Hot Springs weekly star. (Hot Springs, S.D.) 1892-1917, 1898-11-25
CHAPTER NN.

CHAPTER M.
Picture n long, winding road, bordcred
on either side by tall trees, with over
hanging branches, the hedges brilliant
with wild rose and woodbine. with climb
ing fo1glove and strawberry blossom, the
thick, leafy branches meeting in some
places, twining their giant arms SO as to
form n shady arch, the sunlight falling
through and casting quaint, graceful
shadows on the ground. Then through
the sunlit foliage, under the moving
boughs of the tall trees, n handsome
youth, with eager eyes and clustering
hair, rides slowly along, looking some
times at The sky above him, and some
times ut the blooming flowers. A gall
liant, princely boy, with the face of q cava-
lier, and the frank, grand smile of a
crowned king.
As he comes riding over the shadows
under the trees, the watcher by the gate
sees him at last, and heaven is mcrciful
to her that the sight does not strike her
dead.
Then a great mist came before her eyes
and dazzlcd her, q mighty sound as of
rushing waters filled her cars, u torrent Of
love rushed through her heart, making
her tremblc like a leaf in the wind, for he
had stopped ut the gate, and was speaking
to her.
She looked ut him hclplcssly; her lips
parted. but were dumb; her eager, yearn-
ing eyes were fixed on his face; her white,
nervous hands clutchcd at the bar of the
gate.
II must stcady myself" she thought.
II must remember by my own act l am
dead"
Good morning. Mrs. Rivers" a CHEEKY,
rich voice was saying; Lady Beatrice
asked me 10 call and give you these"
Her own s%on-hcavcn help hcr!-her
only child. She longed with desperate
longing to fling herself under the horses
feet and let him ride over her, leaving
her dead.
| He flung the rcins aside aud dismount-
II will fasten my pony to the gate," he
said, "and como inside, il you will allow
me, Mrs. Rivers. It is very warm, and
l have ridden fast"
All! if she could but speak to him! II
she might but cry out: Rupert, I am
your mother! / am Violante Selwyn!"
But the white, parted lips were still
dumb.
He, looking at her. thought her strange,
sad and quiet; but the widows cap and
the mourning dress accounted for that.
"You will not spoil me as Mrs. Browne
did, I hope" said the laughing voice. "She
used to make such grand lemonade for
these warm days"
III will give you anything I have"
she said with trembling energy.
He looked at her with little ;urprise.
Good and kind, but nervous" was his
mental comment.
will you really come into my house,"
she asked family, seeing that he went to-
ward the door.
THAT l will, with many thanks for the
SHELTER" he said, leading the way into the
pretty little parlor, where Lady Beatrice
had sat so lately. II am so glad of n
rest" said the boy, throwing himself IN
the couch. ut is awfully hot, Mrs.
Rivers; how cool you look here. 1 should
like n glass of water"
Nay" she said softly; II have some
thing nicer than that for YOU"
And she ran to the basket, loaded with
fruit, that Lady Beatrice had sent. Her
hands trembled as she took from It a
bunch Of purple grapes, and a sunny,
blooming peach. She laid them on a
plate, covered a small tray with a dainty
white cloth and took it to him.
"How kind you are" he said eagerly;
"but I am ro.bing you."
mo, no." she told his hastily. It was
a thousand timcs more pleasure to her
that he should enjoy them.
And enjoy them he did. She sat down
near, where she could watch him eating
the luscious grapes. How her heart
yearncd to him. her fingers tingled to
touch the bonny head, with its clustering
curls, her lips burned to touch his face
%once-only just once. She lowered round
him, she stood near him; she could not
feast her eyes enough on that frank, hand
some face; all her soul was in her eyes
and on her lips.
"Thcse are NICE" he said. "Tc tel! the
plain truth, Mrs. Rivers, l do not get
many grapes at home. Lady Beatrice
thinks boys should be brought up like
young Spartans."
Lady Beatrice:" she repeated.
"Yes," he continued; my fathers wife.
You know Lady Selwyn is not my moth
err" he added eagerly.
"Not your mother.." gasped the white
lips.
ooh. no." he replied: my own mother
is dead. She was killed in a railway acct.
dent ut Sedi, in Italy. My mother was
as beautiful as an angel, Mrs. Rivers"
. She murmured some reply; she never
> knew what.
"Ycs," he continued decisively: "sne
was just as beautiful as an angel. l &C.
member her face quite well. / used to
dream of it for years: I dream Of it now.
Such loving eyes, such sweet lips. and