The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1903-12-10
CHAPTER XIII.

with the deeper and warmer tinge, cast by
a blazing wood fire upon the broad hearth
over the magnificent apartment, with It's
dark massive. antique furniture, It's
broad, high walls, lined with costly and
substantial volumes. the crimson draper
les of it's deep windows, and the polished
oaken floor that shone and reflected back
the mellow warmth in ripping lines OF
light.
Beside a table of curiously carven oak,
which is strewn with rare and ancient
volumes and the writing implements of
the marquis. and which occupies the cen
ter of the floor sits Rose. She is lean
ing forward upon this table, her face hid
den in her folded arms-those fair, sculp-
tured arms whose snowy whlteness
CLEANS rarely through the veil of falling
tresses. Her graceful form is attired III
a robe of shining fabric, its pearl-hued
folds sweeping the floor about her and
shining, gittering softly in the mellow
light shed all around her. She does not
move; she is silent-motiOnless; she hard
ly seems to breathe even. SO quiet is
she, as she reclines thus, with her face
concealed, that you might think her sleep
ing.
But Rose is not sleeping. Her errand
hither is of too painful nature for that.
Alone, in this swelling silence. she waits;
and listening for an approaching foot
step, the hour passes in deep and sorrow
full reverie. For Rose has a duty, too
long deferred, to perform tonight, and
it's consequences may be only too bitter
bitter to her, inasmuch as they affect
others. She does not fear the perform
ance of this duty because she shrinks
from fulfilling her trust-from keeping
her plighted word but she pictures to
herself the disappointment she may be
about to infict on others.
A distant door uncloses. but so softly
in its casing of cloth that no sound fol-
lows. 1t is a gentleman who enters; he
pauses moment; his glance takes in the
beauty and subdued splendor of the scene
before him; but 1t is accustomed to that.
1t rests upon the center of the whole
upon the bowed figure of the young girl
yonder by the table. A shadow, blend
Ing Mt once of sorrow and perplexity,
rests upon his fine brow. Then closing
the door, he advances, and stands beside
the table.
Rose" he calls, gently.
The young girl raised her head.
rs it you, LOUISE" she asked, with an
air of sadness. II thought you were
away"
IL have remained at home, Rose. l
could not go. | wished to see you"
You wished to see me, Louis? We
are in each others presence every day.
Tonight"
"Ay, tonight, Rose. Tonight, you
would say, you have an interview with
my uncle, and cannot listen to me. l
knew of this interview; my uncle told
me; and, forgive me, dear Rose, but l
would prevent it,
He spoke in subdued, but agitated
voice. He seated himself beside her,
and leaned, also, forward on the table,
with his hands chasing hers. as he ut
tered these mploring words.
You would prevent it. Louis.-why?
Would you bid me neglect the fuIflment
of duty already too long delayed?"
"Ah Rose, you are about to seal your
fate. Think once more. | beseech you;
there is time. Break this ideal bondage;
be silent, and forget the VOWS that are
no longer binding. Do not bring this
great sorrow to my uncle. who loves you
so; do not break up this happy house
hold. which can be no more happy when
you have sacrificed yourself-when you
have left the hearth that is only bright
with your presence. to hide yourself in
obscurity,"
The tears were filling her sweet eyes;
great cry was struggling for utterance
in her breast; but she silenced it with a
half-despairing effort. She raised her
glance to his.
You are aware. then. Louis, of the
object of this interview"
"Ah. too well-t0O wellr he answered:
for | knew that il must come. sooner
or later, since you adhere 10 the decision
You once made. But again | ask you
do not reveal this secret to my uncle"
1T is not alone my promise to Robin
which | regard. Louis"
you would say that you love him
still, them
The tears fell from her eyes; a blush
stole to her fair cheek; her head was
turned aside.
"Ah, no-no! do not say it, Rosew he
cried sorrowfuly.
"Louis-Louis, this it not kind-it ia
not like your said the young girl, turn
ing TO him again. You know | cannot
break my promise. Do not add to the
sorrow already feel. | must see your
uncle; | must acknowledge my betrothal
to Robin"
And render him unhappy, cut Helen
Montauban TO the very heart, leave me
wretched-miserable! Rose, listen TO
ME"
Louis, be silent, | entreatw she ut
tered. Withdrawing her hand from his.
while the crimson glow of consciousness
and timidity suffused her countenance:
have pity on me-"
Hose one instant. Let me speak for
La -