Connecticut western news., 1892-07-07
LOVERS AGAIN.

dark bar across the moonlit mountain stream, 8 man and woman stood look ing into the pine clad amphitheater of the cliffs, which lay in stiffness beneath the spell of September night. The black hollow of the bridge, with its one moonbeam sharp across the floor, con- trasted with the awful splendor of the granite gorge, buttressed and pinnac}ed in every rising tier, under the flood of ghostly light, and if 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 acquaintanceship, friend ship and even love is within certain limits, and among people habituated to each others conventions practically in distinguishable. Frequently it is diff cult to decide why the degrees should be of so much consequence to the par ties.
 It was, in this case, knowledge of the world and the good temper of experi- ence that kept Mrs. Hugonin and Ar thur Kinnaird on perfectly unruff1ed terms with each other. The conviction that he had long ago forgiven her, grati- flying as it once had been, was now of such long standing that it had become confused with her earlier and less justi- fable 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, with out the slightest reflection upon her widowhood, accept once more the com panionship of a man who tolerated life as comfortably as Arthur Kinnaird. The imminence of the climacteric 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 more could he desire?
 She pushed back her dark hair under it's somewhat youthful cap and, leaning her elbows on the edge, gazed, without speaking, at the haunted defle. Kin naird gave little laughed behind her. Margaret" he said, "upon my word, it seems as if we were boy and girl again" !"
 SWhy, particularlyY' she asked, with out turning her head.
 "Oh, all this summer" he replied. She didn't ask him to be more explicit "It is certainly an ideal place." she said, with a half sigh. "Yet it is foolish to say that the beauties of nature restore ones youth. One may feel young again, but one is not really any the less dispas- sionate'' 'I am not so sure of that" said Kin naird. 'I should like to argue the point with yorl-if 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 was meant for conversation" Kinnaird stroked his mustache thought fully for a moment. "And so you think me dispassionate?' he observed.
 "You" said Mrs. Hugonin, turning with delightful laugh. "Why, Arthur, there isn't sentiment or conviction to whose support society could order you | to contribute"
 eff you mean that" he said slowly, "it is quite as feared"
 ''As you fearedr's
 ''You still believe me capable of as | much mistaken self control as I once was. And," he added calmly, ''I don't | wonder"
 Though there was no bitterness ap parent in his tone, Mrs. Hugonin was startled. Really, this is unlike you Arthur" she said gravely, but yet with sense of amusement "You petulant with your past? You provoked with you1 recollections? Indeed I have mistaken you"
 He laughed, but gently. "Come," he said, ''you have no right to be ironical Though 1 once let you go, it was because thought you wished to be released"
 "Upon my word, Arthur" said Mrs Hugonin, "I did not know you were as joke"
 ''I am entirely serious"
 "Reallyr' said Mrs. Hugonin, and sht spoke with some irritation. 'I though all had been forgotten and forgive1 years ago." Then she drew herself ul proudly, "Can it be that after all thii time you have conceived the childish whim of forcing me to a,-to an apology?
 "No-hardly that"
 'I am ready to make it" she went on stBut if I do''-
 Kinnaird moved to the window besid, her and laid his hand on her arm. "Yol are much mistaken" he said, in the un disturbed voice which so provoked her "You must indeed think that am talk ing leave of my years. I never bat much vanity, 1 think, but what I hat when was younger never made pc of. Look over there at the rocks ant what do you seeP'
 "Rocks-and moonlight. But, Ar thur
 'The rocks make me recollect," h went on, unheeding, "that one day whe1 you were about seventeen you and
 climbed Lone mountain together. Ant when we reached the ravine you insiste' on going first, and let you. Now I di' that because reflected that if you fell could catch you"
 "WellY'
 s~You see, that was my first mistake I should have gone first and made yo1 cling to my-pardon me-coat tails"
 "Very likely" said Mrs. Hugonin half laughing. But l can't think 1t doe us any good to talk it over now"
 "After that" said Kinnaird, pursuin his subject, "I acted consistently on tn same mistaken theory. And when . came to the question of giving you up, thought always of you first. That wa why gave you up-which you natura
 ly considered weakness"
 It did not escape Mrs. Hugonin that
 dormant weakness of her own was IT