The times., 1890-03-28

the farm aud command the laborers, SO that
he had small chance Of meeting the object of
his dreams, while Raymond would take his
gun for countenance and linger about places
where he hoped she might pass.
In France no visits are permitted to young
men ut the house of any young lady, unless
after formal engagement OF marriage, ulid
then only under such conditions as must Do
very cxaspera,ing 10 both; SO neither fierre
nor Raymond could 80 10 see Suzanne at her
bome not even accompanied by tneir motner.
The image OF the two brothers had Ger.
tainly taken little place in the existence of
Suzanne in spite OF herself Before she knew
them her thoughts were bounced py her
home her art and her father. She knew
that she was pretty and that men admired
her. but she had always shrunk from any ex-
pressed admiration with horror unfeigned.
Marriage was not for her. Two or three
times before this her hand had been asked OF
ber father, but when he referred the question
to her sho refused SO determinedly that he
was fan TO decline, particularly, as she said:
u do not wish to leave you, nor ever love
anybody but you as long as live"
He thought to himself "Some day she
will change her mind and shall be forgot
ten. Let ber belong to me, then, as. LONG as
she is content"
But now Suzanne let her horse walk along
the shady paths where the rich branches
hung heavy with sparkling dewdrops, and She
whispered:
al wonder il shall see him to-dayp And
when she saw him coming along, his gun
swung over his shoulder, she fee like flying
from the spot, but he looked so anxious, so
sad, and then when he saw her so glad, that
she did not 60. Then they approached and
said good morning, with very few and simple
words more, and each went along their differ
ent paths, both happier for the meeting.
One day Suzanne was seated in NOISY
dell in one part Of their park with her port
folio and colors, trying to catch the sun
beams and make them shine through her
PAINTED trees. bat it was warm and the
drowsy sound OF the little brook at her feet
made ber sleepy, and resting her head upon
moss covered root she fell asleep, nor woke
until she felt soft sweet and chaste kiss
fall upon her forehead. With strange
prescience she knew whose lips had pressed it
there. and she from pure maidenly shame
and delicacy, managed to keep her eyes
closed that be might suppose that she knew
nothing. Then Raymond murmured:
"Alas, Suzanne love you So" and he was
gone.
Then she arose, her whole face covered
with one burning blush. and her whole being
filled with u wcndrously sweet happiness, and
for "A while. in this delicious awakening Of a
pure maidons love, she forgot Then, sud-
denly vision rose before her, and she whose
whole beautiful face but moment before
was eloquent with love, grew pale and drawn
| with horror.
"What have ! done! Oh, my God, what
4 hox LOT L Love
him. For one little minute forgot that love
and marriage are not for meW
All that day she battled with her heart,
and poor child, when its own pain had dead
ened her other senses, she thought she had
won.
| She crcpt into the house and up to her
room unobserved and when her father came
to see why she did not come down to dinner
that woman's blessed boon in the way of ex-
cuse, q headache, pleaded for her.
The next day Nine. De Noirville came to
see them just as they had returned from a
| drive. Julia had come with the intention of
| pleading Raymond's cause i'll his demand for
| the hand Of Mile. Forney. Raymond had
driven her over, but had not attempted to
enter the house; but as NJ. Forney stepped
| forward to receive Nine. De Noirville, Ray
mond sprang to the side Of Suzanne, who re-
| ceived him with q coldness so marked that he
drew back in alarm. His eyes questioned her
| in vain for the cause of this sudden change
He thought:
"She must have awakened and resented
| such liberty. What shall do:"
"Oh, mademoiselle pardon me, implore. I"
"ln what have you offended that you asl,
| my pardong said she, moro coldly and
| Eaughtily, il possible. than before.
81 thought feared-that was unhappy
enough to have in some way vexed you"
you are mistaken" said she, bowling, and
leaving him speechless.
| Raymond managed to make q sign to his
mother, begging her to say nothing to M.
Furney on the subject SO near his heart, and
their conversation was therefore on ordinary
topics, and they soon took their leave.
| 1t would he too much to say that Suzanne
regretted her severity, but it is very sure that
her heart ached heavily all the time, and she
lost color and spirit, so much so as to seri.
ously disquiet her father, who feared that size
was i'll, but she declared herself perfectly
we'll
| "Well do you feel consented herea Would
| you like to go away, to Paris or any other
| places You have only TO say what you wish,
you know, my child, to find me willing"
II am perfectly happy here, father" she
replied, land like this quiet, peaceful exist
ence far better than / would O gayer place.
So say no more, pray you"
The real reason that she did not wish to
leave her present home fer Paris was that she
knew that Raymond's vacation ended very
soon, and that he then would be near her
there, following her at every :urn. and here
she would be free.
| Summer passed all too swiftly, and autumn
came with its gorgeous beauty of colorine
and its wealth Of harvest, and October lad
nearly gone. Already the nights were Geld
and frosty, though the days were bright and
sunny, and Suzanne wandered about their
park and even into the forest beyond, as IL
she hunted her lost peace of mind Her young
heart was heavy with unshed tears, but
though she knew she loved Raymond, she
had been through such awful and strange ex.
periences that she was matured far beyond
her age, and hsr reason and knowledge Of the
past taught her that love or marriage with
an honorable man with All untarnished name
was not for her; that fate had ordered that
her life should be passed alone.
One day as she sat on fallen tree absorbed
in these thoughts, her tears fell unheeded