The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1905-10-19

marks upon his face which the careless
passerby would consider the attributes
of age had been traced by the fingers
of grief anil trouble. The bronzed and
weather beaten faces of both riders be-
spoke an open air life and suggested
those who go down upon the great
deep in ships, a suggestion further
borne out by the faded, worn naval
uniforms they wore.
In spite of the Joy Of springtime
which was all about them, both were
silent and both We're sad But the sad
ness Of the boy, as was natural, was
less deep, less intense, than that of the
man. He was too young to realize the
greatness of the loss he had sustained
in the death of his father and sister,
and were it not for the constant re-
hinder afforded him by the presence of
his gloomy companion he would prob
ably, with the careless elasticity of
youth, have been more successful in
throwing off his own sorrow. The man
had not lost father or sister, but
some one dearer still. He looked thin
and i'll, and under the permanent
bronze of his countenance the ravages
wrought by fever, wounds and long
illness were plainly perceptible There
were gray hairs in his thick, neatly
tied locks, too. that had no rightful
place there in one. of his age The
younger and stronger assisted and
watched over his older companion with
the tenderest care and attention.
They rode slowly up the pleasant
road under the great trees, from time
to time engaging in desultory con-
versation. Philip endeavored to cheer
his companion by talking lightly Of
boyhood days as each turn Of the road
brought familiar places in the old es-
tate in view. Here he and Katharine
and Hilary had been wont to play;
there Was favorite spot, a pleasant
haunt here; this had been the scene Of
some amusing adventure. These we'll
meant "reminiscences nearly drove Sey-
mour mad, but he would not stop them.
Finally they came to the place where
the road divided, one branch pursuing
its course along the river bank past
the boathouse toward the Talbot place,
the other turning inland from the river
and winding about till it surmounted
the high bluff and reached the door of
the Hall. There Philip drew rein.
''This is the way to the Hall, you
know, Captain Seymour" he said,
pointing to the right Seymour hest
tated moment and said finally:
"Yes, I know. The boathouse lies
over there, does it not, beyond the
turn? I think I will let you go up to
the house alone, Philip, and I will go
down to the boathouse myself. I will
ride back presently" .--
'Well, then, I will go with you," said
Philip. II really think you are too
weak, you know, especially after our
long ride today, to go alone"
mo, Philip" said Seymour gently.
~ wish to be alone for a few mo-
ments"
The boy hesitated.
"Oh, very WE'LL" he said, beginning
to understand. II will sit down here on
this tree by the road and wait for you.
I'll tie my horse, and you can leave
yours here also if you WISH There is
nothing at the Hall, God knows, to
make me hurry up there now, since
father and Katharine are gone," he
continued, with a sigh. $50 on, sir.
I'll wait. You won't mind my wait
ing"
mo; certainly not, if you wish it.
shall be back in a few minutes any
way. just want to see the-the-ah-
boathouse you know"
Eyes, certainly, 1 understand of
course" replied Philip bluntly, but
carefully looking away, and then dis
mounting from his tired horse and as
sisting Seymour to do the same from
his.
"Poor old fellowv' he murmured as
he saw the man walk haltingly and
painfully up the road and disappear
around the little bend.
Left to himself, Seymour stumbled
alone along the familiar road over
which a few short months before he
had Travelled light heartedly by the
side of Katharine. AS he pressed on
he noticed a man leave the boathouse
and climb slowly up the hill. DESTROYS
of escaping the notice of the stranger,
who, be supposed, might be the factor
or agent of the plantation, lie waited
in the shadow Of the trees until the
man disappeared over the brow Of the
hill. and then he staggered on. A short
time after he stood on the landward
end of the little pier, and then his
heart stood still for a second and then
leaped madly in his breast as he seem.
ed to hear subtle voice, like an echo
Of the past, which whispered his name,
Seymour. SEYMOUR
Stepping toward the middle of the
pier so that he could see the interior
of the boathouse through. the inner
door, his eyes fell upon the figure Of
a woman standing in the other door
way looking out over the water,
stretching out her hands. The sun had
set by this time, and the gray dusk
Of the evening was stealing over the
river. He could not see distinctly, but