Morgan County republican. (Versailles, Mo.) 1906-1914, 1910-03-24
walking the half mile between Rams

walking the half mile between Rams
diIIs cottage and the castle.
This year there was no November
GREATNESS to chill her spirit or aid
her to consider soberly what folly
d was guilty OF, what danger she
ran. Someone drew upon the calen'
oar OF brilliant days with reckless ex
travagance. II 1t we're Tempest, he
saw That his scribe approached Craven
In a shower Of sunshine.
Her walk lay by way of a field and
meadow path for a quarter OF a mile:
a passage through a hedge by means
OF a little old stile, when she gained,
with an a%bruptness that always
seemed a sort of impertinence, the
front of the castle.
Every morning Craven met her ap.
preciative. beauty.loving eyes with
Iresh insistence. The perfect con
gruity OF its ensemble; the correct
ancient lines of Tudor architecture;
tne space and dignity; the harmony of
oim, FADED stone; the bigness of the
mass, whose Importance was visible
~ iouhu lIpHh NIL " I'LL.
close to the house, like a shadow, was
the blur OF a p~ine-growth. the red of
ech In the neal e%ncroaching dens.
ity of the park, where she had once
been with Tempest.
Park and wood-the dim avenue by
which she came; the lie of the val.
leys, their edges softened and nodded
by hedged farms and full.limbed oaks;
the haze OF atmosphere pink and gold
In color; the slow.rising smoke from
little, nesting cottages and from the
leaf fires on the green, all held by an
eternal silence and peace that the old
countries alone know, soothed her
mind n spirit anew at each long
look she gave. Everything on which
her eyes rested suggested age and
tradition-there was nothing new in
the landscape from farm and field,
hedge. grove, and noble trees, to the
castle door. 1t spoke to her, all Of 1t,
with one voice. England met her here
in a friendly way-in. one might say,
a motherly way, making an appeal to
some latent heritage in her blood DOS.
sibly-certainly finding in
Lucy Carew.
These Impressions and delights
were, OF course, above all, the en-.
vclope, the subtle, delicious surround.
Ing to the reality of the man who
was absorbing her. She at times re.
belled at the mastery of the force that
drew her so irresistibly and wondered
If some voice out of the new world
would not speak out, recall her. But
alas for Lucy Carew! there was no
voice TO call.
h arrived at ten to write in Mr..
Tempest's study until a little after IL.
Then, with no invitation from him to
to luncheon. and a sincere
on her part that there was
no question OF it, she departed by
the way she had come, reaching Rams.
dllIs for a meal of Spartan simplicity:
as If by consent to an unspoken wish
or hers, no bon-mots were sent to
her there any more
lie gave her no evidence OF the
pleasure he took in her presence, as
WIN Ialthlul accuracy n unfailing
patience she bent over the pages that
grew like s~now-piles at her side.
But had there been another observ.
er he might have thought as she bent
unconsciously owe her pages that his
eyes studied her-her lovely head
there under the dark mass of her hair
a sort of freight seemed 10 burn the
edges with bronze and redden her
slender hand as 1t travelled Over the
pages; her leaning form; the pure
Of her grave, interested face
Indeed. the observer might think
that Tempest inspired himself from
this youth and loveliness. When she
lifted. as now and again she did in
query, her eyes to him. he drank from
them as from wells.