Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1891-07-16
MON ICA.
A LOVE STORY OF MODERN DAY S
CHAPTER x.

hours, and certain chill accompanying it,
that makes one believe with Ella" is il
not?) that "a bad summer is but winter
painted green"
The light is dimmed, the winds sigh
heavily, all through these days, and On the
hills around, ''the hooded clouds, like friars.
tell their beads in drops Of rain"
But on Thursday evening it clears a little,
not sufficiently to allow one to wander
happily through shrubbery or garden, but
enough to augur well for the morrow, when
the much-Ionged-for dance at the Barracks
is due.
And, indeed, when Friday dawns all ma
ture is glorious. Ger sea and land there
floats brightness indescribable, with no
fieck or flaw upon its beauty. In every nook
and glade and hollow is glad sunshine, and
soft rushing breeze that bids the heart re-
JoIce, and upliftS itself in joyous praise to
the Great Power above who calls the heav-
ems His Throne.
Biz are singing upon every Dough, to
give the day 'gOOd-moTOw," and the small
streamlets, swollen by past rains, are chant
ing loud but soft harmonies to the water
pixies, as they dash headlOng toward the
river down below.
NO tears
Dim tn" sweet look that Nature wears"
but rather smile is on leaf and flower, and
waving bracken. And on Monica, too, as,
with glad eyes and parted lips, she steps
lightly into the shadow of the old porch at
Moyne. No SWeeter presence ever hOnOred
it. Leaning against one of the pillars, she
stoOpS forward, and gaZeS almost gratefully
at the merry SunbeamS, as they creep up in
homage to her feet and then 90 swiftly back
again.
She is dressed to-day in a pale-blue batiste
gown, that rivals i'll hue the delicate azure
of the skies above her. Her large black hat
is a mass of Spanish lace, her long gloves
are OF the same SOmber shade, and so are
her shoes though relieved by buckles. With
that snile upon her lips, and the subdued
expectation in her eyes, she looks the per-
sonfication of all that is tender, pure, and
loyable.
Are you ready?" asks Kit, Joining her.
''The carriage is coming round"
Quite
"All but your fan; where is that?'
'Ah true; l forgot it. 1t must be on my
table. i
mo, do not stir. will get it fOryou. 1t
would be a shame to send you on any GRAND
that might destroy your present pose, you
look so like a cloud, or a thing out of Kate
Greenaway's books"
''It is very rude to call me a thing; it is
l.
Ing my best" says Monica, laughing. Some
how Kits praises always please her
Then the carriage does come round, and
they all get into it, and start for their seven
miles drive, very slow seven miles, at the
end of which they find themselves in the
small town of Cl0nbree, mounting the steep
hill thatleads to the Barracks which are plac-
ed on most unsayOry eminence-all the
narrow streets leading up to them being
lined with close cabins and tiny houses that
are anything but Sweets to the sweet
Entering the small barrack-yard, and find
ing door Hospitality open, the Misses Blake
go up wooden sta rcaSc, and presently find
themselves on the landing-place above,
where they are welcomed effusively by Mr..
Ryde, who is looking bigger and hotter and
stouter than usual.
Captain Goblet in the largestrOom-there
are but two available in these rustic bar
racks-iS trying VainlytO find comfortable
quarter for old Lady RoSsmoyne, who is
both deaf and stupid, but who, feeling it her
duty to support on all occasions Cloth feS-
tive and otherwise) the emissaries of her
queen, has accepted this invitation, and is
now heartily sorry for her loyalty.
She is sitting in durance vile upon a low
chair, with carpet seat and treacherous
nature, that threatens to turn upon her and
to give away to even the smallest amount of
natural animation; SO perforce the poor old
woman sits still, like patience on monu-
ment smiling at grief" and that her own
grief, too, which, of course, is harder to
bear!
80 glad you've comet We were quite in
despair about you; but better late than
never, eh?' says Mr.. Ryde to Monica, with
a fat smile. There is rather much OF ''too
solid hesh' about his face.
Il dare say" says Monica, very vaguely;
she is looking anXiouslyround her, hoping,
yet dreading, to see Desmond.
In the next room can be heard the sound
of music. My Queen is being played very
prettily upon piano by somebody. Dane
ing is evidently going on, and Monica, who
adOreS it, feels her toes trembling in heI
shoes.
''NIayI have the pleasure of thiS?" says
Mr.. Ryde. ''I'vo kept it for you all along,
you know. Ii you tell me you have already
given it away, shall feel myself aggrieved
indeed"
''WaS there ever so silly young man?'
thinks Monica, and then she says aloud,
mo, it is not promised" and lets him place
his arm round her, and reluctantly mingles
with the other dancers. To do him justice,
he waltzes very well, this fat young marine
so it cannot be said that she has altogether
bad time, and she certainly feels little
glow of pleasure as she pauSeS presently tC
recover her breath.
AS she does so, her eyes rest on Desmond
He, too is dancing and with Olga BOhun
He is whispering to his partner, who il
whispering back to him in a somewhat pro
nounced fashion, and altogether he is look
ing radiantly happy, and anything but the
disconsoate swain Monica has been pictur
inc to herself. He is smiling down at Olga
and is apparently murmuving all sorts OF
pretty things into her still prettier car, be
cause they both look quite at peace with
each other and all the world
A pang shoots through Monica's heart
lie can be as happy then. with one pretty
woman as with anotherl She by no means,
you Will see, deprCcatGS her own charms.
All he wants is to have "t'other dear charm
er away"
At this moment she encounters his eyes,
and answers his glad start of surprise with
little scornful lowering of her lids. After
which, being fully aware that he is still
watching her in hurt amazement she turns
small, pale, but very encouraging face up
to Ryde, and says, pretily,-
You said was late just now. Was I?'
Very. At least it seemed so to me-" says
Rydc, with heavy alteration i'll his glance.
Feeling, rather than seeing, that Mr.. Des-
mond has brought his fair companion to an
anchor close behind her, Monica says in q
soft, sweet voice.
Il didn't mean to be late. No, indeed!
hurried all l could; but my aunts are slow
to move. l was longing to be here, but
they would make no haste"
you really Ionged TO be here?' asks he,
Al, 4 Il