Williston graphic., 1902-02-13

4 Va ~ s
When the wedding morning dawned
the Delamater farm was enveloped IL
a sen Of fog. The sun stretched him
self lazily over the hills, and slowly
the mist withdrew into the canyons
|valiantly held a hillside for a moment
and then skurried back in undigni'
fed retreat. But svanquished it would
l,not be, and all around its masses stood
| in close array. The farm itself, .encir-
cled with roses that gave place in ever
widening rings to blossom-laden or
chards, seemed an oasis in the gnarled
and rugged hillsides on which it lay.
Angelo, q dull, only partially COM
pretended misery in her heart, was
dressing for the ceremony. She had
asked to be left quite alone in her little
white room on this last morning at
home, and now she stood by the win
dow looking out blankly at the white.
misty wall that shut out the view OF
the vineyard home to which she was
so soon to go, and the columned ver-
andas of Seymour's house. She was
listening, too, half-heartedly to the
sounds below, to the mother and SIS
ters busying themselves about the
preparations for the wedding feast.
She heard her father talking to Jim
to Jim who had driven over early hop
ing to see her, hoping that he could
find words in which to tell her all that
he wanted to say; to tell her all that
he longed for in life was to make her
happy; that even now he would give
her upif she did not feel that she could
be content with him. For the honest,
stupid, .plo6ding boy had seen the
shadow on his sweetheart's face, and,
although he could not know its SUBJ
stance, he was unwilling to stand be-
tween his beloved and the sun of her
life. But Angelo had refused to see
him; there would be time enough for
all that afterward, she told herself;
and that, too, was the message she
sent 10 him.
She leaned forward to caress a rose
that blossomed just beyond the green
shutter, and then she saw him-Sey.
mour-riding slowly down the trail.
A sudden rush of blood from her heart
to her head deprived it of all sense,
of all reason. He had come! He would
save her! That was the message that
flashed along the crimson stream. He
was on his way to the tryst under the
great cathedral trees. She must meet
him there. With feverish fingers she
dressed, rejoicing in the pretty details
of her travelling gown. Were they not
all for him? Had she not known all
the time in reality that they were for
him? Poor Jim! But he would get
over it. They always did, and She
stopped suddenly, and looked in the
glass at the scarlet lips, brilliant like
Japan's ounce blossoms, at the blue
black hair so like the summer night.
A quick rush of tears dimmed all the
vision. Poor little mother! Would
she get over it? The girl tore scrap
of paper from the box that had held
the wedding hat and wrote hurried
note to her mother. Then once more
she went to the window. The fog was
again shutting down and enveloping
like bridal veil the green trees un-
der which even now Seymour must be
waiting for her. Hurry! She must
hurry to him.
And then she saw that Seymour him
self was standing by the gate, and tha
her father was walking down the path,
his long, white hair cleaning like sill
yer. Courteously enough, the English
man greeted him, adding: "About that
boundary line, Mr.. De.amater. Couldn't
you come. with me now to look over
the land? We may as well come to
terms about it to-day
"But not to-day" The old French
peasants voice had lost its cringing
tone in his broadening American life,
but he understood that the rich land
owner knew nothing, cared nothing,
about the personal affairs of the poor
Still he explained: 1T is Angele's-it
is my daughters wedding day, and y
"Oh, Miss Angy's wedding day. Sure
ly, I had forgotten" Seymour's tone
held a note that might almost have
been an apology, SO kindly were his
feelings toward these, his poor neigh,
bors. "Of course business has no
place to-day. Give my best wishes to
the bride. Thorne is fine fellow, !
think, and am sure that Miss Della.
meter and you are both to be congratu.
lated"
He rode away into the fog, never
glancing at the shutters behind which
the white face was hidden, never
dreaming that in the brides heart or
mind there was place or thought for
him.
The Lares and Penates in the little
white room watched her through her
half-hour of agony, through her hour
of conquest, and then saw her pass out
from among them forever, ready to
face her little world, ready to take up
the honest burden of life.
The ceremony was over, the toasts
were all drunk, and the bride had
driven away. Such fine wedding!
Such pretty bride! These were the
comments of the simple country folk,
and only the mothers eyes had seen
the pain, and, seeing it, had known that
her uneasy fears had been realities,
that Angelo had married the one, low
ing the other with her whole heart.
Through rain of tears she watched
the dust-cloud move slowly down the
mountain until it mingledwith the fog
cloud, and then she turned into her
own room, and on her knees, by her
bed, prayed for help for her child. To
her, there, Angeles note, written in
fierce. impossible ioy. forgotten in in