The times dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1903-1914, 1903-07-03
CHAPTER XIX.
AT 4 VILLA IN uAMpsrgAD.

|
which only by slow degrees can fade and
painful of mental pictures, and the horror
of 1t all. the lurid hue of bloodshed, and
the dread terrors OF those passing hours
Of doubt and despair, had lost the poig-
nant vividness Of eight long months be.
fore.
For Emily Somers, however, though
time were eternity, there were memories
that could not fade--that of tho man
whose first promise had been disparaged
with pledge of life itself, whose loyalty
and courage in her every hour Of peril
had been those of one who could embrace
death for her sake. and of whom there
now remained only the affecting pathos
Of farewell words, the hopeless tenderness
OF eyes triumphant even in the grief OF
parting when. In those last moments,
her rescue having been effected, she had
been swept from out his life as IL for
ever.
The sun Of a clear Juno morning lay
warm and bright about the charming
villa in Hampstead where Lord Somers
made his suburban home. Birds were
singing in the great elms and beeches,
and the soft air waited through the
screened windows of the breakfast room
was sweet with the odor Of early roses,
and the fragrance Of climbing honey
suckle near by outside.
Lady Somers laid aside her napkin pre-
paratory to rising from the table, yet
paused to give ear to the appeal Of the
young man seated opposite-the only
one who, looking over the frghtful past.
| could derive from 1t a sense of satlsfac-
! ton and secret triumph
"Will you intercede for me, my dear
aunt?" he was earnestly pleading. You
know my leave OF absence has expired.
| and I must again report for duty l
must leave here tomorrow at the latest.
l shall go in despair, dear aunt unless
| with some assurance that my love for
! Emily is not to prove vain. A word from
you in my behalf will greatly influence
| her decision, and I implore you to speak
| It, Don't you think my devotion to her,
and the services have tried to render
| both of you warrant your intercesslon,
| Lady Somers?"
She smiled at him across the table.
Frankly, Robert, do" she said kind
| ly. You indeed were very devoted ard
| loyal-save alone on one OCCASION"
And that was but suhterfuge dear
Lady Somers, an only resource!" Vail
earnestly protested. "Only by apparent
subservience to that villain, Redlaw,
could l hope to circumvent him and pre-
serve YOU l am sure you do not think
| me a coward"
quite the contrary. Robert dear! We're
you not grievously wounded in our do
Tense? What does Emily say to your
| sult?'
Alas! she says neither yea nor nay"
Vail answered obviously. she does not
appear to oppose my love, but she VIII
give me no hope of a reciprocal affec-
ton. She seems determined still to mourn
ever that ordinary sailor who
Hush. Robert, dear!" Lady somers
gently interposed. do not speak un-
kindly of the man who, God ever keep
him! gave his life for us. You cannot
much blame Emily, poor girl"
Il do not exactly blame her, dear
aunt. Nor do l by any means ignore
Walton's services. | admit that he was
a brave fellow and worthy better fate.
| But at most he was only a common sea-
man, and Emily surely should not waste
all the rest of her life in mourning vain
~ for one dead. even though a hero.
| She Is inducing an abnormal melancholy,
and at her years there Is too much left
in life for such a sacrifice. little per-
| suason on the part Of you and Lord
Somers will, l feel sure. lead her TO
| consider my love and to take a more
cheerful view OF things Say, my dear
aunt. that you will !nterccde for me-
| Perhaps you are right, Robert" said
| Lady Somers, leading the way towards
| the library Il will speak to Emily of
the matter this morning,
| "Ah thank you SO very much!' Vail JOY
ollsly exclaimed, Fastening to overtake
and kiss her. HAS she been down this
morning."
Not yet She has had coffee in her
| room as usual
I'VE must strive to bring her back to
| her former bright self All, IL l could
but feel assured of her affection You
must plead my case with eloquence, dear
auntie won't your
He was holding both her hands. stand
ing before her in the quetude of the Ii
brary, and building new hopes upon her
sympathetic smile. Why should she sus-
pect the hideous duplicity of which he
had been guilty? How could she know
that, under manly exterior, there ex-
listed the soul of knave? For 1t mat
| tered little to Robert Vail If another had
| died for his sake, and his base sense of
| triumph had, but been augmented by what
soever served to swell his own selfish
hopes.
Yes, ] will do what YOU wish Rob
ert," Lady somers assented "Of course"
| she added, there can be no doubt OF Mr..
| Waltons death?'
Surely not!' said he. decidedly. "Why,
Ben Logan, even, has given up all hope
mopes about the stable like cat In a
| strange garnet I doubt If he long will
remain content to enjoy the home and
privileges with which you generously
| nave provided MIN. You VIII 90 what
wish? And uncle-do you expect him
| down this morning?"
He wired last night that he should
come early The debate in parliament
|recessitates his remaining in town ln-
| til after the-hushl here is Emily now"
They heard her step, and the rustic
of her skirts as she came down the
hall stairs Had not their Interest been
| turned so lntently upon her approach.
they might have heard also the sound OF
wheels, as a carriage came up the drive
and rounded toward the stable. But this
escaped their notice,
The vehicle was public cab, with
one of the curtains drawn That this
was an unusual arrival for Lord Son-
ers was manifest not only in the face
of tha groom who approached when the
cabbe drove into the stable, but also
in the countenance of the griZzled old
salt who sat smoking on the grain
chest Yet Lord somers was the man
who stepped down from the opened
door, and an erect md typical English
gentleman he was.
You may let the cab stand Peters. -
he said. n01diupr n good morning he