Montpelier examiner. [volume] (Montpelier, Idaho) 1895-1937, 1910-08-05
She went daily n Craven.

had never been a word since the night
she left Tempest in the empire-room
regarding her appearance or his ex-
pecting her. She went: whether or
not she knew 1t to be unconventional;
whether or not she feared the criti-
cism of Mrs. Ramsdill and Tempest's
servants and was above it; whether
or not she knew she had sacred
| duty to fulfill to art, to posterity, in
enabling the master to work; (for
work he did without even the tribute
of a personal word for hoursD wheth.
er there was another reason for her
| going-the strongest most cogent OF
reasons, against which no woman can
reason without being aided by mans
indifference!-at all events, to Craven
Lucy Carew went faithfully, daily
walking the half mile between Rams
dill's cottage and the castle.
This year there was no November
dreariness to chill her spirit or aid
her to consider soberly what folly
she was guilty of, what danger she
ran. Someone drew upon the calen-
dar of brilliant days with reckless ex-
travagance If it were Tempest, he
saw that his scribe approached Craven
in a shower of sunshine.
Her walk lay by way of field and
meadow path for quarter of mile;
a passage through a hedge by means
of little old stile. when she gained.
with an abruptness that always
seemed a sort of impertinence, the
front of the castle.
Every morning Craven met her APP
preciative, beauty-loving eyes with
fresh insistence. The perfect con-
gruity of its ensemble; the correct
ancient lines of Tudor architecture;
the space and dignity; the harmony of
dim, faded stone; the bigness of the
mass, whose Importance was visible
the country round from hill to hill.
Close to the house, like shadow, was
the blur of pine-growth, the red of
beeches in the near encroaching 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 and spirit anew at each long
look she gave. Everything on which
her eyes rested suggested age and
tradition-there was nothing new in
1 L..
hedge, grove, and noble trees, to the
castle door. 1t spoke to her. all of it
with one voice. England met her here
in a friendly way-in, one might say
motherly way, making an appeal to
some latent heritage in her blood pos
sibly-certainly finding response in
Lucy Carew.
These impressions and delights
were, of course, above all, the en-
velope, 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 nc
such voice to call.
She arrived at ten to write in Mr.
Tempest's study until little after IL
Then, with no invitation from him tc
remain to luncheon, and a sincere
gratitude on her part that there was
no question of it, she departed by
the way she had come, reaching Rams
dill's for meal of Spartan simplicity
as If by consent to an unspoken wish
of hers, no bon-mots we're sent tc
her there any more.
He gave her no evidence of the
pleasure he took in her presence, as
with faithful accuracy and unfai1ing
patience she bent over the pages that
grew like snow-piles at her side.
But had there been another observ
er he might have thought as she bent
] unconsciously over her pages that his
eyes studied her-her lovely head
there under the dark mass of her hail
sort of freight seemed to burn the
edges with bronze and redden hel
slender hand as 1t travelled over the
pages; her leaning form; the pure
outline of her grave, interested face
indeed, the observer might thinl
that Tempest inspired himself from
this youth and loneliness. When she
lifted, as now and again she did in
query, her eyes to him, he drank from
them as from wells
(TO BE CONTINIJED1