The Bottineau pioneer. (Bottineau, N.D.) 1885-1895, 1893-10-14
CHAPTER vII-(Continued.)

| IL WNS preIty ~ see Tue LSuI III ucI
eyes and the flush of expectation on her
face when the ladies in the drawing
room awaited the coming of the gentle
men. Some subtle attraction drew Alan
ut once to her side. He took the chair
nearest to her, and, Is Lady Rosedene
expressed it to herself, remained there
"a FIXTURE" all the evening. Some
charitable LADY, as Alan mentally
called her, sat down to the piano, and
under cover of The music he was able
to talk.
i've been trying to think" he said,
what it is of which your eyes remind
me. The blue of them recalls some
thing to my memory, and I hardly
know what it is. I have it, he cried,
suddenly. "They are of the same color
as the deep blue cCrnflowers that grow
in France"
They grow in England, too" an
Swered Hyacinth.
Yes; but they look poor when COM
pared with the blue ones that bloom
under the warm skies of France. l
shall take the cornfiower for my favo:-
lite flower, as Napoleon took the violet,
and the Bourbons the lily. l will alter
the arms of my family, and add a corn
flower to them"
"All because my eyes are blue?" she
asked, laughingly. .
II begin to think that every thing
most beautiful is blue" he said. 1T
is the color of the heavens, of the
Southern sea- Of the cornfiower, Of
your eyes"
She laughed.
THAT sounds like fattery,' she told
him.
"Oh, no." he replied. 1T is sweet
est truth. What a strange thing that
I should have come just now while
you are here! If l had missed this
visit, I might never have seen you"
And them" she asked, with a sud-
den paling of her lovely face.
Them" he said. why, the world
would have been different, as it is diff
ferent now" and the evening was over
befOre-to them-it had seemed to be
gin.
us your name really Hyacinth?' he
asked her a few days afterward. II
heard Lady Rosedene call you So"
Yes 1t was my mothers choice"
she answered simply; and she told him
how proud her young mother had been
Of the beautiful white hyacinths, and
how in dying she had asked that their
name might be given to her.
\. Sudden gleam of tenderness came
into his eyes, as she told him of her
quiet home, and the solitary man whose
only happiness consisted in watching
owe lis wife's grave
How real everything must be to
you," he said-'hoW real all love and
all sorrow"
Are they not neal to you:' she asked.
II fancy that contact with the world
in some measure takes the earnestness
and the reality from most things. Men
try to glide aw ay from'sorrow in the
world, and look upon love as a jest;
to you they are both sacred. and SOL
emn."
'1hey are part Of hcaver," she an
swered, simply. MY father says that
love is a tree-the roots are on earth,
the flowers are in heaven. He says
sorrow is the fire that prepares us for
heaven
He looked at the lovely, guileless
young face.
"And YOU believe What your father
teaches. no doubt"' he said.
certainly. I think my father Is
one of the wisest as he is n of the
simplest men on earth"
IL was " I ~ SASy AASN
to steal off into the grounds. believing
that no n noticed them. When Lady
Rosedene saw them in the avenue Of
lines, she would say jestingly:
do not 60 down by the lime trees
our young lovers are there"
Major Tarne and Sir Harry gave up
hope. Every one in the household
seemed to have a kindly interest in
Miss Vane and Mr.. Branston. Those
who were old renewed their youth in
watching this pretty love poem.
It was pleasant to watch Hyacinth's
when her lover Was near. Its ftful
fushes, happy smiles, love-lit eyes, the
sunshine that seemed to emanate from
her, made everything around appear
bright Lady RCsedene was delighted.
She had planned what the world was
pleased to call many good matches;
but this was different from any of
them. This was a case cf true love,
such as she seldom had to deal with,
and her ladyship grew young again as
she watched it.
1t was pleasant to see Hyacinth's fair
face looking like a rose that had been
bathed in dew. Repeatedly she wore a
flower in her breast that had been
gathered by her young lover.
The old, old story a it's length
there were lovers quarrels, half hours
when1to both Of them the lovely bright
world was only a funeral vault, when
every hope seemed ended, caused, per-
haps, by n word misunderstood.
There were hours when she felt sure
he did not care for her, and he feared it
was all a mistake to imagine she loved
him. They were due to pretty lovers
uuarrels that had in them pathos
enough to make one weep, and comedy
enough to make one laugh, and the old
story was told over and over again by
them to the same rhythm, the same
music, the same smile and tears, as
accompany it everywhere.
Alan Branston was happy as a man
could be-braye, quick, energetic, ar
den., hopeful, while Hyacinth gave her.
self up to a passionate happiness that
was almost pitiful to see.
The day came when Alan sought his
fair young love and asked her to be his
wife-neither Of them forgot it in the
dark hours Of the future they both had
before them. One afternoon Alan had
grown desperate, and said he must
speak to her that same evening, that
he must have her promise to become
his wife. Under the Y OF Q song,
he whispered to her:
"Hyacinth, the stars are shining; do
you think you could steal out into the
lime-avenue for five minutes? / have
something I must say to you; the words,
are burning my heart away. Will you
comeg' s
She looked up at him with 9 shy,
hurried, sweet glance.