San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-02-21
from nv WINDOW.

NV scented garden. have a fancy | can
not conGuer to walk into that tiny fame
white path of moonlight over there near the
hedge. DO you see itY'
"Yes. Well, go, il Titania calls you, but
soon return, and bring me lily, too,
have a fancy, you see,-ata tall lily, fresh with
dew and moOnshine."
"You shall have the tallest, the prettiest
can find" says Kit from the doorway, where
she stands framed unknOwingly, looking
such a slender, ethereal creature, with eyes
too large for her small face, that Monica,
with sudden pang of fear, goes swiftly up
toher, and, pressing her to her heart, holds
her so for a moment.
Il know whatyou are thinking now" says
Kit, with another laugh,-'that shall die
early"
Kit! Ktp
ayes. Isn't it strange? l can read most
peoples thoughts. But be happy about me-.
l look fragile, know, but shall not die UNI
| til am quite respectable age. Not hid
eous age, you will understand, but with my
hair and teeth intact. One keeps ones hair
until forty; doesn't one?"
II don't know. I'm not forty" says Mont
ca. But hurry, hurry out of the garden,
because the dew is falling"
Down the dark staircase, through the
darker halls, into the brilliant moonlight,
goes Kit The wind, soft as satin, plays
about her pretty brows and nestles through
her hair, rewarding itself thus for its en-
forced quiet of an hour ago. Reveling in
the freedom she has gained, Kit enters the
garden and looks lovingly around upon her
companions, flowers.
Who would sleep when beauty such as
this is flung broadcast upon the earth, wait
ing for man to feast his slothful eyes up
on it?
Lingeringly, tenderly, Kit passes by each
slumbering blossom, or gazeS into each
drowsy bell, until the moonlit patch of grass
she had pointed out to Monica is at last
reached. Here she stands in shadow, glanc-
ing with coy delight at the fairy-land be-
yOnd. Then she plungeS into it, and looks
veritable fairy herself, slim, and tall, and
beautiful, and more than worthy of the
wand she lacks.
Walking straight up her silver path, she
goes to where the lilies grow, in a bed close
by the hedge. But before she comes to
them, she notes in the hedge itself a wild
convOlvulus, and just alittle beyond it a
wild dOg-rOse, parent Of all roses She stays
to pluck them, and then
Kit" says voice subdued and low, but
so distinct as to sound almost in her ear.
She starts, and then looks eagerly around
her, but nothing can she see. Was it hui
man voice, or a call from that old land that
held great Zeus for its king? A message
from Olympus it well might be, on such a
night as this, when all things breathe Of old
enchantment and of mystic lore. Almost
she fears yet hopes TO see sylvan deity
peep out at her from the escalonia yonder,
or from the white-fowered sweetly-perfum-
ed syringa in that distant cOrner,-Pan the
musical, perhaps, with his sweet pipes, or a
yet more stately god, the beautiful Apollo,
with his golden Tyre. Oh, for the chance of
hearing such godlike music, with only she
herself and the pale Diana for an audience!
Perchance the gods have, indeed, been
good to her, and sent her special message
on this yellow night Fear forgotten, in the
ecstasy of this hope, the strange child stands
erect, and waits with eager longing for
second summons.
And il comes, but, alas !. IA. a fatally earth
ly tone, that ruins her fond hope forever.
Exit, it is l. Listen to me" says some
one, and then hole in the hedge is cleared,
and Mr. Desmond, stepping through it en-
tiers the mOOnlit patch, flushed, but shame
leSsly unembarrassed.
Kit, pale with disappointment, regards
him silently with no gentle glance.
"And to think" she says at length, with
slow scOrn, looking him up and down with
measureless contemplate think was mad
enough to believe for one long moment that
you might be Apollo, and that your voice
was cry from Parnassusp
AT which | rpUrpt IN saw Mr. Desmond
gives way to most unseemly mirth. II never
dreamed should attain to such great glory"
he says. II feel like the rapt one of the
godlike forehead"
you may" says the younger Miss Beres-
ford, who has awakened from the dim dusk
of 'faerie lands fOrlOrn" to the clearer light
of earth. You may" witheringly, 'JeeL
like it, but you certainly don't look like it"
81 am not complete 1 know that" says
Mr.. Desmond, still full Of unholy enjoy
ment. II lack bright ApollO's lutte strung
with his hair but if you will wait amoment
l will run back to COOle aud get the nearest
thing to it"
He turns as if to fulfill his words, but Kit
stops him.
Don't co. she says, laughing gayly, now
herself. Even the very original lutte would
not transform you into god. Stay if you
want to- After all, now 1 am again in my
senses, dare say you are as good to talk to
as heather deity"
"Oh, no." says Mr.. Desmond, humbly.
''They always Numbered when they spoke /;
so think how imposing and convincing their
arguments must have beenf'
'HoErid, should think" says Kit. "And
now tell Inc what brought you herew
This is abrupt, but, taking her in her own
mood, Desmond answers, bluntly,-
Monica"
she told you to comew
mo. But want to see her"
tShn has nnnn N hnr room "