The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1907-01-30

some of them nreW tie lelL lue
u~nconcious charm Of her innocence.
One evening, three weeks after
the beginning of their friendship.
she assumed guidance of the CONVEX
! sation. 1t was done in a spirit OF
mischief, but the res of Magnus
did not see it. He lacked the per-
ceptive faculty.
She astonished him much by a
sound, if not brilliant, monologue
upon the Elizabethan poets as COM
pared with those of the earlier era,
and, in a mild discussion of the re-
puted authorship Of the Shakes
pearean plays, she worsted him bad
ly. She said they were the work of
Sir Walter Raleigh during his eight
cen years of confinement in the
Tower of London.
Next day she invited him into a
part of the house he had not visited,
introduced him to a sitting-room.
furnished plainly but in perfect
taste, seated herself at an old but
tuneful piano, and played for him,
with feeling and force, selections
from Beethoven, Mozart, Mendels-
sohn, Chopin, Verdi, Donnizetti,
Wagner, De Koven, Willard, Sulli-
van, Dave" Braham.
The town man dimly recognized
that he might possibly have been
guilty of Understanding the simple
farming family. A little later he
began to hold her in his thoughts
and to speak of her, when on his
rambles, as a Devon rose"
This was a bad sign. In all his
thirty years he had seen no n like
her-so simple, so unaffected, so
! sympathetic, so beautiful. This was
a worse sign. He measured mentally
the height of his bank account, and
| found it sufficient. This was the
worst sign of all.
He laid his approaches with what
he conceived to be consummate art.
In his story Heart to Heart at
Eventide," published in the Beacon
Light, there was a scene in which
Lord Ranald de Cholmondeley had
said to Lady Blanche de Courtney
"I love you wildly, madly, pas
| sionately. Your being has entered
into my being. AS the dewdrop
trembles in the flower chalice, so
trembles my soul in your beauteous
presence. Be mine-be mine--and
there shall be no sun, nor stars, nor
the o%pal-tinted heights of heaven,
nor the crimson abysses of hades.
There shall be in the wide universe
only you"
He thought this rather fine, and
wondered how it would sound If
softly, yet intensely, spoken amid the
murmur of the river down-rolling to
the e
1t was late in September. There
was a slight chill in the air. The
girl, wrapped in fleecy light stuff,
| sat, as was her custom, in the stern
of the boat, which made no sound as
it drifted. In the moonlight her
brown eyes shone like jewels. Be-
low them shone the windows OF the
farmhouse. Not a word had been
| spoken for half an hour. Then he
said:
miss Loudoun, when I came here
I thought you ignorant country folk.
I know now what a fool l was. l
must go tomorrow, and 1t makes me
sad. 1 can't bear to think I may
never see you again. I have v
told you that I love you, but I do
sincerely. You must have seen it.
Will you marry me-"
She did not answer. She had
grown suddenly pale, and was STAR
ing intently at the landing-place not
a hundred yards away. Suddenly
she clasped her hands, and a wave
Of crimson rose In her face. A
happy smile curved her lips. Then
she gazed earnestly at her conpan-
ion.
"I have not noticed" she said,
gravely. "Forgive me, Mr.. Magnus,
but 1 cannot marry you"
In silence he pricked up his ears.
The PROV of the boat grated upon
the shore. AS the girl stepped light
ly to land she was taken into the
arms of a tall, young fellow in
khaki uniform. She stayed there
a full five minutes, while Magnus
stood akwardly by. Then she
turned, saying:
This is Mr.. Landorf. He has
been to South Africa. We have been
engaged for two years."
Next spring the great author, G.
Heming Magnus, wrote a book which
is in it's 150th thousand. His heart
has gone into it; its name is Queen
Rose of a Devon Garden."-1llus-
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