St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1900-04-21

This was always Q pleasant time ol
the day. and her uncle loved to lingeI
and chat before adjourning to the Ii
brary to read his voluminous evening
mail.
go back to visit Nayence, and Co
logne, and Coblentz, and their wonder
full art treasures and those queer at.
tractive German villages? Spend q
month at the Spa? Then to Berlin?
"A very pleasing plan. Why not ex'
ecute it?"
Aurore and her uncle sat and planned
while Mrs. d'Aubert had gone off and
left them and was ensconced by the
reading lamp with late magazine
And Aurore was eager and radiant, not
at the anticipated pleasure of tour
abroad, as her uncle thought, but in
the hope of pcstponing that fateful flu
ture which loomed up SO immutably
That future, planned by her father
approved by all, urged SO persistently
by her dear and loving old aunt, and
pleaded for by Robert Horton, with the
silent. but passionate, entreaty of eyes
that never left her, and BY a Thousand
acts of ceaseless devotion, from which
her heart turned with horrible in.
gratitude, Aurore thought miserably.
"Ah, but, little one, your aunt and
are too old for such junketings," her
uncle resumed, with a shake of the
head. You must listen to good advice
and let Robert be your guide and conn
panion. We will join you in the fall in
London or Paris, and settle down to
a pleasant winter of enjoyment-such
a winter as your youth and beauty de-
serves"
With loving gesture he went to-
ward the library in search Of his mail,
and Aurore, with a sigh, passed out on
the porch.
Aurore sat on the marble steps and
looked out over the moonlit garden, and
determined to have it out once for
all with her innermost thoughts. and to
come to a distinct understanding of all
those chaotic, troublous feelings which
had SO insidiously taken possession of
her.
The faint chimes of the village
church bell came on the still, odorous
air, ome'fireflies went fitting through
the Towering shrubs. and a profound
melancholy took possession of Aurore
a yearning she could not define,
while reason asserted itself with cold
insistence.
.You do not even know him. You
saw him for one short half hour, that
memorable night when wind and storm
were abroad: thatGyinter night, whose
dawn severed the Tail thread Of life
so dear to you.
slow do you know" said reason,
''that he remembers you? That he
has given you single thought?
Because he looked full and keenly
and long, your vanity has supposed
that there was interest and admira-
ton in a glance only remarkable be-
cause it came from eyes of singular
and splendid forcefulness.
"You must. you must thrust this silly
recollection from heart and brain. You
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 you 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 a 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
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
derly. gray-haired people whose cup
of content would be full. she well knew.
if the plan they cherished was carried
out to fulfillment.
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
in the intensity of its
leep, ineffable look came back the
face of her dreams. plain and distinct,
in the soft, shadowy light.
With a stifled cry Aurore covered her
face with her hands.
did 1 frighten you, Aurore? II
thought you heard me come out on
the porch" said Horton. with a grieved
eagerness.
"What is it, sweetheart? You look
IS if you had seen y ghost. Why. you
are trembling. and your hands are icy
,old. What an impressionable little
.hild it is, in spite of its 20 years" said
Horton, smiling tenderly. while chat
ng Aurore's hands with loving gentle.
hess.
sNow sit down and tell me what
7ou were dreaming about, and what
wicked thoughts were absorbing you.
they must have been ,illainous. to have |
,lanched your cheeks that way.
"why. Aurore, child. yoa are as pale
Is these lilies l brought you. know |
hey are your favorite flower"
Yes. Aurore's heart must have died
When she gave that stifled cry, for il
eemed too cold and umb. But mem
'ry still lived. for. holding the lilies OF
he valley, she remembered that some |
me had stopped and picked up FROM
he wet stones few similar frail bios
oms, broken from her hand, one night
ong ago.
They sat side By side on the marble
teps, and the two elderly people in
ida v,ooro1 l0vinulv NJ fhpnn and n 0s1,