Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1891-07-30
MON ICA.
A LOVE STORY OF MODERN DAYS
CHAPTER XII.


It is ten O'Clock, and as lovely a night az
ever Overhung the earth. The moon is at
its fullest, the wind has fallen, all is calm
as heaven itself, through which Dictynna's
unclouded grandeur rolls.
The Misses Blake, fatiguad by their IN
usual dissipation, ordered an early rout an
hour agone, whereby bedroom candleSticks
We're in demand at nine or half past nine
o'clock.
Now, in MOnica's room, Kit is standing by
the open window, gazing in rapt admiration
at the deW-SpaEgied garden beneath. Like
diamonds glitter the grass and the flowers
beneath the kiss of the queen of night.
MOonbeamS are playing in the roses, and
wrestling in the lilies, and rocking to and
fro upon the bosom of the stream.
There Is peace unSpeakable on all
around. One holds ones breath and feels
longing painful in its intensity as one
drinks in the beauty of the earth and sky.
"IWere hedUen to be assured of love on such
night as this.
Stars make the vault above so fine that all
the world, methinks, should be in love with
night and pay no worship to the garish sun.
There is rush of feeling in the air,-a
promise Of better things to come,-of hope,
OF glad desire, of sweet love perfected!
How lovely night it is p says Kit, lean
Ing far out of the window, and gazing west
ward. She is at heart a born artist, with a
mind, indeed, too full of strange, weird
thoughts at times to augur we'll for the hap
piI IS of her future. Like many of her Irish
race, she is dreamy, cal,-intensa at
one moment, gay, wild, impulsive the next.
See what flood of light there is on
everything! she says, "Bdthed in moon
light" what a good thought was that!
Monica, when l am as old as you, in a very
fe' short years | shall be a poet''
mo, you won't, darling; YOU will be a
musician. See what fairies lie beneath your
fingers even now when you touch the piano
or violin; be content, then, with your great
gift which most surely is yours. And to
me- indeed, it seems q @randerthing to thrill
ana encaain and draw tOyour eetalI hearts
by the power of harmony that dwells with
In you, than by the divine gift of song that
poets have"
but their songs are harmony" says the
child, Turning quickly to her.
''Ay, the Interpretation Of it, but you have
Its very breath. No; search the world over,
and you will find nothing so powerful to
affect the souls Of all rs music"
'Well some day [ shall want to do some
thing" says Kit, vaguely; and then she
turns to the window again, and lets her
mind wander and lose itself in amute sonata
to the fair Isis thrOned above.
'It draws me-" she says, presently, rising
slowly and addressing Monica but always
with her Gaze fixed upon the sleeping gar
den down below. "It is so bright, so clear"
"What Kit?"
1.-THE moonlight. mus" rcstlessly, ego
down into it for little moment, or shall
not sleep through longing for it,"
tSJ(uf tho doors orc oIocaJ NV doc ar6
Aunt Priscilla is in bed, and 50 are the SER
wants."
$50 much the better. can draw the bolts
myself without being questioned. Yousaid
just now" gayly, 4 have fairy beneath
my fingers. | think | have a moon-fairy in
my heart, because | love it So"
stay here with me, then, and worship it
sensbly from my window"
''What do you look for sense in moon
struck madneSs?' No; shall 90 down to
my scented garden. l have fancy l can
not conquer to walk into that tiny flame
white path or moonlight over there near the
hedge. DO you see it?'
YES. Well, go, if Titania calls you, but
soon return, and bring me a lily,-I, too,
have fancy you SEGA tall lily, fresh with
dew and mOOnShine."
''You shall have the taIleSt the prettiest l
can find" says Kit from the doorway, where
she stands framed unknowingly, looking
such 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 moment.
81 know whatyOu are thinking now" says
Kit, with another laugh,-'that | shall die
early"
''KitI Kitw
Eyes. Isn't it strange? l can read most
peoples thoughts. But be happy about me.
l look fragile, l know, but [ shall not die I'M
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?2
Il don't know. I'm not forty" says MOni-
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 Ell
forced quiet of an hour ago. Revelmg III
the freedom she has gained, Kit enters the
garden and looks lovingly around upon her
companions, -the 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
Slumberirg 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-
inc with coy delight at the fairy-land be-
yond. Then she plunges into it, and looks
veritabIe fairy herself, slim, and tall, and
f1rI md M
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 wild
convClvuluS, and just little beyond it a
wild dog-rOSe, parent of all roses She stays
to pluck them, and then
Kit" says a 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 4 call from that old land that
held great Zeus for its king? y message
from Olympus it well might be, on such q
night as this, when all things breathe of ole
enchantment and of mystic lore. Almost
she fears vet hopes to see a sylvan deity
peep out at her from the escalonia yOnder
or from the white-hOwered Sweety-p2rfum
ed syringa in that distant cOrner,-Pan the
musical, perhaps, with his sweet pipes, o. {
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 foran audience
Perchance the gods have, indeed, beer
good to her, and sent her special Hessag>
on this yellow night. Fear forgotten, in the
ecstasy OF this hope, the TRANCE childstands
erect, and watts with eager longing for q
second simmons.