The public ledger. [volume] (Maysville, Ky.) 1913-1968, 1914-03-21

ago; and Lucy knew quite we'll that
her father had planned that the two
should marry and unite the broad
acres of the Hamptons.
But the young longing for romance
which was in her In spite of the chok-
ing sober business of her life, re.
belled at this. She would not give
herself as well as all her thought and
effort for Roanoke. She wanted to
love somebody, and be loved for her
self as other girls we're; she would
not marry Harry because he and her
father considered 1t a good arrange
ment. So strongly had this determi-
nation seized her that, looking entire
ly down that way of thought, she
failed to see that Harry might not be
classed with the colonel in his view
Of the plan. She failed to see that II
she had not been heiress to Roanoke
House, or to anything at all, Harry
Hampton would still have been in love
with his cousin Lucy. For Harry saw
how the young life had been pressed
into a service too hard for it almost
| from babyhood; Harry saw how I'M
selfish she was and trustworthy; how
broad'minded and warm-hearted; how
she would like to be care free and IT.
responsible like other girls of her age,
only that the colonel and the estate
we're always there, always demanding
her time and her attention. He could
do little to help her as yet, but he
longed to lift the weight and carry it
with her, not away from her, for the
fairy of person was not the sort to
lean on others or to be happy without
her share of the burden. Yet, Harry
thought, "If might only help her, and
make it all a delight instead OF a
labor!"
But Lucy, going about her busy
days, never guessed this. She thought
OF Harry as the boy whom she had
grown up with, to be cared for ten
derby always because Of his misfor-
tune, to be helped and planned for
and loved indeed, because he was lame
and her cousin, and because he was
dear boy and her best friend. But
as the hero of her own romance to
come, she refused to think of him at
all. More firmly she refused such an
idea, of course, because her father
had limited that it would complete both
Harry's and his happiness.
Francois, with quick insight, saw as
much as this, and was anxious for the
boy who had been his warm and
steady friend. What he did not see
was that Luck was fitting his own
personality into that empty notch of
her imagination where an altar stood
| and a candle burned, ready for the
/ image that was to come above them.
That never entered his mind, for in
his mind Alike was the only woman
| living to be considered in such a re-
lation. And, in spite of the seigneur,
in spite of Pietro, in spite of his whole
hearted giving up of her, there was a
happy obstinate corner in the depths
of his soul which yet whispered
against all reason that it might be
| that Alike loved him, that it might
be, for unheard-of things happened
every day, it might be yet that-with
all honor with all happiness to those
others whom he loved-he might some
day be free to love her. So that as
he grew to care for and understand
Lucy Hampton more and more, no
| faintest dream of caring for her as
he did for Alike came ever into his
mind
On an evening when winter was
wearing away to cold spring, Francois
| NNrof in hn fni ne ~
House for his scholar. The room had
sweet and stately beauty, a graceful
stiffness like the manners of the
women who first lived in it, hundred
years before. The carved white wood
work over the doors was yellowed to
ivory; the mantelpiece, brought from
France in 1882, framed in it's fluted
pillars, its garlands and chiseled
nymphs and shepherds, as If under
protest, the rollicking orange Of the
fire. over a mahogany sofa, covered
with slippery horsehair, hung a por-
trait of the first lady of the manor
and Francois, sitting soldierly erect
in a straight chair, smiled as his gaze
fell on tit was so like yet SO unlike
|
delicate oval chin and straight nose,
and fair, loose hair. But the portrait
was staid and serious, while Lucy's
face, as this man had seen 1t, had
kindly eyes and a mouth smiling al
ways. He shook his head In gentle
amusement at the grave dignity of the
picture.
But no, Madame-you are not so
charming as your granddaughter" he
said, addressing it aloud.
And then he stepped across the room
to the fire, and held his hands to 1t
and stared into it. The clock licked
firmly, the logs fell apart with soft
sliding sounds, and he stared down at
them-his thoughts far away-a look
came into his eyes as II they concen-
trated on something beyond the range
of sight, the characteristic look of
Francois, the old look Of dreamer, OF
a seer of visions.
Then Lucy stood in the doorway,
gentle, charming from the slippered
feet, locked over the instep to the
shadowy locks of light hair on her
forehead.
Good evening. Monsieur | am
sorry / kept you waiting. Hannibal
hurt his foot and | must find plaster
and bandage for him. But you will
have enough Of my talking even now.
Father says talk great deal. Do
/, Monsieur"