The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1904-10-21

He drove on quietly, with no at
tempt to coax or compel her attention,
down a long hill, up the other side and
around a corner.
Its all right, boys" he said to the
horses, as they turned their heads.
with an inquiring look, when the noon
whistle blew at the village. "Its all
right" and they ploddcd along sober.
ly, perhaps rejecting on the unreascn-
ableness of a master who set off to a
market from hard forenoon in the
field, without dinner.
Dora sat, obstinately stopping her
ears, and watched the long mile slip
by, then another, and he showed no
sign OF relenting. Once he turned, say
ing politely, 81 am afraid the sun is
making it rather uncomfortable for
YOU am sorry l have no umbrella"
Though she did not hear, of course,
she scowled an answer
They made several turns, and she
noted, hopefully, that they seemed go
ing in the direction of the farm. He
was giving it up? Net SO! To her
in the broad road, headed for the vii
lage.
You're just scotching me-" she com.
planned.
We'll, you've scotched me otter
enough" he growled
Being so near the noon hour the,
had seen few people, but now, down
the road crowded wagonette whirled
toward, the tennis party from the viii
lage. She jerked her bonnet over her
face and tumbled fiat on the hay,
moaning:
ooh, wouldn't have them see NE
for million dollars!"
When they had passed, with gay
banter at him for DESERVING them, she
Strengthened up with blazing cheeks
and the fire of battle in her eyes.
''It's the silliest, the most ridiculous
thing ever heard of! And you're the
meanest, meanest man alive! l should
think you'd hate yourself to DEATH"
II don't aspire to great wisdom or
perfection" he returned, serenely,
driving on.
"You know how I've looked forward
to this afternoon, and what plans
we've made for it,"
''If you hadn't Systematically dis
arranged SO many of my plans l might
be more considerate of yours"
Its so contemplate, your trapping
me like this!"
"You came voluntarily. I've right
to market my hay when please"
"You don't mean" But they were
entering the village, and she crouched
down again out of sight. He did not
stop, and when they had left the last
house behind, she began, piteously:
II was never SO hungry in my life!
I'm positively faint!'
you know how to sympathize with
the poor, then" he suggested.
"You don't care how much you make
me suffer, and you profess to" She
broke off in some confusion, conscious
that she was too near the brink.
Eyes, l profess to love you," he fin
ished for her. "I've never tried to hide
it-and I suppose, after all, there is
little need of words / ought to have
understood without having it said.
You've shown me plain enough that it
lively. Some intuition within him de-
clared that she was not SO Indifferent
as she had assumed to be.
mo" he continued, 81 will have it
in words! Dora, you know l love you
devotedly, with all my heart; will you
be my wife?" He turned to her with a
deep tenderness in his face and shin
ing in his serious eyes.
Cousins can't marry" she evaded.
my step-mother's niece isn't very
close cousin" he commented. "But
ought to thank YOU he went on pre-
sently, with a rather wan smile, "You
might have been more harsh in your
refusal of me.
He turned the horse about saying,
you will not be very late at the
game" Then he turned his back In a
stolid silence. If he suffered, she
should not see it.
The minutes passed slowly as the
horses logged along the hot, dusty
highway. The sun poured down its
scorching rays. Nat sat at his post
like craven image, oblivious alike
to the blistering heat and the presence
of his pretty and unwilling passenger.
The silence was suddenly broken by
a storm of sobs from Dora. He writhed
anxiously, until he could bear it no
longer, and burst cut:
Don't cry, Dora, darling! I'm
brute, perfect BEAST | don't know
how to treat a girl even when [ love