Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1891-12-19

and, when she paused for a moment I'M
der the pointed archway outside, reached
her and spoke
"Senor Derwent!" she exclaimed with
start, Il did not know that you were
here"
Gould be in better place? he
asked, in a voice that trembled little
| from emotion Il came here to thank
God for my escape from sudden and
violent death. And having thanked
God, senorita, will You now let me thank
your Thank you! All, what word
that is to express such debit If could
only utter what | feel-if there were
only words in which | might venture to
utter it,
She lifted one hand with slight, ST.
lencing gesture as she turned her face
toward him. There was still light
enough from the blue sky overarching
the court to show him that it looked like
pale, beautiful cameo in the setting Of
the soft, black drapery of China Grape
which surrounded it. Yet, beautiful as
it looked, Derwent was almost shocked
to see what a change the last few hours
had wrought 1t was not only the pal
lor of the skin and the purple shadows
under the eyes-those shadows which
come so quickly in a sensitive organiza-
ton from illness or mental pain-but
the very features looked chiseled and at
tenuated, as if by suffering
DO not thank me, senior, she said,
with grave gentleness Thank God if
you will, and as you truly should, that
was there in time. But how could
have helped doing what | did? 1t was
no merit on my part. | saw and fred
The two things were simultaneous.
There was not an instant to be lost.
stepped down upon that path-ah, how
lightly, how unconstitutional some
instinct caused me to glance up at the
hillside. The rest was like flash of
lightning | saw the sunshine reflected
OH the barrel of that gun. | saw the man
leaning over the rock and taking aim at
you so intently that he did not perceive
me. To see was to act | had still in
the pocket Of my HABIT the little pistol
we used yesterday, and do you think it
was an accident that had MT taken off
that habit! felt one thrill Of passionate
Indignation as | saw you sitting SO
quietly, so unsuspiciously and that cow
ard drawing his gun upon you behind
your back on the very soil of Mirafores"
he saw the fash that came into her
eyes at the recollection. Il fired, and |
was glad to see him drop. Yes | could
not have believed it if had been told Of
it beforehand, but was glad! The hor-
ror of what | had been forced to do did
not come over me until | saw the poor
creature bleeding to death. Then-oh,
then it was awful | do not think |
can ever forget the sightl"
AS she lifted one hand, with an invol-
untary gesture, to her eyes, as if to shut
out the memory, he took the other and
kissed 1.-THE hand that had saved his
life-so gently and so reverently that it
was like offering homage.
what can | say?" he exclaimed. ITO
spare you such pain would have done
anything. Would to God | had never
come to Mirafores, since my coming
was to cost you what you have suffered
todayp'
She withdrew her hand and looked at
him with very sweet and pathetic re-
gard. You must not think that" she
said. Il should be very sorry if you be-
lieved that | regretted it. How could
that be possible? 1t was a great priv
lege to be allowed to interpose to save
the innocent from the guilty. But that
am little unnerved is surely natural
The peril was SO awfully near. In an.
other instant it would have been you
who lay bleeding, dying. before me-
The piteous sight of the other helps me
to realize that. And then, while thank
God that it was spared. the picture Of
the poor wretch yonder in the hospital
comes before me, and | shudder at the
thought that he is suffering, that he will
die from wound inflicted by my hand.
He saw that she was indeed thorough
Iy unnerved Something in the tragedy
mad certainly stirred her nature to it,
depths The fire that he had suspected
was there; he had seen it blazing in he1
syes as she stood with the upliftec
weapon that had struck the DESTROYER
down, but how soon it was quenched by
yentlest pity and divinist comp%s, ON
His heart melted within him in the sll esl
Of his love and sympathy. Yet wha
, could he say or dor Never had he fell
more keenly how wide were the barrier,
between them than as they stood alone
, together in the soft twilight and tn,
: cloistral quiet
IL feel for you more than l can o.
dare express" he said II understand
what shock it is to have had such 8
) necessity laid upon you, and to hav,
, seen the result with your own eyes.
r IS vain to repeat that would have don.
3 anything-anything whatever-to spar,
you But we were both powerless: i
a was the work of fate"-
, No" she interposed, lit was tn
t mercy of God that sent me there ant
| placed the duty before me. That being
so, what reason have for regret? None
y believe me, none. II | shudder at tn
. memory of what have seen, am never
v ;heless very grateful-grateful beyond
f neasure-to have been allowed to say,
L your life.
e He longed to take and kiss her hant
r again. as she said those words with tn
/, most earnest emphasis; but never coult
o ne less have dared anything that savoret
t II the remotest degree of presumption
y Not only the greatness of his obligation