Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-03-08
over to me, laid his hands upon my shoulders
and looked me in the face.

|
DO YOU MEAS WHAT YOUR WORDS IMPLY.
Margaret Hatrell." he said, do you mean
what your words imply?'
DO mean that my mother was desperatelv
| III love with my father? OF course do"
Aud that you are not in love with me?"
Not desperately in love. Oh, Cyril don't
look at me like that. You have no right to
shocked and distressed Did / ever tell Won
| that adored you? Did l ever pretend to be
desperately Ill love? Never never never
am not romantic or poetical. as my mother
was at my age. L have been taught differ
emily. lour father trained my mind and he
did not make INT romantic 1t isn't in my
nature to love any one as mother loved INV
father-at least think not
A strange ialterlng stopped me as said this;
"A curious dim feeling that there were hidden
possibilities III my heart; dreams that might
have dreamt: feelings that would have brought
my mind nearer akin to NV mothers mind If
I things had been different
The look of absolute distress in his face
made Inc unhappy. and tried to make amends
for nv silly speech.
why should you be shocked because am
not rOmantic?' l asked. Il don't think YOU
are very romantic person. either. We have
known each other all our lives and we ought
to be very happy together by-and-by. Is that
not enough. CyrIl!'
Not quite" he answered. grayer than had
ever seen him until that moment. but sup
pose 1t is all shall get, 50 must be satisfied
! Yesterday afternoon | amused myself with an
exploration. 1t was a lovely afternoon almost
Summertime, though are still III the time of
hyaclntlls, and the beeches have not vet un-
folded their tender young leaves Mother had
gone to London with her husband to look at
the drawing Rooms. which are recelviIQ their
hnlsnlnS touches AT the hands of the decora-
tors, and had all the day tomyself | spent
( the whole morning at my studies, working
upon a synopsis of Duruy's history of the
Greeks, which Uncle Ambrose advised me to
write, nrStly to impress historical facts upon
my mind; secondly. to cultivate STYLE and
thirdly. to acquire the power OF arranging and
cOndenslng "a subject with neatness and facil
Ity. IL Is rather dry work. but | like it. and |
adore the Greeks. / have been reading Ebers'
Egyptian story between whites, and think that
has helped me to realize the atmosphere OF that
bygone age when Pisistratus was ruling at
Athens and Croesus was discoursing wisely upon
his fallen fortunes at the court of Amasis
finished my work before lunch, which is an
absurd meal when mother is away. A mere
scramble with the dogs. who come in to keen
me company and clear my plate under my
hose. Directly after lunch took up my hat to
go out, whercupOn Sappho and Ponto. my dar-
hing Irish settlers. went mad and nearly knocked
me down IN their delight at the idea of a ram
Bile with me
We had explored every lane, copse and COM
mon within four miles of River Lawn. so
wanted. If possibly could, to give the dogs a
change; and L thought would venture to peep
IN at Fountain Head, where the strawberries
are full of primrOses at this season.
The Fountain Head gardener and our under
gardener are great friends. and have often
talked to him when he has been in our grounds.
L know the old house keeper. too so L had no
conjunction i'll opening little gate in the
shrubbery which gives access to the narrow lane
that divides our property from Mr.. Florestan's
There Is grand entrance OH the Henley road
and high iron gates. and rustic lodge with a
matched roof and the dearest old chimney
stack. The gardeners family live in this lodge
but the big gate is only opened when Mr..
florestan Is at home, and that is VERY seldom
tie told me he meant to be oftener at Fountain
Head III the future. He feels himself growing
too old for rowing life. l suppose he must be
at least nine and twenty. which is certainly old
compared with Cyril and me.
How nice ii is to be young-to feel ones self
quite yOung-and how sad it must be when
WEAKNESS and age begin to creep over one l
am miserable sometimes when | think that
mother Will grow old before do-that shall
see the shadows stealing over that dear and
lovely face-the shadows that foretell the end
oh. that Is the bane of life, that is what makes
life not worth living the knowledge that
death Is waiting somewhere on that road we
know not-the gray, mysterious highway of the
future-waltlng for those We love.
The old strawberries looked lovely in the af-
ternoon sun-such a wild wealth of arbutus and
rhOdOdendron and Portugal laurel and so
many hne conlfers half buried among the
spreading branches. tangle OF loneliness per-
twinkle and ST. Johns wort struggling over
every bit OF unoccupicd ground. Ponto and
SdpphO rushed about like mad things lmagin-
ing all sorts CT impossible vermin and scratch
ing and digging when ever they got out
OF reach of M whip. That dog whip of mine
looks formidable. but I'm afraid those two
clever dariings know that / would not hurt
them for WORLDS
had my pocket Dante with me. meaning to
try and fancy myself in the Pine forest near
Ravenna, where he used to mediate but the
book was so far true to its name that it never
left my pocket. seemed to have so much to
think about; and spring afternoon with light
cloud!ets floating IN pale blue sky. and the
perfume OF vlolets III the air sets all ones
most fancitul fancies roaming far and wide |
think my thoughts were light as thistledowu or
vanity that afternoon or they could never have
strayed so Ear, and yet there was a touch of
sadness IN them tor | could not help thinking
OF Gilbert Florestan and his sad position, quite
alone III the world. mother and father both
lying still and dumb. as my dear father lies in
his grave under the wilIows-no sister or
brother no one to care for him or to lean upon
him.
No doubt he has cousins as have. have
not quite made up my mind whe .her cousins
are necessary evil or a modified kind o. bless
ing. I'm afraid il stood alone in the world as
he does. Dora and Flora would not fill a large
gap in my life.
raIabled in the strawberries and the dear
old-fashioned gardens till was tired, and then
began to feel the keenest curiosity about the
inside of the house.
II is not pretty house, but it is old and dig
mined When one has come but lately from a
city OF palaces one can hardly be altogether
aIlye to the beauty OF an old English mansion
with moss-Srown walls and deep-set windows
and general grayness and low tone of color
which some people find so dispiriting Yet the
house touched me by a kind of mouruful
beauty, and a sense OF quiet desolation such as
/ l felt only a few weeks ago when l looked at
] those old neglected mansions upon some OF the
smaller canals. SO gloomy IN their gradeur as
OF the dead lrrevocabie past. have felt some
times as II i would give worlds to be able to
buy one of those degraded, dllapidated old
palaces, and to clear away all It's parasite
growth of petty modern uses and to restore Il
| to the splCndor and the beauty of three hun
! dred years ago. And yet have shuddered at
the thought of the phSntoms that might come
crowdiug round me III those great grand rooms
OF all the dead people who might awake at the
sound of music and laughter i'll the home
where they were once young and merry.
walked up anu down the broad gravel ter
race IN front OF Mr.. FlOrestan's house. 1t
stands ONLY about twenty feet above the level
OF the river bank and a wide lawn slopes gently
from the house TO the river. | could the
boats gong b. and hear the voices OF the row.