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CHAPTER IV.
I say, Vane, that cloud on your face is
anything but sweet—striking contrast between
it and the one on your heart.”
It was evening again and Rupert was hast
ening for the last time to the home of his be
loved. His friend’s jest and the clear ringing
laugh that accompanied it, grated on the young
man’s ear and served to quicken his step. Pre
cisely at seven he entered the elegant drawing
room, and the next moment was in the presence
of Sweet Cloud.
“Only a brief moment of bliss, my Sweet,
when we had thought to be all in all to each
other through life. There is a melancholy
pleasure in being with you this little while —
a pleasure I would not exchange for the world.
And yet this hour holds for me the bitterest
sorrow my life has hitherto known.”
“It is indeed a dark hour for both of us,
Rupert.”
And the sweet voice betrayed emotion. Her
words and tone threw across his gloom the bow
of hope. Would she “forsake father and moth
er and cleave to him?”
Seeds of evil suggestion do not find a ready
growth, and rarely a temporary lodgment in
the soil of a heart where the strong roots of
perfect trust have long been embedded, yield
ing the sweet fragrance of final affection. And,
young though Rupert was, he realized the diffi
culty of even hinting elopement. It would
require a subtle tongue, and more time, he fear
ed, than had been allowed him to gain this
point. But he would do his best.
“Your father has no doubt informed you
that I have been intoxicated, but, Sweet, I
was only overwhelmed by the congratulations
of my friends and thoughtlessly partook of
the social glass until I became unconscious. I
have taken it in this room until I felt its ef
fects stealing through my brain. You did not
reprove me then, neither did your father. I
cannot see that this last act deserves such se
vere discipline. The humiliation I feel at the
thought of being shut out from your presence,
considered unworthy to enjoy the ennobling
love that fills my heart, and thrills my whole
being, is more than my nature can bear.”
“Oh, Rupert, do not talk so. You must not
feel humiliated by this separation. Perhaps it is
best for us at present. Father thinks so any
way, or he would not demand it. His sym
pathy for us assures me that he is only trying
eventually to secure our happiness. Overcome,
dear Rupert, and we shall yet be happy.”
“Trying eventually to secure our happiness!
How can you think so? This overpowering
love which would draw you inseparably to my
bosom tells me there is nothing but cruelty in
the edict that forces us apart.
Your father believes that persuasion would
at any period of life undermine my resolution,
and therefore he withholds you from me, and
forbids even that sweet interchange of thought
that could do us no harm, and would make our
bethrothal a glorious spring time. His design
is to draw you from me entirely, and so subtly
as to prevent your realizing it. Oh, my darl
ing, do you yield to this decree and will you
drive me from you forever?”
“Rupert, it is my duty to obey my dear, kind
father; but I do not drive you from me. In
deed you must not say so.”
The Golden Age for May 22, 1913.
CT HI TTY” AN INSPIRING
1 ■■■ TEMPERANCE STORY.
By PERMELIA SMITH SHIVERS —Revised and Published by Mildred Shivers Carroll.
“How am I to reconcile your statements?”
“Why, Rupert, I am not going to think of
you as hopelessly lost. This is a severe and un
expected experience for us, and almost breaks
my heart; but we are so young. We can af
ford to wait a while until father’s apprehen
sions have passed away. I expect you to re
establish yourself in my father’s confidence,
and I anticipate the day when he will yet
be proud to acknowledge your suit.”
“But, oh those years of banishment from
your society! How could I bear them? To
abstain from the social glass would be but a
small undertaking. But to remain here -and
see you in friendly association with my com
panions and myself excluded! The very
thought is maddening! I must say that I am
disappointed in the strength of your love; for
I hear no voice of love in your calm reason
ing.
“With me it is different. My mind is a chaos
of grief. I cannot remain here. I must leave
at once, but my plans for the future are as
yet undeveloped.”
Poor Sweet! She was almost overwhelmed
by the thought of his going away. How crush
ing the thought that she might not even hear
from him!
But she tried to subdue her own feelings
and speak encouragingly. Rupert, however,
was persistent in his grief, and refused to he
comforted.
“No matter how far separated, my Sweet,
I shall carry with me the sweet assurance of
your love, and you must remember at all times
that my heart is wedded to yours. I shall
never forget nor disregard our vows of betro
thal.”
