Norwich bulletin., 1909-12-03
THE BULLETINS DAILY STORY
OF ALL SAD WORDS


 1 valley. where, according to an old legend, the fairies danced at midnight | in he mo cn's white light appeared as a flood of silver, and the night rang with the sv eet faraway echo of bird | symphony in the moonlit woods | Richard was the first to break the silence. He drew tiny lavender note fr).n his pocket and tapped 1t lightly T must return" he said briefly, and i then SIG pped as if expecting the girl to question him further.
 But the pride of hundred Valde- mars had risen at the sight of the lavender note. He was returning at the command of the writer Of that note she determined, probably some night to amuse the same high bred lady with the tale of his summer ad- venture, the simple child of the noun tain who dared to dream that one day the lordly Richard Lee might make her his bride and take her to his beau- tIful home in the city, thus becoming part of the world stretching far be- yond the endless purple mountains. But that was over and done with now; never by look or word must he know that she cared. She owed that to the fierce warlike pride of the Valdemars, who for centuries had reigned in the mountains of Inverness.
 T shall miss the mountains" he be- gan rather weakly, and
 ''Yes?" she interrupted. The voice was careless, indifferent, every trace of feeling carefully masked on the lovely face, clear and pale as exquis- ite cameo.
 He stared sharply at her for mo- ment, striving to pierce the disguise, if disguise there were- She bore the scrutiny well. Never would the lady of the lavender note curve her perfect lips in scorn at the presumption of a mountain girl to aspire to his love.
 'aThen you do not care?"
 For an instant the abruptness of the question caused her to nearly lose the self-control she had battled for so bravely, but again the pride of the Valdemars rose up fierce and war like.
 For summer friendship" she re- turned, coldly~ Then, almost harsh ly, Noi"
 :. Again his eyes, stern, thoughtful, gray. sought her face, striving to bat ter down the barriers of her pride, but the heavy lashes fell over the clear, unshadoweG eyes, hiding the fires that blazed in their midnight depths.
 The simple India muslin of her gown might have been shimmering satin. the beads twisted around the slender white column of her throat priceless diamonds, the mountain lau- rel twined in the heavy dark waves of her hair a coronet worth a kings ran- som, and Irene Valdemar might have been reigning. empress, so regally naughty she appeared as she gave him her hand in silent farewell.
 It all seemed a part of an unhappy dream as she watched him go swiftly down the path. Without backward glance he leaped to his horse, and horse and rider went dashing down the mountain and out of her life for ever.
 Late in the autumn, fires blazed all over the mountain of Inverness, burn ing the leaves and brush that had ac- cumulated. A rough mountaineer finding tiny lavender note among a pile of leaves, picked it up and glanced at it carelessly. Richard, dear" it read. mother is very i'll. Come i'm mediately. Helen"
 The note had no significance for the mountaineer and he tossed it back amid the flaming leaves. For an in- stant it quivered like thing alive, then burst into flame and lay in a heap of ashes, tiny memorial to the saddest of all sad words, Tt might have been. .1Boston Post.