The Bourbon news. [volume] (Paris, Ky.) 1895-19??, 1897-12-28

you are exploring a new country, Mr..
Livingston. The French call it lie pays
du tendre"
was completely taken abaolk. am
not man who wears his heart upon his
sleeve, and 1 had taken infinite pains
TO keep thai unruly organ out of sight.
Your silence" she continued, ICON
firms my fears. Let me entreat you
to turn back before it is too late"
turn back!" I calculated. Mrs.
Gerard, this is no walking tour. 1 am
traveling-by express"
1T is better to walk" she said, coldly.
could tell by her tone that she was
provoked.
1T is better to crawl" 1 replied; ''but
when man is travelling sixty miles an
hour it is dangerous to leave the train"
''But you must leave the train-at
once"
"And break my neck-my heart, I
mean
Hearts do not break" she muir
INJURED; sat least, not the hearts of
men,
Mrs. Gerard, you are cruel. Have
you anything against me?"
"No, no; but Nancy is not, as-as
you think, the daughter of Mr.. Gerard.
Her father"-the last words were al
most inaudible-'is Edgar Burling-
ton"
I must have been blind not to have
discovered this fact for myself. How
much it accounted for, physically and
intellectually! From him she inherited
those brilliant eyes; from him, the
power of speech, the torrens dicendi
copia. And what else?
1 took the hand of the poor lady be-
side me, and kissed it.
II love her." whispered. For her
self, first, and, secondly, because she is
your daughter"
Nancy" said Mrs. Gerard, in frozen
tones, "can never marry. have given
her an education that is given to few
girls. She has abundant material for
happiness outside of marriage, which at
best is so often a failure. Her books,
her music, her absorbing interest in
humanity, these must fill her life"
why? Why?"
''Her father" The fear stamped upon
her face twisted my heartstrings; but
there was a quality in it conspicuously
absent from the terror of Mark Gerard.
This was no coward sentiment. The
awful dread was not for self, but for
others. Her father, as you know, is a
dangerous mailman; the faint of in
sanity is in poor Nancy's veins"
Il don't care a rap" 1 answered. 81
love her"
''AIr. Livingston, do you force me to
tell the truth to Nancy?"
You could not be so cruel; and, be-
sides, II have no reason to suppose
that she returns my love. 1 have taken
10 advantage of my position. [ have
You must leave the cottage to-mor-
row."
"Leave?" 1 stammered The word
stuck in my throat.
We were sitting in the parlor. Mrs.
Gerard, feeling that further conversa-
ton was intOlerable, rose from her
chair and walked slowly from the room.
Through the window l caught glimpse
of her graceful figure as she paced down
the garden path. Was Nancy destined
to fit from my life in some such alb
rupt fashion? Not VIII lie /, Hugo Liv-
ingston, had life and limbs to pursue
1 waited a couple of minutes, choking
my emotion, then / followed. l found
her at the end of the walk, where flight
of steps led to the sands. She stood
shading her eyes from the setting sun.
her glance straying southwark.
noted, in the mid-distance, man walk
ing rapidly, probably Demetrius, for
he was tall and well proportional
Strangers frequently passed the house
(the sands at low tide were public
highways; and L wondered vaguely
what possible interest this pedestrian
challenged. Mrs. Gerard ignored me
entirely. She stared intently at the ap-
preaching man.
[ touched her arm.
Mrs. Gerard, pity you profoundly
but if / am willing to take the chances
if
''Hush!" she cried, wildly. ''In the
name of Heaven, who is that?"
She pointed dramatically at the figure
striding swiftly along the sands.
Some stranger" murmured. ''AIrs
Gerard, you are overweight; let me
take you back to the house"
SIT is he,'' she said, trembling. at is
Edgar Burlington. He has found me at
last"