The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1908-01-02
CHAPTER XVII-Continued.

long rambles about the island, t0 Wild
precipices looking down on peaceful
bays, to fuzzy hills where a few scat
tered sheep were her sole companions,
to heathery steps that were craggy and
precipitous and dangerous to climb, and
so had a certain fascination for the
lonely wanderer-these rambles, which
had been her chief resource and solace
until now, had suddenly lost their
charm
The day after tomorrow he will be
married" she said to herself, on the
morning of the 3Oth. by this time, on
the day after tomorrow, the bride will
be putting on her wreath or orange
blossoms, and the church will be dec
Grated with flowers, and there will be
autter of expectation in all the little
villages, from one end of the Forest to
the other. A dukes daughter is not
married every day in the year. All,
me- there will not be an earthquake,
or anything to prevent the wedding,
dare say. No, l feel sure that all
things are going smoothly. If there
had been hitch of any kind mamma
would have written to tell me about
it"
She was supremely lonely. Nobody
wanted her. She stood quite alone
amidst a strange, unfriendly world
Except poor old McCroke, l don't
think there is a creature who cares
for me, and even her love is tepid,"
she said to herself.
She had kept up regular cores.
pondence with her old governess since
she had been in Jersey, and had devel-
oped to Miss McCroke the scheme of
her future travels.
II wonder If you would much mind
going to African" she wrote, in one of
her frank, girlish letters. There
must be something new in Africa.
There is Egypt for US to do; and you,
who are a walking encyclopedia, will
be able to tell me all about the Pyra-
mids, and Pompey's Pillar, and the
Nile If we get tired of Africa We
might go to India. l know you are a
good sailor; you are not like poor
mamma, who used to suffer tortures
In crossing the Channel"
The slowest hours, days the most
wearisome, long nights that know not
sleep, must end at last. The first of
August dawned-a long stream of red
light in the clear gray east. Vixen saw
the first glimmer as she lay wide
awake in her big old bed. staring
through the curtaiIless window to the
far sea line, above which the morning
sky grew red.
Hail, Rorie's wedding-d Il" she
cried. with a little hysteric. ugh.
and then she buried her face !. he
pillow and sobbed aloud-sobbed as
she had not done till now, through
all her weary exile.
There had been no earthquake; this
planet we live on had not rolled back
ward in space; all things in life pur-
sued their accustomed course, and
time had ripened into Roderick Vaw-
drey's wedding-day.
Il did think something would hap
pen" said Vixen. piteously. 1T was
foolish. weak. mad to think so. But
could not believe he would marry any
one but me. / did my duty, and / tried
to be brave and steadfast. But
thought something would happen"
She rose at seven. feeling unspeak-
ably tired, dressed herself slowly and
dawdingly, thinking OF Lady Mabel.
What an event her rising md dressing
would be this merning-the Hurried
maids, the indulgent mother, the pure
white garments glistening IN the tenn
pered sunlight, the luxurious room,
with it's subdued coloring, its perfume
breakfast tray on table by an open
window, the shower of congratulatory
letters and the last delivery of we'd
ding gifts. Vixen could Imagine the
scene with it's every detail.
And Rederick, what of him? She
could not SO easily picture the com
panion of her childhood on this fate
full morning of his life. She could not
imagine him happy; she dared not
fancy him miserable 1t was safer to
make q great effort and shut that IA
miliar figure out Of her mind alto
gether.
IF it would hail, or blow, or thun-
ier," sighed Vixen. with her hands
cfasped about her head, "the change
might be some small relief To my feel
lngs, but this everlasting brightness
Is too dreadful. What a lying world
1t is, ami how Nature smiles at us
when our hearts are aching. Well,
suppose / ought to wish the sunshine
to last till after Rories wedding, but !
don't, l don't, i don't.
And then she flung herself face
downward on the grass and sobbed as
she had sohbed on her pillow that
morning.
1T rends my heart to know we are
parted forever" she said. "Oh, why
did not say Yes that night on the fir
plantation? The chance of lifelong
bliss was in my hand, and let it go.
The wedding bells must be ringing
by this time. She fancied she could
hear them They beat upon her brain.
they would drive her mad She tried
to stop her ears, but then those wed
ding chimes seemed ringing inside her
ucdQ- one IclnCllDCiCu IOW lue joy
bells had haunted hef ears on Rorie's
twenty-first birthday, that day which
had ended so bitterly III the announce
ment of the engagement between the
cousins. Hoo well she remembered
her despair a desolation that night
the rage that possessed her young
soul.
"And i was little more than a child
then" she said to herself. Surely
must have been born wicked. My
dear father was living then, and even
the thought of mis- love did not com
fort, me. How idiotically fond l must
have been Of Roriel Ever so many
years have come and gone, and have
not cured myself Of this folly
She got up from the grass, plucked
herself out Of that paroxysm of mental
pain which came too near lunacy, and
began to walk slowly round the garden