Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1897-05-13


baggage beside us; tsere are polite ofr-
Gals suggesting the various excellences OF
their respective hotels; there is my par
ticular maid little distance off, and there
is Darby, with meek and wondering face,
listening to my raptures. For Darby, who
could not bear to be separated from me,
had at my husbands own request, accom-
panied us.
Presently we were at the hotel, and l
am shown into q room ali white lace, and
dainty furniture, and with balcony be-
yond the window, from which | behold a
perfect panorama of loneliness. The sun
is just sinking behind the highest OF the
mountain peaks-it is the Galsberg, l
learn afterwards. The rich, soft air seems
like breath of purer life, and as L stand
and gaze, the river and valley fade into
paler tints, and the trees stand black as
shadows against the rose hues OF the SKY.
Zone is glad of life at such time, !
say at last, and draw the child closer to
my side, and tell her in low, hushed tones
of those wonderful heights with their
crowns of snow that reach far, far up to
heaven, of how the clear stars leap into
the violet dusk of the sky, of the waters
that grow so dark as the spell of night
creeps onward, and how one by one the
distant lamps CLEAN out through trees
and avenues, and shine down into the
river.
Il can see it ALL" says the child, as /
cease speaking. ''How beautiful it must
be, 10! 1 can hear the river quite dis
tinctly about the whole place.
''It seems the only thing that has life or
notion" l answer dreamily. There is
such a sence of stiffness and restfulness
about the whole place"
"How accurately you have described
it, says a voice close at hand-a voice
that makes me start as if, indeed, the dead
had found me here in this faint dusk, a
voice remembered as only pain remem-
bers; and cold, and sick, and trembling, |
turn, and beside me, on the adjoining bal
cony, l see-Yorke Ferrers. For a mo-
ment do not speak, No word-not even
the commonest form Of greeting will my
lips frame. | only stand as if turned to
stone, and gaze at the face before me
with eyes that must surely speak the ter
ror of my heart.
He bends little nearer. I have some
dim, confused idea that he puts out his
hand, but l do not touch it. l draw fur
Their and further aWay-a sort of horror
seizes me. / feel as if hated INUNDATED
him because he stands there, calm, smil-
ing, composed; and what agony has me
in it's grip as l lean against the cold stone
balustrade, tongue-tied, paralyzed, by the
shock of this strange meeting!
Darby's voice rouses me. Darby it is
who runs forward and clasps the hands
that to me are as the hands of a muir
derer.
cit is Yorke," she cries gladly. ut is
Yorke, and here, too! How funny! Did
you know we were here!"
mo- he says; Il did not know
''Why don't you speak to him, Joan?"
the child goes on. Are you not glad to
see him? You were so fond of him once.
Was she not, Yorker"
''Yes," he says, in an odd, cold voice;
ct think she was fond of me once. But
that was long time ago, Darby-a long
time ago!'
Then something gives me strength, and
I stand up calm and straight, though pain
seems draining the very life-blood from
my heart.
II was too surprised to speak to you,"
I say in a voice that is no more like my
own than these falling evening shadows
are like the radiant sunset l have watch
ed. "How-how did you come here?"
''By train, from Vienna" he answers.
"May I ask the same question Of you?
Or shall waive ceremony, and say al
once, why have you never answered my
letters?''
.Your letters?.I gasp. "What letters?'
"Those wrote before leaving London,
and again from Boulogne," he says. Il
grew sick Of it at last. A one-sided cor
respondence has few charms at the best
of times. 1t certainly possessed none for
me-"
''Your-letters?' I repeat. "Why, I
never had one after last July. Never,
though [ wrote to you again and again.
though l begged and prayed for one word
to say you had not forgotten"
81 never forget" he says in the same
hard, strange way-'never. It is my mis-
fortune to have fatal memory. There
is something odd about this. | can't I'M
derstand it,"
''But 1 cam" I cry with sudden pas
sion of wrath and Indignation. "You are
not telling me the truth-you can't be.
Why did you go away with that woman?
lift you had loved me as you said, you
could never have done that-never! And
as for letters, had none. And all these
months have waited and waited in vain!
Oh" I cry in sudden despair, as | wiring
my hands together, what does it all
mean?" CTo be continued.I
"A Discovery.
One Of Washington's scientific men