The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1900-04-12

must get rid of it. Bury it under cares,
ambitions. anything! And rub out
from memory the lines of that strong,
fine face. which haunts yon SO per-
sistently, SO cruelty.
"What are his ties and affections?
You know not.
Had he cared to seek you. could he
not easily have done so?
Forget him. Blot him from memory,
and give gracious hearing to the
friend of your childhood, to the tried
and true affection of all these years,
| which has never varied, never less
ened. and in doing so give pleasure and
happiness to those who have taken
you to their hearts. and who shelter
you with their kindly love-"
So reason spoke.
And Aurore. glancing back through
the doors which opened down on the
porch, saw in the beautiful oak-pan-
eled room, rich in rare decorations. on
whose walls hung the portraits of
proud old ancestry, the handsome. ell
derby, gray-haired people whose cup
of content would be full, she well knew,
if the plan they cherished was carried
| out to fulfillment.
How melancholy lay the still moon
light outside!
And the great punches of white ILL
les growing close by the steps remird-
ed Aurore of a taper-lit altar of some
vast cathedral.
| After all. to live for others, to give
Joy, contentment and peace, is the
highest pinnacle to which the soul and
| heart can reach.
| And how wicked, how senseless, 20
let a shadow, vague, intangible phan-
tom, intervene to mar the happiness
of three people!
| Aurore leaned against the tall col
umn of the porch and looked out at the
radiance of the night, and as the soft,
plaintive call of a bird broke the still
ness it seemed to her that her heart
would beat its last pulsation and die,
this calm, glorious night of spring, for
reproachful in the intensity of it's
deep, ineffable look came back the
| face of her dreams, plain and distinct.
in the soft, shadowy light.
With stifled cry Aurore covered her
face with her hands.
did l frighten you, Anrore?
thought you heard me come out on
the porch" said Horton. with a grieved
eagerness.
.What is it. sweetheart? You look
as if YOU had seen q ghost. Why, you
are trembling. and your hands are icy
cold. What an impressionable little
child it is. in spite of its 20 years." said
Horton, smiling tenderly, while chat
ing. Aurore's hands with loving gentle
ness.
"Now sit down and tell me what
YOU were dreaming about, and what
wicked thoughts were absorbing you.
They must have been ,;llainous, to have
blanched your cheeks that way.
| s.Why, Aurore, child. you are as pale
as these lilies brought You. know
they are your favorite flower"
Yes. Aurora's heart must have died
when she gave That stified cry, for il
seemed too cold and umb. But mem
ory still lived. for. holding the lilies OF
the valley. she remembered that some
one had stopped and picked up fro-l
the wet stones a few similar frail bios
SONS. broken from her hand, one night
long ago.
They sat side by side on the marble
steps, and the two elderly people IT.
side peered lovingly at them, and nod
ded and talked, with pleased lang'
to each other, and laid bright plans.
And Aurore gazcd silently out al
the calm ethereal light, resting Sc
peacefully over all things. while Hor
ton. with desperate emotion. poured
out his soul to her, while palpitat
ing stiffness seemed to hover around
'.The dream of my youth and of man
hood, that dream, sweetheart. which
holds for me life'sRmbitions and dear
est hopes.' Robert Horton was say
ing.
Like a faint sigh, the scent of tn,
lilies of the valley came to Aurorc. ant
the stiffness of the moonlit night eE
wrapt her. There was slight bustl,
indoors in the handsome library.
Mrs. d'Aubert looked up, paused, ant
came forward.
"a dispatch for you, Bert. from
your friend" she said, pausing in tn,
| doorway.-N. O. Times-Democrat.
Rcclaiming Lost Lumber.
i I A.