The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1902-06-09

am ashamed OF such faintheartedness."
Never a trace of faint heart is there
about YOU" 1 answered. warmly. But
you have had a night that might well
strain the nerves of strong man. Wilt
take my arm and walk?'
She looked at me searchingly and made
the trial Then on a sudden she seemed to
sink from me, and grasped my arm heavily,
murmuring with that strange nervous
laugh in her voice:
II am so sorry, but-but will you-would
you help me to "a"
And L had my arm about her again; for,
indeed. the girl could not stand.
You are too weak to walk, and you must
trust to me as a gentleman-as a friend
as "a"
"Husband?"
81 did not say So"
You thought II, perhaps?'
MY thoughts are my own. mistress"
Indeed, sir, 1 fancied they were any
ones who might look on your face!'
Does my face, then, say 1 am a villain?'
20 dost not see, stupid" cried she, how
safe 1 feel with you out of that terrible
house? Could smile and joke. think you.
after that If 1 were not as free as air
And then of a sudden she leaned her heaC
against my shoulder and wept softly, hold
ing my arm tight the while.
DO not cry so, mistress! Wilt not rest
quietly a moment till strength comes to
your
You do not understand womanw cried
she, between sobs. Go away and leave me
leave me alone!'
What the fiend 1 should do now I could
not guess, till 1 bethought me of a pocket
flask Of brandy in the saddle, and, laying
her quietly by the roadside, l was there
and back in a moment and had forced her
TO take a swallow or two. After that
without more ado, threw the reins of the
two horses over one arm. and picking her
up. started down the road for the village.
just as the first signs of dawn appeared
over the hills
For time she lay quiet again, holding
me tight by the shoulder; and gradually
the strong liquor and her own self-control
checked the quiet weeping. Thus still ly-
ing close, she said:
You must not carry me. It's too great a
burden"
II could carry you to New York and not
know it,"
Am of so little consequence, sir?"
You are-you are-oh, child, child, you
know well what you are, and how little the
burden of carrying you weighs me DOWN.
Indeed. 1 said it somewhat bitterly, for
everything was by the ears. whichever way
l might look.
For answer. she moved a little turning
her face up to me-
Where are we going?'
ITO the village below here where you
can be warmed by a fire and have some
woman to care for you"
Il need no woman to care for me-" said
she, quickly. And L am quite satisfied
now. But will 1t please your highness TO let
me try and walk a bit?"
Setting her down 1 held her while she
felt her own weight, and then finding she
could indeed stand, she let me lift her on
Roger, and with one hand on my shoulder
and the other on the good beasts neck, she
rode and walked into the village, Just as
the morning rays spread over the land
The dear sum-" said she, softly. There
1t Is, as bright and clear as II there had
been no dreadful night" and she added
presently, 1T seems that we are destined
to take early morning jaunts together"
1 walked on in silence, still holding her
arm.
why so silent. sir? Do you not know
that my nerves need cheering up? And vet
you glum as an OWL
II am thinking where l should be now.
il it had not been for your courage last
night"
And is your life so serious a matter as
all that?"
mo. tbs not indeed. And II the fellow had
touched me, little would have been missed
from the world to-day"
There came heavier grip upon my Shout
der, and looking up l saw her leaning
towards me with the new sunlight glisten-
ing on something in the eyes that looked
earnestly down at me.
And wilt fall morose. too, because I
wept? Fie. how weak and foolishi How
like womanl" And yet I'd be sworn
twas not that those filling eyes said to me.
Mistress Deborah said 1, taking her
hand from my shoulder. do you care the
least how 1 feel? Dost know what L would
say?'
AYE. sir, you would tell me If this be not
the very same village through which we
passed but a few days since"
"D-n the village!" quoth I, softly, in
some dudgeon.
''Sakes!' cried she, "'tis a pretty town.
Why shouldst d-n it, since we may vet
breakfast together there-you and l. at our
first meal-you and 1, the rebel chieftain
and the loyal maidp'
So rode on into the village and stop-
ping at the first house of respectable look.
L went in and found a good woman, who
took Mistress Philipse and helped her to
arrange her toilet So l stood by the door.
waiting her return, being myself, to tell
the truth, worn out with the nights work
and the excitement of the past few hours.
L stood thus when a horseman came by
from the north.
AS he drew near. in spite of nv own
thoughts l could not forbear smile For
he was the most comical looking bit of hu-
mainly it had been my fortune to meet in
many day. The horse was nearer dead
than alive, lanky of limb, and seeming to
have more corners and angles than the
famous Rosinante of the Spanish writer
Don Quixote"-a fierce looking beast with
long teeth and no hair in his tail. Yet he
covered the ground, however strange his
gait. But the rider looked as he Nigh,
have come from a powder magazine that
had blown him sky high and dumped him
and his long hair stood out every way but
that which IL was intended II should stand
while the poor mans clothes were ripped