The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1908-05-31

10 all that passed. A curious disturb
ance seemed to have passed into his
blood He felt his eyes brighten, and
his breath come a little quicker, as he
unconsciously created in his magma
ton the living presentment of the girl
whose picture he was still holding. Tall
she was, and slim, with a soft, white
throat, and long, graceful neck: eyes
ra ther darker than her complexion
warranted, a little narrow. but bright
as stars-a mouth with the divine lines
of humor and understanding. 1t was
only a picture, but a realization of the
living image seemed to be creeping in
upon him. He made the excuse of
seeking a better light, and moved
across to distant lamp. He bent over
the picture, but it was not the picture
which he saw. He saw the girl her
self, and even with the half-formed
thought he saw her expression change
He saw her eyes lit with sorrow and
appeal-he saw her arms outstretched
toward him-he seemed even to hear
her soft cry He knew then what his
answer would be to his friends prayer.
He thought no more of the excuses
which he had been building in his mind;
of all the practical suggestions which
he had been prepared to make. Com
mon sense died away within him. The
matter-of-fact man of thirty was ready
to tread in the footsteps of this great
predecessor and play the modern
knight-errant with the whole-hearted-
ness of Don QuiXOte himself He fan
cied himself by her side, and his heart
leaped with joy of it. He thought no
more of abandoned cricket matches and
neglected house parties. A finger of fire
had been laid upon his somewhat torpid
flesh and blood.
"Well?" Andrew asked.
DuncOmbe returned to the table. and
laid the picture down with a reluctance
which he could scarcely conceal
Very nice photograph he re
marked. Taken locally?"
Il took it myself" Andrew answered.
Il used to be rather great at that sort
of thing-befOre my eyes went dicky."
DuncOmbe resumed his seat. He
helped himself to another glass of wine.
Il presume he said, from the fact
that you call yourself their nearest
friend, that the young lady is not en-
gagged? ?"
NO" Andrew answered slowly. "She
is not engaged"
voice caught his friends attention.
Duncombe eyed him keenly. He was
conscious of a sense of apprehension.
He leaned over the table
DO you mean, Andrew" he asked
hOarsely. DO you mean"
Yes, l mean that" his friend an
swered quietly. Mice sort of old fool,
am l not? I'm twelve years older than
she is, I'm only moderately we'll off and
less than moderately good looking. But
after all I'm only human, and I've seen
her grow up from a fresh. charming
child into one of Gods wonderful wo
George, loves the roses he has planted
and watched over. I've taught her
little and helped her a little. and I've
watched her cross the borderland."
Does she knOw?"
Andrew shook his head dOubtfully.
Il think" he said, that she was be
ginning to guess. Three months ago l
should have spoken-but my trouble
came / didn't mean to tell you this,
but perhaps it is as well that you
should know. You can understand now
what | am suffering. To think of her
there alone almost maddens me-"
Duneombe rose suddenly from his
seat.
Come out into the garden, Andrew"
he said. Il feel stified here"
His host rose and took Dunc0mb1's
arm. They passed out through the
French window on to the gravel pain
which circled the cedar-s shaped lawn
A shower had fallen barely an hour
since, and the air was full of fresh del
icate fragrance. Birds were singing in
the dripping trees, blackbirds were
busy in the grass. The perfume from
the wet lilac shrubs was a very dream
of sweetness. Andrew pointed across
a park which slOped down to the gar
den boundary.
. he al,
George" he said, "can you see Sleam
of white? That is the hail. just to the
left of the roOkery."
Duncombe nodded.
Yes" he said, Il can see it,
Guy and she walked down so often
after dinner" he said quietly. Il have
stood here and watched them Some
times she came alone. What a long
time ago that seemsr
Duncombe's grip upon his arm tight
ened.
Andrea he said, Il can't go!''
There was a short silence Andrew
stood quite still. All around them was
! the soft weeping of dripping shrubs.
An odorous Whit from the walled rose
| garden floated down the air.
I'm sorry, George! It's lot TO ask
| you. I know
1T isn't thatr'
Andrew turned his head toward his
/ friend. The tone puzzled him.
Il don't understand
mo wonder, old fellow! I don't I'M
derstand myself"
There was another short silence. An
drew stood with his almost sightleSs
/ eyes turned upon his friend, and Dun
combe was looking up through the elm
/ trees to the hall He was trying to
fancy her as she must have appeared
to this man who dwelt alone, walking
down the meadow in the evening
No" he repeated softly, II don't 'un-
derstand myself. You've known me for
a long time, Andrew. You wouldn't
write me down as altogether a senti-
mental ass, would your
Il should not. George. | should never
even use the word sentimental in con-
nection with you"
Duncombe turned and faced him
squarely. He laid his hands upon his
| friends shoulders.
"Old man." he said, there's the truth
So far as a man can be said to have
lost his heart without rhyme or reas IN
I've lost mine to the girl of that pic
ture."
Andrew drew a quick breath
Rubbish, George" he exclaimed
why. you never saw her. You don't
know her,
1T is quite true " DuncOmhe an