The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1899-07-12

ly played upon her affections. Wheth-
er or not she wIonged him in this,
Blake pitied her now from the bottom
OF his heart. He realized what diff
ferent creature was this unsophistiea-
ted, artless, trusting country maiden
from other girls with whom he had
fiirted, or tried TO fiirt.
They went up separately TO the farm
house after it had grown dark. Cicely
would not let Blake walk with her, but
he followed her afar of, compassion
ately watchful. He was really anxious
lest the girl might do herself some
harm.
But, to Blake's surprise and relief,
nothing startling happened. During
the next few days the three parties to
this heart tragedy moved about their
accustomed duties like automata. The
iaces of Cicely and Amos were set and
sphinx-like, and the feeble watery
gleam of Cicely's moOnstone ring was
gone. But beyond that one might not
have suspected that anything unusual
bad happened And on the day which
he had set with Mr.. Judson the artist
was driven to the station by his host,
with all his luggage, including the
sketches aud finished studies Of Cieely.
Amos had gone of to search for some
stray cattle that afternoon, and as
Cicely did not come out to say good by,
no one thought it worth while to speak
to her.
Fifteen years later Cyril Blake, who
had in the mean time made fame and
fortune with his brush, was moved,
partly by curiosity, and partly by some
lingering urgency Of conscience, to
make summer pilgrimage to the
little country village where he had met
so long ago the fair original Of his IA
nous "Maud Muller" AS there was
now 'hotel'' in the village, he chose
10 go there as the place where he was
least likely to have attention called to
himself.
The first man he met on entering
the hotel office was Amos Doxey,
grown ample in proportions and COM
Portable in appearance.
"Wal, declar'l Seem zif I'd seen
you before, - remarked the sturdy land
lord, as he shuffled to the eOnnter and
whirled the register for his guest to
sign. The bearded artist hesitated for
a moment; then he dipped the pen and
wrote with bold hand, "Cyril Blake,
New York city"
"Now do you recollect me?" he ask
ed, quietly.
For a moment the brow of the land
lord darkened and his firm lips twitch-
ed. Then he got control of himself
and extended his hand.
ayes, 1 do" he replied. "Glad to
see you, Mr.. Blake"
Honestly ?" asked Blake.
ayes, honestly. Wait a minute. +"
He opened q door in the back part Of
the Office and called, "Cicelyw
Almost Immediately a eOmely, ma
tronly woman came bustling in. The
face was the same as that of Blake's
admired "Maud Muller" only stronger,
ripper, and stamped with firmer lines of
character.
"Cicely," said the hotel-keeper, with
the bluntness and eommonplaceness OF
man long past his days Of sentiment,
"here's your old friend, Mr.. Blake. ]
thought mebbe you'd like to see him. T"
For a moment the face Of Mrs. Doxey
blazed scarlet. Then she came forward
and offered her hand, as her husband
had done. "We made it up, you see, -
she said frankly, nodding toward her
lord
"Yes, got married month after you
left, !" added Mr.. Doxey. Couldn't run
any more ri ks, you see.-James Buck
ham, in Harper's Bazaar.