Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1900-06-28


some German toy, and gaZed around
him at the placid lake, the modest
hamlet, the church and a 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 n Of those quiet
ncoks where Nature bids her weary
children come and rest.
The invitation, in this case, fell on a
responsive heart. Weary and way
worn, footsore and heartSick, Herbert
Give had just returned from aimless
w%anderings 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, IL possible, amid strange
scenes and distant climes, the folly or
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
reigned still in his heart its sovereign
mistress, It's crowned queen. He a
sworn TO himself V again to seek
her. He had resolved TO pluck from
his breast the mad hope that, like some
sweet yet poisoned flower, was blight
ing all the energy of his life. He had
determined, once for all, TO turn his
back upon the dead past and leave 1t,
buried In Oblivion foreyer-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 Ii 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
of the past~-the home where all his du-
ty and his life-work lay.
But he knew nothing Of the dark
cloud that lowered on Give Towers.
1t had been months since tidings from
America had reached him, and he felt
as IL there were no need of haste. He
could yield to the within Of the moment
that prompted him TO enter into this
quiet valley and rest-rest, before he
had turned his back upon the dream
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
rem SUBMITS in his path.
The little inn was a very model Of
tidiness and comfort: the hostess was
brisk and loquacious; and as Herbert
trihed over the bountiful rapast she
cot hnfnra him hn wo1 soon T,oaIn M
quainted with all the points of inter-
est in the neighborhood of st. Goth
ard, for the little hamlet took it's name
from the celebrated pass that was near
by.
Monsieur was American? All, many
very many Americans had stopped
there the past year! One, two-ah. as
many as three! Perhaps monsieur was
a friend of dis Col. Laponte. who had
taken the Vile du Lac, which mon
could see from his windows. All,
such a beautiful place! Twas a pity
to have it left vacant so long"
Herbert listened with vague interest.
And then good Dame Marguerite, de-
to have so attentive n listener,
went into a long dissertation on the
beauty of the villa, the loneliness of
mademoiselle, and the generosity Of
the brave monsie II, her father.
Laponte? Laponte? The name was
familiar to him. Where had he seen it
before? 1t seemed to belong to that
dreamy, Aforementioned Dast-the
past he had put behind him forever.
And partly from this dim memory
lingering in his mind-party because it
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 a 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
its points and turrets, and cupolas,
~glistening in tie moonlight, looked like
quaint German toy, and the great
white peaks beyond, framing the
whole, formed a 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
'To hang on memory's walls"
when q 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 n 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
10 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
poyte of Dame Marguerite-had the
eyes and the hair, and the form ana
the voice, of his lost love, Sybil
Wraye!
She was singing softly to herself
singing as Sybil was ever wont to sing,
the thoughts tina were denied prOsaic