Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1900-03-29

lying in q golden streak across the lawn.
She leaned over the gate; an archWay
of greenery, dark in the nights dim
light, was above her head, and clusters
of pale, creamy roses hung down about
her on every side.
1t was that sort Of owl light that has
no distinctness in it, and yet is far re-
moved from darkness. Nera's perfect fg-
ure, clad in some white, clinging gar
ment that fell about her in thick, heavy
folds, stood out with statue-like clear
ness against the dark shrubs behind her.
She seemed like some shadowy queen of
the night. Out of the dimness, the clear
oval of her perfect face shone pale as
the waning moon far away behind the
church tower, while the dusky veil of her
dark hair lost itself vaguely in the shad-
ows, and melted away into the back
ground A poet might have hymned her
thus, but no painter could have painted
| her.
| For the first time in many weary weeks
and months he was alone with her; for
! the first time he could speak to her freely
and from his heart. He knew not what
| it was that had made her send for him,
or why it was that he had come. He
did not remember her note, or that she
had said that she had something for him.
All he knew was that she had sent for
him, and that he was with her.
There was the gate between them, but
her white soft hands were clasped loosely
| together over the top of it. He took
| them feverishly between his own.
81 am late-you have waited for me,
dear? Oh, Vera, how glad l am to be
with YOU"
| There was a dangerous tenderness in
| his voice that frightened her. She tried
| to draw away her hands.
II had something for you, or | should
not have sent-please, Capt. Kynaston
-Maurice-please let my hands go.'
For heavens sake, have pity upon
me, Maurice" she walled. It was a cry
of a broken heart.
Forgive me-" he murmured, humbly;
81 had forgotten myself. See, l have let
you go! I will not touch you again. Vera,
it is wonderful that you do not hate me.
| If it is any comfort to you to know 1t,
| I, too, am wretched; now it is too late;
| know that my life is spoiled ALSO"
"No; why should that comfort me?'
she said, YEARLY. She leaned half back
against the gate-if he could have seen
| her we'll i'll the uncertain light, he would
| have been shocked at the worn and bag
gard face of his beautiful Vera.
II am sorry that l asked You to come
| it was not wise, was it, Maurice! How
| long must you stop at Kynaston! Can
you not go away? We are neither of us
strong enough to bear this-I, | cannot
go-but you, must you be always here"'
Il swear to you that / will go away if
| it is in my power to CO.
"Thank you" Then, with an effort
she reused herself to speak to him: But
| that is not what l wanted to say; let me
! tell you why / sent for you. l made a
promise, wretched, stupid thing, to a
| tiresome little man l met in London-a
Monsieur d'Arblet, Frenchman; do you
know him."
"D'Arblet! I never heard the name in
my life that 1 know Of
Really, that seems odd, for | have a
little parcel from him to you,, and,
strangely enough, he made me promise
on my word of honor to give it to you
when no one was near. l have it here;
| let me give it to you, and have done with
the thing; it has been on my mind"
| She drew a small packet from her
pocket, and was about to give it to him,
when suddenly his ear caught the sound
of an approaching footstep; he looked
nervously round, then he put forth his
| hand quickly and stopped her.
Hush, give me nothing now'' he said,
| in low, hurried voice. Tomorrow we
shall meet at Shadonake; if you will go
near the Bath some time during the day
after lunch is over, will join you there,
and you can give it to me; it can be Of
no possible Importance; SO in now quick
ly; goodnight. 1t is my wife,
She turned and fed swiftly back to the
house through the darkness, and Maurice
was left face to face with Helen.