The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-04-26
LADY ATHLYNE,
Copyright, 1908, by BRAM STOKER Entered at Stationer's Hall-An rights reserved


aaaa9sIatad4lssAlllllI4IlltllIIaIlllS S that doubts at first shadowIy had be- come real It seemed therefore to him that in his planning for the morrow he was dealing with real things, not ima- glnatIve ones. And after all, there is nothing more real than doubt-so far as 1t goes. Victor Cousin took from its reality his Subtlest argument for relief: AT thlS point Scepticism itself vanish es for if a man doubt every thing else. at least he cannot doubt that he doubts. So with Athlyne. By ac- ceptlng doubt as reality he began the experiment for it's cure.
 In the silence of the night, with nerves high-strung and with brain excited he tried in those most earnest hours of his life, when for good or ill he was to organize his intellectual forces, to arrange matters so that the earliest time he might with certainty learn his fate. He had an idea that In such a meeting as was before him he must not be Over-precipitated And yet he must not check impulSiveness as long it's trend was in the right direction. Heknew that womans heart Is more often won by assault than by slege- For himself he had plenty of patience as well as a suff1ciency of spirit; his task at present therefore was one of generalship alone: the lay ing out of the battle plans, the dis position of his forces. As he thought, and as his ideas and his intentions came into order, he began to under stand better the purpose of those two preparations of his which were al- ready complete: the overhauling of his automobile, and the supplying it with female wraps. He intended by some means of other dependent on developing opportunity, to bring hef for ride in the motor. There, all alone, he would be able to learn, per- haps at first from her bearing and hnr1 h. f,l,o garded him.
 Athlyne was young man, a very young man in his real knowledge of the sex. There are hundreds, thou sands, of half-pulseless boys, f1abby of flesh and pallid with enervating dissipation, who would have smiled cynically-they have not left in them grit enough for laughter-at his doubting
 He would not frighten her at first Here for time he took himself to task for seeming to plot against the woman he loved. Surely it would be better to treat her with perfect fair ness; to lay his heart at her feet; teI. her with all the passionate force that swept him how he loved her-telI it with what utterance he had. Then he should wait her decision. No, not decision! That was too cold a word thought. If indeed taere was any answering love to his, little decision would be required. Had he made any decision! From the first moment he had looked in her beautiful grey eyes and lost himself in their depths, his very soul had gone out to her. And it might be that she too had felt something of the same self-aban- donment He could never forget how on that afternoon visit at the Holland she had raised her eyes to his in an- Look at mel" Then at that memory, when she had spoken the words her self only the day before-the sweet ness of her voice was still ting1ing in his ears' sort of tidal wave of loves rapture swept over him. It over whelmed him so completely that it left him pysically gasping for breath He was in tumult; he could not lie in bed. He 1eaped to his feet and walked to and fro with long. passion ate strides. He threw up the lower sash of the window and looked out in- to the moonlight, craning his neck round to the right so that his eyes were in the direction of Ambeside as could pierce through distance and stone walls and compel Joys white eyelidS to raise so that he might once more lose himself in those grey deeps wherein his soul alone found peace.
 In his passion of adoration all his doubts seemed to disappear, as the sun drinks up the mist. He felt as though uplifted. At the very idea of Joys loving him as he loved her he felt more worthy, more strong, and with a sense of triumph which had no parallel in his life. He stood looking out at the beauty of the scene before him, till gradually it became merged in his thoughts with Joy and his hopes which the morrow might real ize. He never knew exactly how long he stood there. It must have been long time. for when he realised any sense of time at all he was cramped and chill; and the forerunner of the morning light coming from far away behind him was articulating the fields on the hill-slopes across the lake.
 He was then calm. All the think ing and reasoning and planning and pasison of the night had been wrought into unity. His mind made up as to the first stage of his undertaking. He would bring the car to Ambleside and leave it with the chauffeur outside the town. Then he would take his place in the garden and wait till she came out for that walk of which she had told her father. He would cautiously follow her; and when there was @ fair opportunity for uninterrupted speech would come to her. If he found there was no change in her manner to him and here once again the memory of those lifting eyes made him trembIe- he would try to get her to come for a ride in his car. There. wrapped in the glory of motion and SUIT rounded by all the grandeur of natural beauty, he would pour out his soul to her and put his fate to the touch. Then if all were well he would send on the letter to her father and would pay his formal visit as soon as might be. He would take care to have ready a luncheon basket so that if she would ride with him they might have to- gether an ethereal banquet.
 It is strange that even those who are habitually cautious. whose thoughts and deeds alike are compelled and ruled by reason, will in times of exaltation forget their guiding prin- ciple. They will refuse to acknowledge the existence of chance; and will pro- ceed calmly on their way as though life was a simple cord. with In clination pulling at one end of it and Fact yielding at the other.
 CHAPTER XIV.