The Bottineau pioneer. (Bottineau, N.D.) 1885-1895, 1893-09-16
CHAPTER I.

~4AN v~A "SAI w " ~
Dunwold, it seemed to him that his
shade of a real valley of Poppies."
His fate vas a singular one He had
escaped being a genius. He did every
thing well. but nothing more than well;
he was proficient in many things, but
excelled in nothing; he had a taste for
drawing, music, literature, sculpture
in all of which he was not unskiIled,
but he excelled in none. He was the
only son of his mother, who was a
widow; she had a life annuity which
died with her, and she had saved a
small sun of money for him. He was
SO brilliant and clever as a child that
she was convinced he would be a gen.
ius. She endeavored in every possible
way to save, in order that she might
give him a good education. She sent
him to Rugby and to Oxford, hoping
that he would distinguish himself in
the church. He vas considered clever
and talented by the students and pro-
~fessors, but he failed in all the cXamina-
tons; his knowledge was too scattered
it was not concentrated enough. Aft
er that, he would not study for the
bar, he determined to live by litera-
ture. Mrs. Vane had implicit faith in
him until the last. She believed that if
he became a writer he would be one of
the lights of the world. She died be-
fore he left Oxford, leaving him the
result Of the savings of her whole life
an income of Il hundred and fifty per
annum. He was young then in years,
but old in disappointment. Without
quite knowing why. he felt that his life
was in some measure over; he had
failed, and he could hardly tell how he
had failed; he could not understand
where his life had slipped from his
grasp. He settled down in a pretty
little cottage orne at Dunwold, with his
books and pictures, and the numerous
works of art that he had gathered about
him. He resolved to devote himself
to literature; he mapped out for him
self a life that was to be quiet and
retired; he determined to live for his
books, and care for nothing else. He
went out one summer evening, and re-
turned with a love in his heart which
was his doom.
He had gone, during the silent calm
of the summer evening, down to the
little church where the great lime
trees grew, and, standing underneath
them, he heard a strain of music so
clear and sweet that his whole heart
was melted, and his soul was moved
to listen. He could have fancied that
angel hands were touching the keys,
making soft, dreamy, beautiful music,
such as one could imagine floating
from the clouds.
1t took possession of him. He stood
under the lime-trees while the sun was
setting, the birds were %chirping, and
the exquisite harmony was floating
through the air. Presently it ceased,
and in its place a sweet Drooding ST.
lence fell over the earth. 1t was the
cleaning then. He had stood there
listening longer than he knew. From
the old stone porch there passed into
the gray evening light the tall, slight fig
IRE of a young girl, with a fair, pale
face like none other he had ever seen.
1t was not beautiful, not pretty; but
there was something Of the light Of
heaven on it.
She walked through the chur ,h-yard,
and down the green lane that led to
DCnwold. Then he recovered from his
trance, and seemed to understand that
the young girl was the new Organist,
of whom he had heard the rector speak
as of a girl all soul, and that soul all
music.
He went home with a dreamy, poet
ical face engraved on his heart, with a
love that was his doom.
He found means. some few days aft
erward, to make her acquaintance.
Scholar and student as he was, he loved
music; and the happiest evenings of his
clouded life were those he spent in the
old church, or under the lime-trees,
listening to the music which seemed
to ripple from those white soft fingers.
He found that she was the child of an
English father and an Alsatian mother.
From her father she had inherited an
English face and simple, honest Eng
lish mind; from her mother, Il soul filled
with music and dreams She was an
orphan, and gained her livelihood by
her musical talents. She hau answered
the rector's advertisement for an organ
ist. and had resided for some months
in DunwOld.
She was q genius. The rector saw
that at once, and was only too pleased
to engage her to instruct his children;
so that, with her different occupations,
Elsie Redfern lived in comfort, and
found her life very pleasant.
Francis Vane asked her to marry
him, and she consented. Their love
story was an idyl; they lived in the
midst Of sunshine and music. Elsie
was shy Of speech. Sometimes, when
he asked her to tell him how much she
loved him, she would answer:
Il cannot tell you in words, but | will
in music"
And then her love would find express
sion in music that was inspired. 1t
was a love so pure, SO calm, so refined,
that it seemed to have nothing Of earth
in it.
They were married, and went to the
quiet, pretty cottage Francis Vane
called home. He made his house q
wonder of artistic beauty, with Its
choice books, rare pictures, pretty sta
tuettes: it was an artistic home. He
took especial pride in his ~garden-an
old-fashioned, sweet-smelling place.
such as poets might haunt-and the
choicest part Of It was the beautiful
bed OF white hyacinths which became
poor Elsie's pride.
For four years they liv ID together,
d life such as is rarely granted to NOR
tails, d life that was all poetry. The stu
dent spent it with his books, the wife
with her music-marriage for once no
flction-two hearts, two souls, made
one. AaH .
But the day came when the white
hyacinths dropped for want OF care,
ana the notes OF the grand old organ
were still. Never more were the white
hands Il linger over the keys; never
8 was the gentle face to shine with
the beauty Of the soul within. Elsie