly possessions, except
his brushes and pile of unfinished
sketches. Her aunt, Mrs. Bishop, only
sister of Mr.. Nicely, came to the great
city for the child, and, taking her home
with her, centred all the affection that
she would have given her husband and
child, had they lived, in this poor little
orphan. Rene early showed the talent
which she had inherited from her father.
She sketched and painted everything
around her. But her ambition was not
yet awakened. She painted and sketched
only because she loved the beautiful and
wished to preserve it.
One summer an artist of some
note came to W, and, seeing Rene
md her work, recognized her genius.
few lessons, and allowed
his studio. Her ambition
E I'd now; but ic ONLY made