San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-02-19

give anything to be as wise as you on this
subject? In other words, will you divulge
the secret"
ut is a story that doesn't rebound to the
honor and glory of your house," says Miss
Beresford, stepping back from him with a
gay little laugh, and glancing at him mis-
chievously from under her big Patience"
hat IF l were you l should shrink from
hearing it,"
II decline to shrink" with unparalleled
bravery. II prefer to rush upon my fate.
Life has no longer any flavor for ME until
hear what the old reprobate at CoOle has
done"
well, if you lCiU insist upon the sorry
tale, it's this. Once there lived wicked
knight who wOOed maiden fair. But when
her heart was all his own, his love
grew cold, and, turning from her, he refused
to fulfill his plighted trOth and lead her TO
the hymeneal altar. In fact, he loved and
he rode away, leaving her as dismally dis
consulate as the original maid fOrlOrn. That
wicked knight was your uncle; the maid
forlorn my mother?'
You have been giving me summary of
fairy tale, haven't yOu?" asks he, in an I'M
believing tone.
mo, indeed; it is all quite true. From
what have heard, your uncle must have
treated my mother very badly Now, aren't
you thoroughly ashamed of yourself and
your family%'
You have proofs of his iniquity, of
| course" says Brian, who evidently finds
! difficulty in believing in his uncle's guilt.
Yes. He wrote her letter stating in
distinct terms that'-and here she alters her
voice until it is highly suggestive of Miss
Blake's fine contralto-'he deemed it eX-
pedient for both parties that the present en-
gagement existing between them should be
annulled.' Those are Aunt Priscilla words !;
what he really meant, | suppose, was, that
he was tired of her."
your mother, l should imagine, was
hardly woman to be tired of readily"
That is matter of opinion. We-that
| is, Terry and Kit and Thought her very
| tireSOme woman indeed" says Miss BereS'
ford, calmly. She does not look at him as
| she makes this startling speech, but looks
| beyond him into, possibly, past where the
'tiresome woman" held part.
Brian Desmond, gazing at her pale, pure,
| spiritual face, SuStains faint shock, as the
| meaning of her words reaches him. Is she
| heartleSS, emotionless? Could not even a
| mothers love touch her and wake her into
| life and feeling?
| "You weren't very fond of your mother,
| then?" he asks, gently. The bare memory
| of his own mother is adOred by him.
"FOnd|' says Monica, as though the idea
| is a new one to her Fond? Yes, l sup
| pose so; but we were all much fOnder of my
| father. Not that either he or mamma took
| very much notice of us"
"Were they so much wrapt up in each
| other, then?'
NO certainly not" quickly. Then, with
an amount of bitterness in her tone that
contrasts strangely with its usual sOftneSs,
Il wonder why called my mother mani
| ma to you just now. Ineyer dared do so to
| her. Once when she was going away some
| where | threw my arms round her and call
| ed her by that pet name; but she put me
| from her, and told me | was not to make a
| noise like a sheep"
| She seems more annoyed than distressed
| as she says this. Desmond is silent Per
| hans his silence frightens her, because she
turns to him with rather pale, nervous
| face.
| Il suppose l should not say such things as
| these to you" she says, unsteadily. Il for
| got, it did not occur to me, that we are only
| strangers"
Say what you will to me, says Desmond,
| slowly, land be sure of this, that what you
| do say will be heard by you and me alone"
81 believe yOu," she answers, with little
sigh.
"And, besides, we are not altogether
strangers" he goes on, lightly; that day
on the river is link between us, isn't it?'
"Oh, yes, the river" she says smiling.
sour river. have brought myself to be-
10 ipin rtNvs N
seems to know anything about it."
II have never been near it SINCE" says
Monica. o"~
Il kto1V that" returns he, meaningly.
She bushes deeply, and then, in spite of
herself, laughs out loud, low but ringing
laugh, full of music and mischief.
This most uncalled-for burst of merri-
ment has the effect of making Mr.. Desmond
| preternaturally grave.
| "May ask what you are laughing at%' he
says, with painful pOliteness; whereupon
| Miss Beresford checks her mirth abruptly,
and has the grace to blush again even harder
than before. Her confusion is, indeed, the
| prettieSt thing possible.
Il don't know" she says, in an evaSive
| tone.
People generally do know what they are
laughing at" contends he, seriously. 1t was
ridiculous of me to suppose you would ever
come again to the river; but one hopes
against hope Yet, as Feltham tells us, he
that hopes too much shall deceive himself
at LAST that was my fate, you see. And
you never once thought of coming, did you?
You were quite right"
mo, was quite wrong; but-but-yo,t
are quite wrong too in one way" still with
her eyes dOwnturned.
by what right did expect you? l was
a presrmptuouS fool, and got just what
deserved"
"You were not fool" exclaims she,
ouickly. and then. with little impulsiye