Staunton spectator and vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1896-1916, 1897-02-11
HARE AND HOUNDS.

The rosary at Gardenhurst was the
fairest spot in all that fair demesne.
Over arch and lattice and trellis the
heavy headed blooms rioted in bewil-
derment Of pink and white, crimson and
cream, forming glorious canopy above
the severely trimmed rosebushes that
glowed like gigantic bouquets on either
side of the winding paths.
But Enid Fitz Roy saw neither the
flowers about her, nor the surrounding
woods, nor the clear summer sky above
all. Tall and slender, she stood like
statue among the roses, with the folds
of her muslin frock falling straightly
about her, and her fair face somber and
troubled beneath the wide brim Of her
garden hat She was very pretty girl
and should have been very happy one,
for happiness ought to be the natural
sequence Of beauty and wealth.
The oval Of her face, that should have
been wreathed in smiles, was pale and
drawn. The small, curved mouth was
pressed together in an effort to suppress
a childish desire to cry. The sweet eyes
were hidden by the white, lowered lids
in either sorrow or Indifference, while
the full throated birds sang on and the
gay roses swung like perfumed censers
in the light air.
How could she heed or care for birds
or flowers, when her whole heart was
away in the dim library Of the old man
sion behind her, when her brain ached
| in the effort to guess at the words and
gestures that were passing there among
the frowning family portraits and the
great oak bookcases, for at that moment
Dick Lindsay was telling his loves and
hopes to Lord Funston, the stern man
whom fate had given her for an uncle
and a guardian. Ends fond heart told
her what her lover would say, how hard
| he would plead, how handsome he would
look, but-her uncle? Would he relax,
would he permit himself to be moved,
would he-consent? And in the effort to
materialize the farof scene Enid grew
pale and trembled like wind tossed
lily.
| Hurried footsteps among the roses
reused her from her reverie at last, and,
turning, she saw her lover speeding to-
ward her.
"Dick!'s' she cried in welcome, rum
ming to him and with her set face break
ing into joyous smiles. Then a little
moan escaped her, and she grew white
as her gown, for one glance at Dick
Lindsays eyes told her he had failed.
Darling, at first I hoped for sue
cess, - said Dick when Enid had regain
ed some degree Of self control and the
lovers had wandered from among the
jarring flare Of the brilliant fc yer gar
den in the friendly shadows Of the wood.
ssYour uncle heard me without inter-
ruption and even smiled once or twice.
I told him Of my prospects, how the
mortgage was nearly paid off the Knoll,
and how I should be able to live there
in another year. I referred him to Tape
son and Jenkins that he might verify
my statement as to how well the farms
were let. I proved to him that I was
| financially in position to aspire to
your hand, filed with fortunes gift as
it is. !"
sAnd he said murmured Enid,
lifting her tear washed eyes to Dicks
Handsome face.
"He said nothing. That was the
worst part of it, Enid. If he had only
advanced arguments, might have de-
Ifeated them, if he had given an opinion
might have challenged it. But he gave
me no loophole for speech. He unlocked
small drawer in his bureau-yoJ
know the one that has carved COLLINS
heads all over it-and pulled out from
amid a sheaf Of papers one that was
folded twice and was tied with tape.
81 now-I know; the copy of my
fathers will, I" cried Enid, 'made be
fore 7 was born. -
"He opened the paper and pushed i
across the bureau to me, marking witt
nail dent the passage should read
"Oh, don't repeat it; don't say it,
walled the girl, putting her hands ovel
, her ears, as though to shut out hatet
/ sounds. "Don't know too well that my
marriage was fixed for me from the be
ginning, and that my father, on hii
!. deathbed, willed that if his only ant
posthnmous child should be daughter
she should, on her twenty first birthday,
! be afianced to the only son Of his dear
est friend, Lord Errington? Oh, it wa
cruel thing to do. .
Il "Crueler still, my darling, to ordai1
that if at the date Of your majority
5 Lionel Errington were alive and unmar
ried, and you should refuse to become
, his wife, you should bedeprived Of you
, inheritance for five years and shoult
!, even not be allowed to live in your owl
house. Those shameful paragraphs wer'
all my answer. Your uncle then bowed
me- from the room. only sarcastically
begging my presence at your birthday
ball next week, during which he intend
to announce your engagement to youns
Burlington =
A hot flush stained Enid 8 white ski
and dried the tears on her cheeks as sh'
drew herself from Dicks encirclin,
arms and faced him in the narrow path
way.
"Dick Lindsay, when, six months ago
/ gave you my heart and my love, CAV,
them for all time, and not to take then
back at the written word of q NAL
whom never knew, who was dead be
fore lived. On my birthday viii, /
needs be, leave Gardenhurst and go on
into the world to earn my livelihood
until the time of my probation is past
But say now, as have said before,
will marry no man but you-if you vii
have me, Dick.
Her voice, which had rung out s.
bravely, quivered and broke, and sh
put out two trembling hands to her Low
er and crept to his heart like tire'
child.
AS he soothed her the distant roar o
q gong thrilled through the quiet woods
ri must go, sighed the girl. "On
more week of this life, and then-thel
shall be freel All, don't look at that
Dickl mean what say. I shall b
ready to leave this place in a week. "
sBut Enid, my love, where will 20
go? What will become of you?''
She shook her blond head. IT don
quite know. must think. =
Dick Lindsay fixed his dark ewes il