Herald and news. [volume] (West Randolph, Vt.) 1878-1943, 1892-05-05

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and practiced hard in her spare moments.
She had been playing a long time one
evening in April. and had left the piano
for low chair beside the open fire. She
was tired. Although spring had come,
the evenings were chill and the room
was large. Her hands We're cold and she
spread them out to the blaze. The heavy
curtains beloved and sank and beloved
again, as intrusive puffs of wind crept
oficiously through the crevices of the
DID easements. Blanche and Berkeley
were with her mother and they were
reading Lorna Doone." She had read
the book week ago and did not care to
hear it over.
The front door opened quietly-it was
always on the latch-and footsteps came
along the hall; quick, eager footsteps.
straight to the parlor door; the knob
turned. No need to turn her head, no
need to question of her heart whose step,
whose hand that was, to guess whose
presence filled the room.
Thorne came across the room, and
stood opposite, great light of JOY in his
eyes, his hands outstretched for hers.
Benumbed with many emotions, Poca-
hontas half rose, an inarticulate muir
muir dying on her lips. Thorne put her
gently back into her chair and drew one
for himself up TO the hearth rug near
her; he was willing to keep silence for a
little space, TO give her time to recover
herself; he was satisfied for the moment
with the sense of her nearness, and his
heart was filled with the joy of seeing
her once more. The lamps were lit, but
burning dimly. Thorne rose and turned
both to their fullest brilliancy; he must
have light to see his love.
II want to look at you, Princess" he
said gently, seeking her eyes, with
look in his not to be misunderstood; lit
has been so long-so cruelly long, my
darling, since / have looked on your
sweet face. You must not call the 9th
ers For this first meeting want but
you-you only. my Lowell my queen!'
His voice fingered over the terms of en-
dearment with exquisite tenderness.
Pocahontas was silent-for her life she
could not have spoken then. Her gray
eyes had an appealing, terrified look as
they met his; her trembling hands
clasped and unclasped in her lap.
How frightened you look, my dar-
ling" Thorne murmured, speaking soft
ly and keeping tight rein over himself.
"Your eyes are like a startled fawn's.
Have | been too abrupt-two thought
less and inconsiderate? You would for
give me. love, if you knew how have
longed for you; have yearned for this
meeting as Dives yearned for water-as
the condemned yearn for reprieve. Have
you no smile for Inc, sweetheart-no
word of welcome fon the man whose
heaven is your love? You knew would
come. You knew loved you, Princess"
"Yes"-the word was breathed rather
than uttered, but he heard it and made
half movement forward, the light in
his eyes glowing more passionately. Still,
he held himself in check; he would give
her time
you knew loved You, Princess" he
repeated. Eyes, you must have known.
Love like mine could not be concealed;
it must burn its way through all obsta-
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and fusing them into one. Don't try to
speak yet, love, there is no need to an
swer unless you wish, can wait-for
am near you. "
Pocahontas rallied her forces resolute-
ly. called up her pride, her womanhood,
her sense of the wrong he had done her.
If she should give way an instant-if she
should yield hairs breadth she would
be lost. The look in his eyes, the ten
derness of his voice, appeared to sap the
foundations of her resolution and to turn
her heart to wax within her.
"Why have you Conner she walled,
her tone one of passionate reproach.
'Had you not done harm enough? Why
nave Won Gomez"
Thorne started slightly, but command
ed himself. Ii was the former marriage.
the divorce; she felt it keenly-every
woman must; some cursed meddler had
told her
my darling" he answered with pa
tient tenderness, ''you know why have
it was impossible for me to
keep away. love you, Princess, as a
IndH lONes out ONCE III HIS Ire. w III YOU
come to me? Will you be my wife,
The girl shook her head and moved
her hand with gesture of denial; words
she had none.
Il know of what you are thinking,
Princess. know the idea that has taken
possession Of your mind. You have
heard of my former marriage and you
know that the woman who was my wife
still lives. Is it not so?' She bent her
head in mute assent. Thorne gazed at
her pale, resolute face with his brows
knit heavily, and then continued:
Listen to me. Princess. That woman
Ethel Ross-is my wife no longer, even
in name; she ceased to be my wife in
fact two years ago. Our lives have drift
ed utterly asunder. 1t was her will, and
[ acquiesced in it, for she had never
loved me. and I-when my idiotic in
for her heartless, diabolical