The Marion daily mirror. (Marion, Ohio) 1892-1912, 1908-11-23
HIS
RIVAL


OF them in all7-ten glowing, poetic,
daring effusions, each breathing the
charm of abandon sustained by an
instructive elegance that bespoke
both a social and a literary enlight.
eminent, and each quiveringly. plead
ingly alive. like some eager, insist
ent. palpitating thing, its boyish inn
petuosity blending strangely with
the steadfast reserve that yelled the
writer's incognito.
She sat looking quite steadily at
them, and suddenly she leaned for
ward and stroked the uppermost one
with o lingering, caressing move
ment, like the sweet gliding OF a
maternal hand. Her lips parted in q
smile of indulgent tenderness that
was half plying, half wistful. as If
she were swayed for the instant by
sort of protective impulse that had
supplanted the swift rush of more
ardent emotion, whose gleam had
only just faded from the lovely face.
Poor dear!" she said. softly under
her breath, Poor little boy!"
Then, a moment afterward, she was
startled by the wild leap of her heart
as there swept again into her
thoughts sentence after sentence of
,tthis, the last of the letters: and she
sank back almost guiltily among her
cushions, where she lay, surprised,
wondering, and tremulously ibeauti-
full In her loose pink gown, like a
rose shaken by the wooing of tens
pestuous wind.
With little gasp she put up her
hand to her throat, and gathering a
fold OF her lacy outergarment about
her, she rose and stumbled toward
the window.
No, Dudley had not yet come-evi-
IDENTIFY his impatience was of an or
der to endure restraint-and she
stood gazing down upon the rolling
sweep of bluegrass and of noble for
est trees with a smile that was half
ironical, yet assured. Her engage
ment was to meet him on the lawn
precisely when the clock should
strike five II still lacked twenty
minutes OF the time. She could dress
easily in quarter of an hour-she
glanced hurriedly and with a restless
heaving OF the filmy lace across her
bosom at the tiny clock on the man
leland that would leave five-six
minutes for the letters---for the final
conquering Of herself, for the facing
and routing and, utter, subduing OF
this strange obsession, poignantly
sweet, that had taken hold of her to
the complete overthrow OF her usual
perfect poise.
Still standing she reached Tor the
letter next TO the last. 1t was. per-
haps, shade less intense than the
one she had just read, and she
thought she might trust herself
with that one once again. But as
her fingers touched It she suddenly
drew back. The feeling surely was
something she should wish to COM
bat. And she had brought to its re-
sistance hitherto a pride that had
been strong enough to sustain her
against the onslaughts of her fas-
cinating, but unknown adorer. For
the letters, though bearing the post
mark of the nearby town, gave from
first to last not the faintest clue as
to the identity of the person who had
sent them, and Wilhelmina knew of
no one among those she had met to
whom she would have thought OF at
tributing anything half so whimsi-
cally charming. alr
The first one was dated five weeks
earlier, and she had received 1t on
the tenth day after her triumphal
entry as a much-heralded belle and
beauty into the old Southern town,
or rather, into one of the interesting
country places adjoining 1t, where
Dudley reigned as lord of the manor,
and Dudley's mother and sister,
whose guest she was, dispensed a
gracious hospitality. II had provok-
ed only momentary interest, the
amiable toleration of a much be-
sieged and, somewhat skeptical type
of woman who had passed beyond
the immediate appeal of vanity.
But the letters had been persistent,
and as the nervous, picturesque hand
writing became more and more ia
miliar, gradually there grew up in
her sense OF feverish expectation,
a secret longing for the thing which
they seemed to symbolic, and which
first presented itself to her in the
guise of purest poetry Then she
had begun to think of the writer,
somewhat warily, II is true, and with
due regard to that always faithful
monitor. her own inherent pride;
and in thinking of him the miracle
of miracles had happened, and Love
ceasing to be an abstraction had sud
denly and all unknown to herself
become a reality Who was he. what
was he, where was he? In the ques-
tioning there was torment. for the
letters not only did not offer any
sort of answer. but in their tone OF
remoteness and of wistful humility,
implied barrier that gave denial to
any hope that had sprung up within