The door opened slowly and the Major ap
peared. Rupert rose to depart, but the trou
bled voice of the older man detained him.
“Do not go until you name and receive your
prize.”
“Sir, I have named my prize,” said Rupert
proudly.
“You transcended your privilege, Rupert, in
claiming the hand of my daughter”
“Transcended my privilege? Have I not the
same right of any other man? I was of the
opinion that the possession of a woman’s affec
tions authorized the asking of her hand.”
“I did not question your privilege in that
particular, Rupert, but the associating it with
the privilege of naming the prize awarded you
by the debating society.”
“And,” replied Rupert, “does not the latter
couple an apology with the universal right?”
“But,” responded the Major, “may I not
ask why you need an apology to exercise a
right accorded all men? Why did you not ex
ercise the universal privilege like a man, with
out an apology?”
“So it is,” Rupert replied, “I really need
ed no apology; but when I won the prize and
you allowed me to choose it, I considered that
I had won your confidence and esteem I desired
to prove myself in some way worthy of one
so noble as Sweet. And it was only natural
to claim as my prize the one thing I desired
above all others. I will accept no other, and
until Sweet is mine, I shall consider you in
debted to me to the inestimable amount of her
worth.”
Meanwhile Sweet had glided from the room
and returned with her Bible. She held it out
to her lover, saying between her sobs: “Take
this, Rupert, and let it be your guide until we
meet again.”
With the last words he caught her in his
arms, strained her to his bursting heart, kissed
her lips passionately and was gone.
The father, sad at heart, bowed his head and
went out, leaving the young girl alone with
her grief.
Soon the gentle mother came in to speak
a word of condolence, and found the maiden
senseless upon the carpet. A piercing cry
from Mrs. Cloud brought the Major to her
side. They brushed away the tears yet un
dried upon the sweet face, and gently carried
her to her room.
It was some time before life’s current flowed
naturally, and consciousness returned. It was
longer still before the listlessness which follow
ed gave way to a renewed interest in life.
Spring had warmed into summer, summer
had cooled into autumn, and autumn was freez
ing into winter, and still she remained in se
clusion, persistengly declining all invitations.
She often gazed through her frosted win
dows with a woe-begone expression in her eyes,
and murmured: “If only I had known sooner
before I had taken the great joy so entirely
to heart, it would not have been so; hard!
My poor heart, how it aches! aches!”
The wind swept over the earth like a sheet
of invisible ice, and she listened to its quiv
ering crash as it shattered itself against the
elms, and its deep moans as it swept among
the pines, and she whispered: “Even nature
is sighing with me in my grief Dear Rupert,
why do you not return?”
Not until the downy blossoms waved upon
the fruit trees, and the voice of glad-hearted
birds made melody in the spring sunshine, did
Sweet Cloud lift her eyes heavenward and
say sadly, but resignedly:
“He chasteneth every son whom he receiv
eth” There was balm in this realization; but
her voice had lost its glad peal, and a shadow
of sadness rested upon the calm countenance.
She reminded one of a beautiful lily whose
tender fibers had been bruised and torn by the
stream from which it had sought support.
But Sweet Cloud no longer pined in seclu
sion. She found a panacea for her sore grief
in deeds of kindness and love. She moved
among the poor, the sick, and the lonely—a
veritable angel of mercy, until her name be
came a synonym of goodness. She was grow
ing more and more into the likeness of her Sa
viour, through whose grace she had been en
abled to overcome her sorrow.
But did you inquire concerning Rupert?
Alas for the impetuosity of you. Even while
Sweet was crying out in her dreams, “Do not,
oh! do not leave us!” he was going with the
speed of steam away from home where vir
tue was wont to spread her pinions—going out
into a world darkened by the wing of vice—
there to fight temptation and prove himself
worthy of his sweetheart’s hand.
He left no clew as to his whereabouts. He
had gone to fight his battle alone. Poor boy!
Had he realized the strength of the enemy’s
forces, he would have sought the help, the pro
tection, the guidance of a stronger arm than
his own.
His mother mourned him as lost for a time,
then in sorrow resigned herself to the chill em-
(Continued on page 14.)
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