The Wilmington daily Republican. (Wilmington, Del.) 1890-1902, 1892-01-19
THE VOICE OF AN ECHO

bridge, whose hooded tunnel threw dark
bar across the moonlit mountain stream, a
man and u woman stood looking into the
pine clad amphitheater of the cliffs, which
lay in stiffness beneath the spell of Sep
tember night. The black hollow OF the
bridge, with its one moonbeam sharp
across the floor, contrasted with the awful
splendor of the granite gorge, buttressed
and pinnacled in every rising tier, under
the flood Of ghostly light, and il the only
object Of the couple In coming here was to
see the view, they were amply repaid.
From their conversation since they left the
hotel, which now lay behind them hidden
by fringe of the forest, it would have
been difficult to say that this was not their
only object. The small talk of acquaint-
anceship, friendship and even love is with.
in certain limits, and among people habitu,
ated to each others conventions, practi.
cally indistinguishable. Frequently It is
difficult to decide why the degrees should
be of SO much consequence to the parties.
1t was in this case knowledge of the
world and the good temper of experience
that kept Mrs. Hugonin and Arthur Kin
naird on perfectly unrufiled terms with
each other. The conviction that he had
long ago forgiven her. gratifying as it once
had been, was now of such long standing
that 1t had become confused with her
earlier and less justifiable conviction that
he ultimately would forgive her. Thus
secure in vindication, the lust for which.
the dying Eve bequeathed to all her sex.
Mrs. Hugonin could without the slightest
reflection upon her widowhood accept once
more the companionship of man who
tolerated life as comfortably as Arthur
Kinnaird. The imminence Of the climac
terio which she knew to be threatening
him was not to be read from his figure
His step was alert, his cheeks were bronzed
his tastes were rational, and what NOR,
could he desirep
She pushed back her dark hair under IT.
somewhat youthful cap, and, leaning hei
elbows on the ledge, gazed without speak
ing at the haunted defile Kinnaird gave
little laugh behind her. margaret" he
said. upon my word, it seems as If VT
were boy and girl again"
why, particularly" she asked, without
turning her head
"Oh, all this summer" he replied. She
did not ask him to be more explicit. at
is certainly an ideal place." she said, will
half sigh. "Yet it is foolish to say tha,
the beauties of nature restore ones youth
One may feel young again, but one is not
really any the less dispassionate"
II am not so sure Of that" said Kin
naird 81 should like to argue the point
with you'll it could be argued"
you men are all alike" said Mrs
Hugonin. with an inconsistent shrug of her
shoulder. "You give up to logic what wa
meant for conversation"
Kinnaird stroked his mustache thought
fully for a moment. "And SO you thin
me dispassionateS" he observed.
"YouW said Mrs. Hugonin, turning witt
delightful laugh. "Why, Arthur, ther,
isn't sentiment OF conviction to whose
support society could order you to con
tributelp
"If you mean that" he said. slowly. .'it
Is quite as l feared"
.As you fearedi"
"You still believe me capable Of as much
mistaken self control as / once was. And, u
he added calmly, II don't wonder"
Though there was no bitterness appar
ent in his tono, Mrs. Hugonin was startled
"Really, this is unlike you, Arthur" sht
said gravely, but yet with a sense OF
amusement you petulant with youi
past2 You provoked with your recollec
tions' Indeed, have mistaken you"
He laughed, but gently. Gomez ht
said, "you have no right to be ironieal
Though l once let you 20, It was because ]
thought you wished to be released"
Upon my word, Arthur said Mrs. HUI
gonin, II did not know you were serious
or should not have taken this us a joke. .
II am entirely serious"
'Really2" said Mrs Hugonin, and Shit
spoke with some irritation. II thought
all had been forgotten and forgiven years
ago" Then she drew herself up proudly
Can 1t be that after all this time you have
conceived the childish within of forcing mt
to ito an apology~
"No-hardly that"
81 am ready to make it,n she went on
But if DOB
Kinnaird moved to the window beside
her and laid hand on her arm. "You ART
much Mistaken he said, in the undis
turbed voice which 50 provoked her. "You
must indeed think that am taking leave
of my years. never had much vanity,
think, but what had when was younger
never made a pet Of Look over there al
the rocks, and what do you seer"
"Rocks-and moonlight. But, Ar
thur
"The rocks make me recollect," he went
on. unheeding, that one day when you
were about seventeen you and / climbed
Lone mountain together. And when W.
reached the ravine you insisted on going
first, and let you. Now l did that be
cause l reflected that If you fell 1 could
catch you"
"Wellsn
"You sec, that was my first mistake.
should have gone first and made you cling
to my-pardon me-coat tails"
Every likely" said Mrs. Hugonin, hall
laughing But can't think it does Us
any good to talk it over nown
"After that" said Kinnaird, pursuing
his subject, II acted consistently on the
same mistaken theory. And when 1t came
to the question of giving you up thought
always of you first. That was why 1 gave
you up-which you naturally considered q
weakness"
1t did not escape Mrs. Hugonin that a
dormant weakness of her own was reviving
under the continued stress of this absurd
conversational weakness for sentiment.
But it was checked by her vexation with
her friend for breaking their tacit under.
standing-and by the feeling of half con.
temptuous pity that stole over her as he
spoke.
Were she man, she thought, she would