Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1904-08-16
Katharine would be free again; they
might 20 home once more, and Des-
borough would be a prisoner.
CHAPTER XXXVI.

were health and strength in the gentle
breeze which wantonly played with
the budding leaves of the great trees,
already putting forth little evangels Of
that splendid foliage with which they
decked themselves in the full glory of
summer. That merry wind which
swept through the open boathouse ut
the end of the wharf laid bold hand
upon the curls which fell about the
neck of the young girl sitting there by
the door near the water on one Of the
benches, gazing out over the broad
reaches of the quiet. ever beautiful
Potomac. rippled gently by the wind
under the late afternoon sun. The gal
liant little breeze, fragrant with balm
and perfume of the trees and flowers,
kissed faint color into her pale cheek
and seemed to whisper to her despOnd-
ent heart in murmuring sounds that
framed themselves into the immortal
words hope, hope"
The young girl had but yesterday en-
tered upon her twentieth spring. Four
months ago there had not been mer-
rier. lighter hearted, gayer, more CO.
quettish young maiden in tidewater
Virginia, and today she thought as
she looked down ut her thin hand out
lined so clearly upon the vivid cardinal
cloak she wore. which had dropped un-
needed on the seat by her side-today
she was like that man in the play of
whom her father read-a grave man;
no. not Il man at all.
Once. in her enthusiasm, she had
fondly imagined that she had possessed
all those daring qualities Of energy and
action. those manly virtues which
might have been hers by inherit lance
could the accident of sex have been re-
versed. But now she knew she was
but woman after all-so weak, so
feeble. so liStleSS What had she left to
live for? Once it was her father, then
it was her country, then it was her
lover Now: Nothing. Her father, at
the request Of congress. would soon re-
sumo his interrupted duties in France.
He was Il man of the world and sol
der. Il diplomat.
The hard experiences OF the past few
months We're for him episodes, exciting
truly. but only part Of lifetime spent
in large adventure. soon forgotten in
some other strenuous part demanded
by some other strenuous eXigency. But
she. No. she was not u man at all, but
woman. unused to such scenes ana
happenings as fate had lately made
her participant in. Her father might
have his country. He had not lost his
love: his heart was not buried out in
the depths Of the cruel sea. What had
become of that Roman patriotism upon
which she prided herself in times past?
Her country What had changed her
so? There were many answers.
There was BlOdgett's grave at the
foot of the hill. She had played IN
childhood with hat faithful old SOL
dier. Many Il tale had he told her OF
her gallant father when, as young
man, he gayly rode away to the wars,
leaving her lady mother In tears be-
hind. She could sympathize with wait.
ing women now and understand.
There, too, far away in another state,
lay the lover Of her girlhoods happy
day-the bright eyed. eager. gallant,
Joyous lad What good comrades they
had been. How they had laughed and
played and ridden and rowed and
hunted and danced and tlirted through
the morning of life. How pleasant had
been that life indeed. He was quiet
now. She could no longer join in his
ringing laugh the sound OF his voice
was stiled. They might never play to-
gether again. Was there any play at
all in life:/ That was another answer.
There was the white haired mother,
the stately little royaist, Madam Tai
bot, who slept in peace on the hill at
Fairview Hall, her ambitions, her hopes
and her loyalty buried with her, leav-
ing the place untenanted save by visit
fnl memories. She, too, had gone.
Answers? They crowded thick upon
her There were Tie o.ii'rrs of the
Yarmouth, Captain Vincent. Beau
champ, H0llins AMI I'LL the other Of
licers and men with whom she Dau
come In contact on that frightful cruise.
There were the heroic men who had
stayed by their ship. who had seen the
favored few go away in the only boat
that was left eaworthy. without
murmur at being left behind, who had
faced death unheeding, Unrepining,
sinking down in the dark water with
cheer upon their lips. There was the
old sailor, too, with his unquenchable
Datriotism, her friend because the
friend of her lover; and Philip, her
brother; and there was Seymour him.
self. All, what were all the rest to
him! Gone, and how she loved him!
She leaned her head upon her hand
and thought of him. Here in this boat
house he had first spoken to her OF his
love; here she had first felt his lips
touch her cheek. There, rocked gently
by the light breeze, upon the water at
her feet was the familiar little pleasure
boat. She had not allowed any one to
row her about In it since her return, In
spite of much entreaty. 1t was this
very cloak she wore that day, noarly
the very hour. The place was redolent
with sweet memories Of happy days,
though to think of them now broke her
heart.
It all came back to her as 1t had
come again and again. She briefly re-
viewed that acquaintance, short though
it was, which had changed the whole
course of her life. She saw him again
as he struck prompt to defend her
honor In the hall, ressnting ruffian's
soiling hand stretched out to her. She
saw him lying wounded and senseless
there ut her feet. She saw him stretch
ed prone on that shattered deck on that
ruined ship, pale, blood stained, sense
less again, again unheeding her bitter
UhQt are HumOrS?
They are vitiated or morbid fluids cours