Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1902-02-01

|
verandas Of Seymour's house. She
was listening, too, half-heartedly IN
the sounds below, to the mother and
sisters busying themselves about the
preparations for the wedding feast.
She heard her father talking to jim
to Jim who had driven over early hon
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 up If she did not feel that She
| could be content with him. For the
honest, stupid, Flooding boy had seen
the shadow on his sweetheart's face.
and, although he could not know its
| substance, he was unwilling to stand
between 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 her
self; and that, too, was the message
she sent to 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 mess
| age 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
haste she dressed, rejoicing in the
pretty details of her travelling
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 quince-b1os-
SONS, 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 moth
er. Then once more she went to the
window. The fog was again shutting
down and enveloping like bridal veil
the green trees under which even now
Seymour must be waiting for her.
Hurry! She must hurry to him.
And then she saw that Seymour
himself was standing by the gate, and
that her father was walking down the
path, his long, white hair cleaning
like silver. Courteously enough, the
Englishman greeted him, adding:
about that boundary line, Mr. Della
mater. 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 it's cringing
tone in his broadening American life,
but he understood that the rich land
owne,' knew nothing, cared nothing,
about the personal affairs of the poor.
Still he explained: 'It is Angeles
it is my daughters wedding day, and
ooh. Miss Angy's wedding day.
Surely, l had forgotten" Seymour's
tone held a note that might almost
have been an apology, SO kindly were
his feelings toward these, his poor
neighbors. "Of course business has
no place to-day Give my best wishes
to the bride. Thorne is fine fellow,
I think, and I am sure that Miss Della
manter and you are both to be con-
graduated"
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 driv-
| en- away. Such a fine wedding! Such
a pretty bride! These were the COM
ments of the simple country folk, and
only the mother eyes had seen the
| pain and, seeing it, had known that
| her unee sy fears had been realities,
that Angelo had married the one, low
ing the other with her whole heart.
| Through a rain of tears she watched
| the dust-cloud move slowly down the
mountain until it mingled with 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 joy, forgotten in
intolerable anguish, was brought:
Oh Mother, little Mother: l am 60
ing away with the man love. The
other was all mistake. Nothing but
misery could have come out of it, moth
ing but joy will come from this. You
will know that / am right in time
ANGELO.
The mother eyes read and the moth
ers heart was comforted.-k Kathryn
Torboo in tho San Francisco ArgOn-