The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1895-09-01
CHAPTER J.


a large shrubbery which stretched away
from the edge OF the grass. There was
nothing about its surroundings 10 suggest
isolation. but as IL stood out. clear and dis
tinct in its white dignity and stiffness
against the soft, bright life OF summer
time hy which il was surrounded. some
thing seemed 10 wrap it round and close
Il in. and &, stood there alone.
II was the marble statue Of a woman.
tall and clothed in stately. graceful drape-
ries> The bent head and face We're veiled.
and the right hand. raised high above the
head. pointed 70 the sky. Ii pointed 10 the
sky in sunshine ana IN storm. and from
sunshine and from storm alike its strange
" solitary Wilderness stood out untouched.
In every line OF the bent head In every
line Of the upiifted arm there spoke most
majestic protest and appeal, silent. and in
Ats silence more eloquent than words.
The sunlight danced upon it as 1t danced
on the green grass at its feet, on the
bright flowers in the borders near. ON the
waving trees behind; but in its marble
motiOnIessness it seemed TO stand aloof
and chill the sunshine. The soft air NOV
ing in the leaves seemed 10 have no bust
ness in its neighborhood and TO leave 1t in
an indehnable atmosphere which belonged
10 1t alone The birds were singing merrily
on every side, but over it. and over moth
ing else. rested stiffness and a silence
like its own.
And on the pedestal on which It stood
there were engraved the words Magma
est veritas."
Allan. II do 50 hope you really don't
dislike it,"
The question was asked in a very low
very sympathetic voice. and the girl who
spoke stopped in her sauntering walk, and
lifted her eyes TO the face of the man
walking by her side.
He was a tall man. and the first inn
preston made by him on a stranger would
probably have been that il was curiously
impossb BILE to come to any conclusion as
10 what his age might be- His face Nas
Emooth-shaven, and the features them
selves as well as the good grey eyes
might have belonged to a man OF any age
between 30 and 500 his movements and
figure suggested the former rather than
the latter. But time takes long TO set
such marks upon "a face "A face as Alan
Durant bore on his, and the hair above
the worn, lined forehead was the silver
hair of man of 20. His features We're
delicately cut, and very sensitive, as well
very strong and kindly, and he would
have been a handsome man If he had
looked less pale and worn. His smile
was very pleasant, in spite Of its sadness,
as he met his companions eyes, and said
gently. Il like it, Brenda"
Father don't always understand"
went on the girl, simply. land when he
told me he had persuaded you to come
down, / was so afraid it might hurt you.
IL have thought of her so much since
we have lived here. Alan"
muir. and the mans voice was very low,
as he answered:
"She was always happy here"
il does not hurt you TO think Of that2"
Not now he answered, steadily. Il
know now that she is happy stin' lie
paused a moment, and a change came
over his face as he turned away from her
and leant his hand-clenched until the
tveins stood out like cords-against the
trunk of a tree. 1T is when / think Of
him" he muttered between his clenched
teeth. "Of him ana Of my own utter
helplessness Brenda. Brenda, there was
only one thing ] could have done for my
poor little girl, and l shall never do 1t.
Neverv'
His voice died away in his throat. and
the girl, with white face and dilated eyes,
watched him in impotent pity as he
stood wrestling with an agony which the
softest touch Of compassion could only
Intensity.
Brenda Forsyth and Alan Durant were
cousins, but the intimacy between them
was of comparatively recent growth. Cir
cumstances had separted their families
during their early youth, and they had
been familiar with each others names
only. About year before, Brenda and
her father. travelling abroad, had come
across Alan Durant. and the familiar
names had taken form and substance for
both; each had been agreeably surprised
frs.s 4 g. sr.,
other; at finding that the twelve years
that lay between them and which had
SCENE SO much in the stories each had
heard of the other in childhood was as
nothing between the woman of hve-and-
twenty and the man of seVen-and-th thirty
And it would have been strange if
Brenda had not been interested in her
cousin when she met him at last if all
her womanly sympathy and kindness
had not gone out to him at once; for Alan
Durant was wandering about the world
ana sIr ma bau Deem SO "an i.lli1 3
under the burden of tragedy
which had broken up his life and driven
him away from the home that was home
10 him no longer
The lovely grounds in which the cousins
had been strolling to-day for nearly an
hour belonged to Alan Durant together
with the fine old house standing in the
midst, as part of the large property he
had inherited from his father when he
was left at sixteen an orphan. on leav-
ing college he had settled down there in
the Red House as it was called, alone with
his little sister Ellinor. who was nearly
fourteen years younger than he; and there
they had lived while the child grew up and
the young man became man of two-and-
thirty, each years that passed drawing
them closer together and frightening
their mutual tenderness.
ElinOr Durant at Is had been a little
fragile fair-haired thing, full OF fun and
spirits, intensely afIectionate and very
lmpulsive. She had many friends, and
was often away from home, in spite OF her
declaration TO her brother that the best
part of a visit was coming back again
but when, about six weeks before her
18th birthday. her brother received a press
Ing invitation from some friends to Join
them for few weeks abroad, she declared
that she had been away enough already
that summer, and persuaded her brother
to leave her at home alone.
For four weeks her letters, bright and
happy and even more tender than usual
reached her dear boy''-as She always
called her elder brother with sufficiently
quaint effect-regularly And then al