The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1891-05-23
VOL. XXVI.-NO. 29.


bird-like fashion.
She did not look at me again; and since
she sat in perfect silence did not venture
to make any mention Of our previous
meeting in the woods. Miss Denison and
1 kept up desultory conversation until
her father, having finished his meal, rose,
and, with "Good evening, Mr.. Erskine,
as awful as his first greeting of me, left the
room.
"My father spends the evening in his
own sitting room, exclaimed my hostess.
"You will get used to our ways in time.
assured her earnestly that she must not
consider me in such matters. In fact, l
felt infinitely relieved that the terrible old
man should prefer spending his evenings
alone, and so leave me torevel in the COM
pany of the beautiful Sylvia, her aunts
presence being, to my youthful dihdence,
quite other than drawback.
"Sylvia, darling, why did you stay out
so late ?" Miss Denison was saying, with
an anxiety in her voice that would not
brook waiting for my absence to express
ITSELF ''You know your grandfather dis
likes unpunctuality so much.
"a warning for me- l thought, deter
mining not unnecessarily torouse my hosts
wrath
"Oh, Aunt Rachel, it was so lovely. |
forgot. And then" she looked shyly
across at me.
81 came upon Miss Denison in the woods
before supper" | explained; II am afraid
| startled her, for she ran away at the sight
of me-
"Silly child" laughed her aunt; but the
anxious look was strong in her eyes. "fou
won't be afraid Of Mr.. Erskine again p
The girl looked at me and smiled.
"No," she said, like child.
"Im not very terrible person, l said,
and then wished | had not, for Sylvia's
eyes went to the door by which her grand
father had left the room, as if my words
suggested comparisons.
We went into the drawing room then
a long, low pitched room, with faded fur
niture, and scent of pot-pourri, where a
wood fire burned in the grate-pleasant
and friendly, in spite of June weather and
wide open windows; and then Sylvia grew
bolder and talked little, with the awaken
ing confidence of reassured child.
All, how lovely she looked; the freight
caressing her soft cheek and dancing in her
eyes; the slender hands clasping and un-
ciasping each other, as she impaired to me
some of the secrets of the woods she SEEM
ed to know by heart.
Miss Denison sat and knitted and listened,
putting in a word now and again, but leav-
ing the burden of the talk on us two young
people.
dI thought you were the fairy of the
woods yourself tonight, Miss Sylvia" |
said once jestingly.
She fixed her eyes on me with strangely
intent expression.
"Didn't you seq" she began.
"Sylvia, dear, come and hold this skein
for me" put in Miss Denison; and, Mr..
Erskine, may trouble you to put another
log on the fire? You will find the basket
by the side of the fireplace" "
At ten o'clock Sylvia rose and kissed
her aunt affectionately. Then she held
out her slim hand to me. "Good night, =
she said, in her soft, even voice; 81 will
show you the woods tomorrow"
"My niece is not very strong" Miss
Denison was saying, when my eyes came
back from following the girls light figure
to the door as she passed out. "That is
why why her grandfather and I
don't like her to be wandering in the
woods so late.
Delighted-if abashed at finding myself
discussing this beauteous nymph with her
aunt and apparent guardian, for L conclud-
ed she must be an orphan-I was en-
boldened to murmur. "She is so lovely"
and stopped short, afrighted at my own
boldness.
Miss Denison looked at me gravely for
a moment, with eyes that seemed to be
searching my very soul, and made me
think she must be offended
ayes" she said at last, with sigh, ''she
is lovely. Mr.. Erskine, | don't often
make mistakes about character, and think
you are both kind hearted and trust
worthy"
She paused and | blushed hotly as |
stammered out that hoped so.
"Sylvia leads dull and contracted life
here" she continued. sit is not good for
her-for any girl-to live the narrow life
she lives. II will be such a great help to
her if you will take little trouble to
divert her mind from-to amuse her; to
talk to her a little about the outside world,
the world away from this weary-this
wood"
The anxious look was very strong on
her face as she spoke.
''Trouble p What could it be but
pleasure and delight to amuse or interest
this fairy maiden of the woods? What
sweeter reward could difident youth desire
than to bring the smile to her eye, the
laugh to her lips?
at will be the greatest pleasure to me,
Miss Denison, | assure you, if Miss
Sylvia will allow me to be of the very
slightest service or diversion to her in any
way" l declared grandiloquently, but none
the less sincerely; and Miss Denison bade
me good night with kindliness that seem
ed almost like gratitude, and dismissed ME
to slumbers in my lavender scented sheets
that were haunted by visions of the woods
and this white robed Dryad.
When l woke next morning, my eyes
opened on the unfamiliar room with a
sense that 1 must still be dreaming, and |
should, presently awake to find myself in
my well known chamber in London; and,
even as l dressed, vague fears beset me
lest the fairy of The evening before were at
best but the heroine of an especially vivid
dream, so that my heart gave palpable
leap when, on entering the breakfast room,
1 saw her sitting demurely at the table,
looking in the bright morning light no less
lovely, though something less ethereal,
under last nights glamour
Miss Denison greeted me with smiling
cordiasity, while her fathers cold "Good
morning" expressed as little of that virtue
as words could manage.
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