The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1901-07-05
CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVII.
BY the five O'Clock train and coach
of the evening strange gentleman
arrived at little roadside inn about
two miles from Hollow Ash Hall, and
four from Banley. He was hand
some, foreign-looking man, apparently
about thirty-four years of age-"A
perfect gentleman" as the landlady
rapturously called him because he
drank her weak tea without complain
ing and afterwards sat quietly in his
parlor over the wine and cigars, with
out giving any human being in the
house the least trouble.
Secured from all intrusion, he
watched the cold moonlight falling on
the distant fields, and listened idly to
the Last Rose of Summer" played on
cracked piano, without much regard
to tune or time, by his landlady's
daughter, in the room below.
He sat still and pensive Gin golden
uuiets of the MOON" and thought of
his early, long-lost love, now so near
him once again.
Would any secret instinct tell her
that he was coming?
Would she feel his presence-his
love-even before he had assured her
Of them?
Who shall say?
His thoughts grew dim and more
indistinct. The song below, and the
voices of the people at the bar be-
yond, seemed to blend in one low,
continuous murmur, but family heard,
yet soothing from it's very indistinct-
ness.
His eyes closed-he slept-but in his
dream, Rose was still with him.
He awoke some time after with a
sudden start.
The moon, now high in the heavens,
deserted street beneath.
A clock struck upon the stairs. 1t
was just eight.
He uttered an exclamation of sur
prise, took his hat and cloak and go
ing out at the open front door, took
his way alone toward Hollow Ash
Hall.
And, as he walked he thought of
the quiet and beautiful English home
where most of his boyhood had been
spent, and where, in after years, the
Rose of his life had bloomed for him
-bloomed but never faded Among
those trees and flowers his heart got
rooted in so deeply that to the day
of his death the fibres could never be
wrenched away. He had gone far
from the place; possibly he could
never look upon it cgain; yet ever
and anon as he wandered through the
world a violet springing at his feet,
a bird singing in the air, little of
blue sky beyond the distant hills made
him young again, and brought the old
house so wildly before him, that he
could almost see the faces and hear
the voices, nay, catch the very words
of those who were living there, and
who had doubtless forgotten him en-
tirely.
He thought of those old times with
a smile and sigh as he walked
quickly along the village road. He
thought of Rose as he had seen her
there, evening after evening, laughing.
singing and fiirting-yes, certainly
flirting, like a princess of love among
her worshipers. He thought OF a
night when they had quarreled, and
when he had left the house in anger
only to return and hide within the
grounds, watching her jealously, as the
curtains waving in the breeze gave him
glimpses now and then of the lighted
rooms. Oh, what signs he breathed
against the rough bark of the tree
which supported him, as he saw her
beautiful face. sparkling with delight
and laughter, turned toward the win
dowl How. later on, he envied the
partner who held her hand. or clasped
her waist, How he longed to be the
flower in her bouquet, the spangle in
her slipper, the very ground beneath
her feet, so that he might be touched or
looked upon again by her. She had
never known of this passionate devo-
ton, and even, he, going to seek her
again, was half inclined to smile at
the remembrance as folly Of the past.
1t was dead. that feeling; his affec-
ton was more rational now. he said
to himself. But was he right? Do such
loves-does any love ever die? '