San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-02-17

beauty, time Slips from us unannounced,
and the minutes from morn to eventide and
from the cleaning to nightfall, melt into
one another, until all seem but one sweet.
heightened hour.
Certain stray little smbeams half wild
with glee, rushing hither and thther through
the roses, discover Miss Penelope Blake sit
ting in the drawing-rOOm at Moyne. She is
dressed in her very best lavender silk, that
would stand alone and be glad to do it if il
was let, but unabashed by her SplendOr
ApOlloS saucy babies dance down upCnher,
and, Selling on her -knitting-needles, play
hide-and-seek among them, untl the poor
lady'S eyes are fairly dazzled.
Fortunately, at this instant Miss Priscilla,
entering the room, draws down the blind
and restores order: after which she seats
herself almost directly opposite her sister.
The Misses Blake are not pretty old ladies
at all | don't want to deceive you in this
matter. They are, in fact, quite ugly old
ladies. Their noses are all wrong, their
cheeks are as wrinklcd as TimOthy's fore
head, and their mouths are out of all draw
ing.
'aMiss Priscilla's eyes are brown,-a deep
startling brown, that seem to look yOu
through and through and compel the truth.
Her hair is brown, too, and soft, and silky,
and pretty, though thickly sprinkled with
gray. She has "A great deal of this hair, and
is secretly very proud of it.
Miss PenelOpe'S eyes are pale blue,-with
very little blue, and but for her long lashes
(sOle remnants of goodlier days would be
oppressive. Her hair is pale, too, and sandy,
and is braided back from her forehead in
severe lines.
"All is ready now,' says Miss PRISCILLA
who is the Martha at Moyne, while we may
regard Miss Penelope as the Mary. THE
rooms are prepared, nothing is wanting, and
the flowers smell so sweet. l have sent the
carriage to meet them, though l know the
train cannot be here for quite an hour yet;
but l think it wise always to be in time"
There is nothing like il, !" says Miss Pene-
lope, placidly.
Now | shall rest here with you little
WHILE" goes on the elder maiden, complac-
emily, land think of all that is likely to hap
pen
Really" says Miss Penelope, lowering
her work and glancing restlessly at her sis
ter Il feel more nervous than l can say,
| when | think of their coming. What on
earth should we do, my dear Priscilla, if
| they took dislike to us?"
Il have thought of that myself" says
Miss Priscilla, in an awestruck tone. 1--WE
are not attractive, Penelope; beyond few
"a pery few-insignilcant touches" with
| an inward glance at her fine hair, 1--WE are
absolutely outside the pale of beauty. l
wonder if Monica will be like her mother;
| or if"
Here something happens that puts final
30, oil do 4
quickly, impetuously; there is sound as of
| many footsteps on the threshold without.
The old ladies start in their seats, and sit
upright, trembling excessively. What can
| have happened? Has the sedate Ryan come
| to loggerheads with Mrs. Reilly the cook?
| "a state of things often threatened); and
| are they now standing on the mat outside
| meditating further blOOdShed?
| A moment surcharged with thrilling sus-
pense goes by, and then, not Ryan or the
| cook, but much more perpleXing vision
comes slowly into the room.
| 1t is very radiant vision, though it is
clothed in mourning garments, full of grace
| and beauty. Very shy, with parted lips,
| and brilliant, frightened eyes, but perfect
as an opening flower.
| Is it child or woman? is the first ques-
| ton that strikes Miss Penelope. As for Miss
| Priscilla, she is too surprised for thought of
| any kind, too lost in admiration of the little,
| gracious, uncertain figure, with its deep blue
eyes glancing up at her with half-territied
vet trusting expression, to give away to
speech of any kind.
She is slight and slim as a hazel wand.
Her hair is nut-brown, with red gold tinge
running through it. Her nose is adorable,
| if slightly tilted; her mouth is red, red
| rose, sad but sweet, and full Of purpose.
| Her eyes are large and expressive, but touch
| ed, like her lips, with suspicion of melan-
| chOly that renders them only degree more
| sweet and earnest.
There is spirituality about her, calm,
| a peace that shines out of these dark Irish
| eyes, and rests upon her perfect lips, as it
| were lingering breath of the heaven from
| whence she came.
She stands now, heSitating little, with
| her hands loosely claSped-brOwn little
| hands, but beautifully shaped. Indeed, all
| her skin owes more of its COlOring to Ph9-
! bus Apollo thannature intended. She draws
| her breath somewhat quickly, and then, as
| though anxious to get through the trOublous
| task assigned her, says, nervOusly, IN low,
! sweet voice.
| II am Monica.
As she says this, she glances entreatingly
| from one old lady 10 the other, with some
trouble in her great eyes, and some tears.
| Then all at once her lips tremble to smile,
| and a soft light breaks upon her face.
"YOu are Aunt Priscilla she says, turn
| ing to- Miss Blake; Il know yOu by your
| dark eyes and by your pretty hair"
At the sound of her voice the two old
| ladies wake from their abstraction.
YES, yes, it is your aunt Priscilla" says
Miss Penelope, eagerly, with a sudden
| pleased smile Had the compliment been
made to herself she could not possibly have
anneared morn deIighted. and certainly