Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Benton County, Or.) 1900-1909, 1903-11-24
CHAPTER XIII.

CHATTER XIII.
It was evening. In the lofty and richly
furnished library of the marquis, the sill
yer lamps burned with a soft, subdued
glow, blending their moonlight radiance
with the deeper and warmer tinge cast by
a blazing wood fire upon the broad hearth
ever the magnificent apartment, with its
dark, massive, antique furniture, its
broad, high walls, lined with costly and
substantial volumes, the crimson draper
les of its deep windows, and the polished
eaken floor that shone and reflected back
the mellow warmth in ripping lines of
light.
Beside 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 whiteness
CLEANS rarely through the veil of falling
tresses. Her graceful form is attired in
robe of shining fabric, it's pearl-hued
folds sweeping the floor about her and
shining, glittering 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
ful reverie. For Rose has a duty, too
long deferred, to perform tonight, and
Its 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 infiict 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 it is accustomed to that
1t rests upon the center of the whole
apon the bowed figure of the young girl
yonder by the table. A shadow, a blend
ing at 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, Louis?' she asked, with an
air of sadness. II thought you were
away"
Il have remained at home, Rose. 1
could not go. l wished to see you.''
You wished to see me- Louis? We
are in each others presence every day.
To-night-''
''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
would prevent itr'
He spoke in a subdued, but agitated
voice. He seated himself beside her,
and leaned, also, forward on the table,
with his hands chasing hers, as he at
tered these imploring words.
You would prevent it, Louis why?
Would you bid me neglect the fulfilment
of duty already too long delayedW
All, Rose, you are about to seal your
fate! Think once more, beseech yon:
there is time Break this ideal bondage;
lie silent, and forget the VOWS that are
no longer binding. Do not bring this
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
ebscurity!'
The tears were filling her sweet eyes;
a great cry was struggling for utterance |
in her breast; but she silenced it with
IA q af-HnSna off ho ha.
glance to his.
You are aware, then, Louis, of the |
object of this interview"
''Ah, too well-too well!' he answered;
for l knew that it must come, sooner
or later, since you adhere to the decision
You once made. But again l ask you
do not reveal this secret to my uncle"
1T is not alone my promise to Robin |
which 1 regard, Louis"
You would say that you love him
still, then?''
The tears fell from her eyes; blush |
stole to her fair cheek; her head was
turned aside.
..Ah, no-no! do not say it, Rosev' he |
cried, sorrowfully.
'.Louis-Louis, this it not kind-it is |
not like your said the young girl, turn
ing to him again. '.You know l cannot |
break my promise. Do not add to the |
sorrow I already feel. 1 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 mer'
Rose, one instant. Let me speak for |
the last time. / love you; would ask |
you to be my wife! Nay-do not start /
and turn away from me. Hear me to the |
end. How can / bear to see you-you,
Rose, who should move among the high |
est and the noblest of France, envied and |
admired by all-who should have at |
command the thousand luxuries for
which you were born-who should oc-
cupy, finally, a position and enjoy ad-
vantages suited to your beauty, your
grace, your refinement, your intellect
how can I bear to see you the wife of
a peasant? All, be merciful to me! be
just to yourself; awake from this fatal
trance: for you are dreaming. Rose"