Year: 1865

| i Know you are tired enough OF tales
of war, and that your OVID dark memor-
les of the sealed record of the nations
bloody baptism need no fresh reminders.
My story does not concern a battle, but
a woman; and how can l help it if she
lived down there on the border, so sur
rounded and hemmed in by conflict and
combatants, by scenes of peril and blood
and death, that they must necessarily in
terweave themselves with the controlling
events of her life l hardly know what
you would have thought Of her if you
had seen her standing there alone on the
lawn in the haze of that sultry June even
ing. You would have stopped involun-
tariy, as before some striking picture
A woman with a certain regal bearing in
the dropping Of her shoulders, in the po-
stion of her hands, in the curve of her
neck, in the very folds of her lustreless
black silk dress and the mantle of white
Grape that fell over it-a graceful wo-
man certainly; well-polsed head, held
a little lottily, perhaps a face some
what pale contrastcd with the hair that
was pushed back from it, and features
regular as statues. A beautiful wo-
man then! That would depend partly
on yourself, partly on her mood. A par
tcular curl in the bright color of her lips,
an arch of her eyebrow, sharp, decided
tone about the whole contour of the face,
might at any time and always have re-
PEELED you. Or, if you had seen her
smile as she could smile if she chose, as
she did not often, you might wish Mu-
rillo could have painted her. The slant
sunbeams were hecking the grass and
trees above her, touching spots of gold,
too, upon her dark dress. You would
have noticed rather independence of their
effect Than that they added anything by
it II; the play of light and shade and color
did not seem necessary to her as to many
women. You would fancy that she
might stand in the dimness OF dungeon
unchanged. In this circumstance--as Of
ten through lesser avenues the soul finds
voice-lay the key to Miss Bronsons
nature.


People were rather dubious on the sub
.ect OF Il young woman who carried pis-
tolls, had no desire to marry, and was not
afraid Of gucrrillas. 1t was outre, il
evinced discomfort with her sphere; it
was--it really was-''strong-m -
Very likely. And you don't like the
word ? am sorry, for it seems to be
appropriate, ml | am obliged to use it.
1t and sh, fitted well into the life she had
led. For Il mother She had only the
memory Of kiss on dead face; for
childhood and girlhood, a long, luxurious
dream with her own fancies and the COM
panionship Of that uncompanionablc, ST
lent father, who, dying six months ago,
! left her an inheritance enough OF his own
Northern temperament to cool the heat,
Of her Southern blood a well-ordered
! plantation, and crowd of model slaves
moulded after the most sacred form of the
''institution'-perhaps because their mas
ter was too much of gentleman TO be
grossly cruel-perhaps because lie found
occasion TO pacify within himself certain
clamorous memories OF the faith of hi:
fathers.


AS to the slaves, Miss Bronson freed
them within month after the old mar
gave her his last kiss she would have
done it the day after the funeral, except
out Of respect for him. This utterly il
logical and inconseIuent act was doubtless
the foundation of the Objectionable cpl
thet aforesaid, which Mortified rumor haC
attached to her As for the plantation
she carried on its business by herself, witt
such of the negroes who chose to remain
with her as she could support; smiled
when the neighbors were scandalized that
Miss Bronson should reduce herself tC
such disgraceful poverty chose neither
relative, friend, nor husband for com
pany, but passed her days in solitude and
the gloom OF the old rooms which haC
such foreign hush in them, from missing
the dead mans silence. She might have
been lonely, for she loved him; or sh,
might not No one knew but herself.


The haze had blottsd out the colder
fiecks on her hair and dress, and the tw
light had fallen heavily, while she stoot
there alone watching the west She be
gan at last TO pace back and forth unde
the trees in peculiar, nervous way sh
had, which was more of man than of
woman, yet not unwomanly nor ungrace
full.


A footstep in the street and voice a
the gate calling her name, aroused he
from her reverie. She turned her hea'
slowly, and stopped her walk.


"Mr. mckinley, / think 1t is rath
er dark"


"Yes, Miss Bronson"


She did not advance to meet him O
I invite him TO enter, but stood as she ha
stood, watching the sunset, in that statue
like attitude which could not be anythin
but naughty, if she tried to make it SC
Yet | doubt if she knew it. The youn
man besitated an insant, then came in
and up the graveled walk.


Am l intrudingl'


Intrudingi Oh no.


Il should be sorry if / were, because
; 'Are you alone 2


1t was not Miss Bronson's custom (
interrupts she was too well-bred; h
knew that.


Yes he said


It is not safe, / suppose ? she quei
toned, busted with drawing the crap
over her shoulders