, 1899-04-14
HAPTE Xxx

The cool evening air on Joyce's flushed
cheeks Gains her as she sets out for the
walk that Barbara had encouraged her to
take.
1t is an evening Of great beauty. Earth,
sea ana sky seem bIended in one great
soft mist, that, rising from the ocean
down below floats up to heaven, its heart
a pale, vague pink.
The day is almost done, and already
shadows are growing round trees and cor
ners. There is something mystical and
strange in the deep murmurs that come
from the nesting woods, the sweet, wild
coo of the pigeons, the chirping of innum-
cradle songsters, and now and then the
dull hooting of some blinking owl.
Through all, the sad tolling of a chapel
bell away, away in the distance, where
the tiny village hangs over the brow OF
the rocks that grid the sea.
Joyce picks a branch or w as she goes
on her way, and thrusts them into the
bosom of her gown. And now she has
reached the outskirts of the wood, where
the river runs, crossed by a rustic bridge,
on which she has ever loved to rest and
dream, leaning rounded arms upon the
wooden ratings and seeing strange but
sweet things in the bright, hurrying water
beneath her eyes.
She has gained the bridge now, and
leaning languidly upon it's frail ramparts
lets her gaze wander afield. The little
stream, full of conversation as ever, flows
on unnoticed by her. It's charm seems
dead. That belonged to the old life-the
life she will never know again. 1t seems
to her quite a long time since she felt
young. She has learned that life is a fail
ure after all. 1t takes some people a life
time to discover that great fact; it has
taken her quite a short time.
A step upon the bridge behind her! She
starts into a more upright position and
looks round her without much interest.
"A lark figure is advancing toward her.
Through the growing twilight it seems
abnormally large and black, and Joyce
lstares at it anxiously. Not Freddy-not
one of the laborerSNthey would be all
clad in aanneiinsk q. a light color.
"Oh, Is it your says Dysart, coming
closer to her. He had. however, known it
was her from the first moment his eyes
rested on her. No mist, no twilight could
have deceived him.
YES" says she, advancing a little to-
ward him and giving him her hand. A
cold little hand, and reluctant.
81 was coming down to Mrs. Monkton
with a message--a letter-from Lady Bal
timore."
'This is a very long way round from
the Court, isn't itY' says she.
Eyes. But / like this calm little corner.
I have come often to it lately"
Miss Kayanagh let's her eyes wander to
the stream down below. To this little
spot of all places! Her f~avorite nook!
Had he hoped to meet her there? Oh, no!
impossiblei And besides, she had given it
up for a long, long time until this evening.
1t seems weeks to her now since last she
was here.
"You will find Barbara" says she, gent
ly.
81 don't suppose it is of very much con-
sequence says he, abiding to the mes.
sage. He is looking at her, though her
averted face leaves him little to study.
"You are cold" says he, abruptly.
"Am II" turning to him with a little
smile. 81 don't feel cold. l feel dull, per-
haps, but nothing else"
There is a pause; it threatens to be an
everlasting one, as Miss Kavanagh plain
ly doesn't know what to say. He can see
this; what he cannot see is that she is
afraid of her W voice. Those trouble
some tears that all day have been so close
to her seem closer than ever now.
"Beauclerk came down to see you to-
day." says he, presently. This remark is
so unexpected that it steadies her.
YES" she says, calmly enough, but
raising her t~el-tale eyes.
You expected him|
mo"
"He asked you to marry him, how.
everY' There is something almost threat
ening in his tone now, as if he is defying
her to deny his assertion. 1t %overwhelms
her.
Yes she says again, and for the first
time is struck by the meagerness of her
replies.
"Well?" says Dysart, roughly.
81 refused him." says she, at last, in a
low tone, and in a dull sort Of way, as if
the matter is one of indifference to her.
"Ahr' He draws a long breath. at is
true7" he says, laying his hand on hers
as it lies on the top of the woodwork.
"Quite true"
"And yet-you have been c~rying?"
You can see that" says she, petu-
lantly. you have taken pains to see
anu 10 ltli ire VI II. III SOd thAiin
it a pleasant thing to be told? Most
people, glancing angrily towards him
-"eVery one, l think, makes ID a point
nowadays not to see when one has
been making a fool of ones self; but
you seem to take a delight in t%orturing
me-"
did ~ says he, bitterly, ignoring, per
haps not even hearing her outburst-"did
it cost you so much to refuse him?'
ut cost me nothingrl' with a sudden. ef-
fort, and a fash from her beautiful eyes.
"Nothing?'
Il have said so! Nothing at all. Itsgas
mere nervousness. and because-ikrFmind-
ed me of other things"
ibid he see you cry?" asks DysarfS
tightening unconseiously his grasp sspon
her hand. gN