San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-02-18
MONICA.
A LOVE STORY OF MODERN DAYS
By the author Of Mona Scullu" "Ac
c'tSed" DC, &c.

even adhered hOnOrably to his promise not
| 10 LOOK at her, and is still mentally ambi-
t0uS about being true to his word i'm this
| respect, when an exclamation from her puts
an end to all things.
| ''Ohl look at that lilyr' she says, excited
| ly. WAS there ever sucha beauty? If you
will row little more to the right, | am sure
shall be able to get it."
Don't stir I'll get it," returns he, CRATE
full to the lily for this break in their pro-
gramme; and presently the floating prize is
secured, and he lays it, wet and dripping,
in her Outstretched hands.
AFTER all, you see, you broke your prom
ise," she says,a moment later, most migrate
fully, glancing up at him coquettshly from
under her long lashes.
t"But who made me do it?' asks he, re-
PEACEFULLY, whereupon she laughs and red
dens.
81 never confess" she says, shaking her
pretty head; land after aldo you know?
i am rather glad you spoke to me, because,
though L like being quite by myself at times,
still L hate silence vixen any one is with
me-"
$50 do l." says her companion, with the
utmost cheerfulneSs.
Il think" leaning toward him with a
friendly smile, Il cannot do better than be-
gin our acquaintance by telling you my
name. 1t is Monica BereSford." ~
Monica" lingering over it lovingly: "a
beautiful name, l think. | think, too, it
suits you. Mine is not to be compared to
yours; but, such as it is give it your
He throws a card into her lap.
81 hope it isn't John Smith, says Monica,
smiling and picking up the card. But, as
she reads what is printed thereon, the smile
fades, and an expression of utter dismay
Overspreads her face.
"Desmond'-Oh not Desmondr she
says, imploringly, her lips growing quite
pale.
Eyes it is Desmond" says the young man,
half amused half puzzled you really
think it ugly, then. Do you know / rather
fancy my surname, although my Chris"
You are not-yOu cannot be the Des-
mOnd, interrupts she, hastily.
mo; that's my uncle" says the young
man, innOcently.
'Oh then you acknowledge the crime?"
in deep distress.
II didn't know that an old Irish title
must necessarily be connected with guilt"
says her companion, fairly puzzled.
"Eh"' says Monica, puzzled in her turn.
81 don't understand you; | only want to
know if you are one of the particular Des-
mOnds"'
II suppose not" he replies, now openly
amused, because | regret to say we have
never yet done anything worthy of note, or
likely to distinguish us from all the other
DeSmOnds, whose name is legion"
'If you are going to tell me you live at
COOle, says Miss Beresford, in a tone that
is almost tragic, Il warn you it will be the
last straw, and that l shan't be able to
bear it."
81 am not going to tell you anything"
protests he.
But you must" declares she, illOgically.
81 may as well hear the worst at once Go
on" heroically; tell me the truth. DO you
live there?'
I'm awfully afraid | do" says Mr.. Des-
mond, feeling somehow, without knowing
why, distinctly ashamed of his name and
residence.
II knew it! / felt it, says Monica, with
the calmness of despair. Take me back to
the bank at once,-this very instant, please.
Oh, what rOW should get into if they
only knew!'
Very justly offended at the turn affairs
nave taken, Mr.. Desmond rows her in ST.
lence to the landing-place, in silence gives
her his hand to alight, in silence makes his
boat safe, without so much as a glance at
her, although he bnOlCS she is standing lit
tie way from him, irresolute, remOrSeful,
and uncertain.
He might, perhaps, have maintained this
dignified indifference to the end, but that,
unfortunately lifting his eyes, he catches
sight of her in this repentant attitude, with
her head bent down, and her slim fingers
toying nervOuSly with the lilies of his own
gathering.
This picture filings dignity to the winds
Going up to her, he says, in a wOuhl-be care
less but Enthusiastically offended voice, May
| ask what | have done, that they whoever
they are, should consider you had disgraced
yourself by being with me for half an hOur?"
"YOu have done nothing says Monica,
family. 1T was your uncle"
My uncIG!-GeOrge Desmond! Why,
what on earth can he have dOne?" demands
he bewldered.
81 don't know" Feeling this is indeed a
lame answer to a most natural question, she
goes on hurriedly, 1T all happened twenty
years ago, and"
But what happened?" asks he, with par
dOnable Impotence.
Something dreadfully wicked" says
Monica, sOlemnly. something really very,
Uery bad, because Aunt Priscilla can't hear
you spoken of with common patience"
"Ner
Not so much you, perhaps, as your name.
She hates the very sound of it. There isn't
a doubt about that; because, though L have
not heard the exact story yet, know both
my aunts grow actually faint with horror
when your uncle's name is mentioned"
Good gracious ~ says the Mortified neph-
ew of this apparently diSreputable old man.
He is staring at Monica, but in reality he
does not even see her. Before his minds