The pioneer press. (Miller, Hand County, S.D.) 1893-190?, 1903-01-15

hand and held IL fast, ana sne coulu
but stand still, longing for her usual
composure.
81 know have been such care TO
you," be began, looking at her with a
gaze that perhaps he would not have
allowed had he known that there was
more than love and thaRkfulness In 1t.
''You don't disclaim that I have been a
care to your" he said, smiling slightly.
mo; but you must be aware that we
are glad to have been OF service 70
you," she said, in reply. speaking some
what colder than she knew.
The cool tones irritated her into
| speaking somewhat warmer than he
had intended to do.
You have endured me well-you
have been more kind than ! could pos.
sibly have expected, and l thank you
/, for IT," he continued, hurriedly. But
after all that have suffered, Miss PurN
| cell, ! cannot regret single pain
| for the accident and the illness were
the means OF my knowing YOU"
He seemed not able to let 60 his
hold upon her hand; he had spoken
with an earnestness that appeared TO
have conquered all his previous reso-
| buttons.
What could she say? Was he mere
| ly complimenting her In the extTNva-
CANT manner Of society? She knew SO
| little of society. But she knew that
| had she been Laura Lauriat, and
heard his tone and words, seen the
look in his eyes, she should have trem-
bled for her empire over him.
Moved though she was, the sterling
| uprightness OF her character sustained
| her in temptation which was perhaps
| the greatest of her life. 1t was the
! temptation to yield, at least inwardly,
| to the tenderness and passion of his
| voice. But she took his words and
manner to be merely an inordinate
gratitude.
You have no call to be so CRATE
! full, Mr.. Rothesay," she said, now sue
| ceeding in Withdrawing her hand.
at is not flattering thing to say, but
| trust we should have done the same
by any stranger who had been I'M
| fortunate like you"
AS he listened to her--and her tones
were almost icy, SO much repression
had she put upon herself--his face
| faded from its warm expression into
| il pierced like knife into the girls
heart. But she did not soften; she
was afraid Of herself IL she relaxed Der
hold over herself even SO much as by
a hairs breadth.
"You and your father have been
very kind" he repeated in a set voice,
"and ! shall never forget it. I hope
l shall not trespass upon your kind
ness much longer. / had thought that
tomorrow / might be able % leave,
but, he sighed, YEARLY, IL fear that |
overestimated my strength. shall be
| obliged to remain yet a day longer"
yes, it will be safer. You win gain
| nothing by too great haste" she re-
piled.
She was longing to get away by her
self, but just then neighbor came
and sat down for long gossip, and
the girl was obliged to endure 1t, and
it took a strength and resolution of
which she did not know herself cap
able.
At last she was free, and she fed out
Of doors, walking down the beach until
she came to sheltered corner of rock,
when she threw herself down on the
sands with an expression so suggestive
of despair as to be stronger than any
words could have been.
She loved Vance Rothesay. She
could no longer deny 1t to herself. His
voice and eyes had stirred the deepest
depths OF her heart. She loved him,
and loved hopelessly-mosth opelessly.
She sat with her white face turned
toward the sea, her eyes fearless, look.
ing, unseeingly, forward. The one
thought that repeated itself, again and
again in her mind was the one shaped
in these words:
"He could have loved me IL he were
only free!"
1t was thought far more dangerous
to her peace of mind than IL she had
felt assured that he could never have
felt more than in a friendly way.
Pride would have aided her then; now
the look into her future was dreary,
indeed; it seemed to her that she
could not face it.
From the first moment OF her seeing
Vance Rothesay he had been to her
| like the hero of those very vague
dreams that come to almost every girl:
and she struggled with that feeling un-
| til, at times, she imagined she had
4
conquered 1t.
If he had gone away without MOTTO
ing her, she knew that she could SOON
| er have. conquered peace with her.
self; but now In vain, she told her.
| self that his tone and glance might
mean nothing but a moments feeling
that he would instantly forget.
1t was not conceit or self-love that
told her he had felt as deeply as he
| seemed to do. She could read his
heart, and she read there what made
him love her still more deeply and
what enhanced her despair.
She saw herself going down the path
of life alone, always with that one love
In her heart. She longed for him to
go; and she looked upon his departure
as the shutting out Of the light of her
life.
Time few on relentlessly as she sat
there, struggling to attune herself to
at least decent bearing Of the fate
laid upon her.
She knew that she must go back 70
the house; that she must prepare the
dinner; that she must so school her
face and voice that no one, least Of all
Rothesay, should know her mood was
otherr than what it had been month
ago. The time had come in which her
strength was to be tested.
n.