San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-02-24
MONIC
A LOVE STORY OF MODERN DAYS
By the Author of "Mona ScltlIH" "Ac
cused' &C., &c.


interior meaning beyond the desire of max
ing conversation; but to Kits guilty soul
this question seems fraught with mischief.
"Oh. I often go to see DAILY. Iwant him
to come fishing with ME tomorrow; he'sthe
best man about here for that, and trudgeS
behind one for miles without complaining"
poor Dalyr'
swell, hope you enjoyed your visit to-
day,n says Kit, blithely, glancing at him
mischievOusly from beneath her broad hat.
sVThere was drawback" says Brian, I'M
thinkingly. 81 went there full of hope, and,
after all, she never offered me any of your
pudding!
Tableau!
Kits agonized glance and Monica's ques-
tioning eyes awake Mr.. Desmond to q
knowledge of what he has done.
'How did you hear of Kits pudding?"
asks Monica, looking keenly from Brian to
Kit, and then back again.
"Oh!-the pudding" stammers Desmond.
"ThereI don't commit YOURSELF" says
Monica, in tone that trembles. "Oh, Kitp
Both culprits are afraid to look at her.
Does the tremble mean tears, or anger, or
what? Perhaps horror at their duplicity,
or contempt. Is she hOpelessly angered?
Then a suppressed sound reaches their
ears, creating fresh panic in their breasts.
Is she positively choking with indignation?
Cautiously, ahxiously, they glance at her,
and find, to their everlasting relief, that she
is convulsed with laughter.
when next you mediate forming brill
liant plot such as this" she says to Kit, II
think should look out a more trustworthy
accomplice if were you"
ssCatch me having a secret with him
again." says Kit, now her fears are appeas-
ed, turning wrathfully upon Desmond.
II quite forgot all about it, did, indeed"
exclaims he penitently. Forgive me this
time, and I'll promise never to do 1t again."
"And I'll promise you you shan't have
the chance" says Kit, with fervOr.
"WhV was to be deceivedr' says Monica.
II think have been very basely treated. If
you, Kit, desired clandestine meeting with
Mr.. Desmond, don't see why was to be
drawn into it. And it was astupid arrange
ment, too; two is company, three trumpery.
know, if I had lover, should prefer"
''Monicar' says Kit, Indignantly; brit
Monica only laughs the more.
ut is my turn now, you know" she says.
kit had nothing to do with it; it was all
my fault" says Desmond, laughing too. IF
you must pour out the walls of your wrath
on some one, let it be on me-"
Eyes, give him good scolding, Monica"
says Kit, viciously, but with lovely smile.
81 am going to pick some ferns for Aunt
Pen; when return hope shall find that
recreant knight of yours-I mean mtne-at
the point of deathv'
At this she fits away from them, like the
good little thing she is, up sloping bank,
and so into the fields beyond, until Desmond
and Monica are as much alone as If whole
sphere divided them from their kind. Dear lit
tie Kit! When her own time comes may she
be as kindly dealt with!
"You are angry with me, still, about last
night" says Desmond, softly, "and, own,
with cause. But / was miserable when
called you a coquette, and misery makes a
man unjust. I wrote to Kit this morning,
I was afraid to write to you, -and she was
very good to me-"
"How good?" plucking leaf from brier,
as she goes slowly-Uery slowly-down the
road.
''She rought me you. Do you know,
Monica, l have been as unhappy as a man
can be since last l saw you,-a whole night
and part of day? Is it not punishment
enough%'
TOO much for your crime" whispers she,
softly, turning suddenly toward him and
letting her great luminous eyes rest with
forgiveness upon his. She smiles sweetly,
but with some timidity, because of the ardor
of the glance that answers hers. Taking
her hand with an impulsiye movement i'm
possible to restrain, Desmond presses it
rapturously to his lips. Drawing it away
from him with shy haste, Monica walks on
in silence.
IF had written to you, and not to her,
would you still have been here to-day?" asks
he, presently.
81 think not
That is a cruel answer, is it not?''
Would you have Inc belle my nature?'
asks she, with quick agitation; would you
have me grow false, secret, deceitful? My
auntS trust me; am to prove myself I'M
worthy of their confidence?'
Il am less to you, then, than your aunts'
displeaSureP'
You are less to me than my conscience;
and yet"
With violent effort that betrays how far
her thoughts have been travelling in COM
pany with his, she brings herself back to
the present moment, and recollection of the
many reasons why she must not listen to
his wOoing. why should you believe your
self anything to me?" in voice that quivers
audibly.
"Ah, why, indeed?' returns he, bitterly.
There is such pain in his voice and face that
her soul yearns toward him, and she repents
her last words.
81 am wrong. You are something to me-"
she says, in tone so low that he can scarce
ly hear it, But lovers ears are sharp.
you mean that, MOnica?"
EYES," still lower.
"Then why cannot be noOrGt to you? Why
am l to be denied chance of forwarding
the cause in which all my hopes are center
ed? Monica say YOU will meet me some