Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1900-06-28

some German toy. and sazed around
him at the placid lake. the modest
hamlet, the church and few villas
dotting the slopes beyond. and then
afar to the white, shining circle of the
everlasting hills. clad in their spotlcSs
NANTES of eternal snow, he felt that
he had entered into one of those quiet
ncOkS where Nature bids her weary
children come and rest.
The invitation. in this case. fell on /,
responsive heart. Weary and way
worm footsore and heartSick. Herbert
Give had just returned from aimless
wanderings in the East. He had fol
lowed no route. being guided by no
purpose. His only idea was to escape
from curious eyes and busy tongues. to
bear the bitterness OF his sorrow alone
to forget, if possible. amid strange
scenes and distant clime>. the folly of
| his love. the madness of his pursuit
and the agony of his loss.
But the spell was upon him still.
| Spite of every effort to put this beauti-
| full. mysterious from his mind. Sybil
! reignt,d still in his heart its sovereign
! mistress its crowned queen. He mad
| sworn to himself never again to seek
| her. He had resolved TO pluck from
| his breast the mad hope that. like some
sweet yet poisoned flower. was blight
| in. all the energy of his life. He had
/ determined. once for all, to turn his
| back upon the dead past and leave it.
| buried in oblivion forever-to face the
| future bravely and manfully. and live
out his life as nobly as he could. dreary
and lovelesS though it should be.
And it was in pursuance of this res.
olution that had come to him that he
was going home. after months of pur-
poselesS wandering. that seemed. as
| he looked back upon them, like the
! phases of a feverish dream. He WAS
/ going home-the home he had almost
! learned TO think Of as an unreal vision
oi the paSt-the hc.ne where al! his du-
~ and his life-wo lay.
But he knew nothing of the. dark
/ cloud that lowered on Give Towers.
1t had been months since tidinsS from
America had reached him. and he felt
as if there We're no need of haste, He
could yield 10 the within Of the moment
that prompted him 10 enter into this
quiet valley and reSt-reSt. before he
land Of hope forever-reSt. before he
climbed the cold, dreary heights Of a
future that seemed typified by the
snow-clad peaks that lifted their bar
ren SUBMITS in his path.
The little inn was a very model of
! tidincss and comfort the hostess was
brisk and lOquacious: and as Herbert
trified over the bountiful repast she
hat i'm a. a.
quainted with all the points Of inter-
est in the neighborhood Of st. Goth
ard. for the little hamlet took its name
from the celebrated pass that was near
by.
Monsieur was American? All, many
very many Americans had stopped
many as three. Perhaps monsieur was
taken the Vile du Lac. which mon
such a beautiful place. Twas pity
to have it left vacant SO long
Herbert listened with vague interest.
And then good Dame Marguerite, de-
lighted to have so attentive a listener,
Went into a long dissertation on the
beauty of the villa, the loneliness Of
llliitlIOlScllc, lllt St1tlOSlLS VI
the brave monsie IT, her father.
Laponte? Laponte? The name was
familiar to him.. Where had he seen it
before? 1t seemed to belong to that
dreamy, aforementioned past-the
past he had put behind him forever.
And partly from this dim memory
lingering in his mind-party because it
was the only spot Of interest near
Herbert strolled out that evening,
when the moonlight was silvering the
brows Of the distant mountains, and
bent his steps toward the Vile du Lac.
1t was q lovely spot, the deep noun
tain lake mirroring in it's pellucid
waves the cloud, the sky and shore;
the tiny island, that seemed almost to
float upon the dark-blue waters. bear
ing the beautiful little villa. that. with
It's points and turrets. and cupolas,
glistening in the moonlight, looked like
! some quaint German toy, and the great
white peaks beyond. framing the
whole, formed picture fair to look
upon. even in a dream.
He sat down on the fir-clad shore,
and was taking in the beautiful scene
as one of those
10 NanS on llle!nOly Walls,
when little boat shot out from the
villa. and fioated out on the bosom OF
the lake, impelled by a young girl-a
girl whose slender form was draped
in white cashmere mantle, and yelled
in a glory of golden hair.
Herbert's sight suddenly grew dim,
and he put his hand to his head. as if
to clear the mists from his brain. His
pulse seemed to throb simultaneously;
his breath came quick and short.
Was he mad, dreaming. or bound. in
deed by some fearful spell?-a spell
from which he could not escape?
For the golden-haired chatelaine Of
Vile du Lac-the Mademoiselle La
ponte of Dame Margnerite-had the
eyes and the hair. and the form and
the voice, Of his lost love. Sybil
Wraye!
She; was singing softly to herself
singing as Sybil was ever wont to sing.
tho thOunhtS that were denied DrOSaic