Newspaper Page Text
I'OKKNT QUIET.
| IN TUX SOUTH. )
BT PAUL H. H A YMB.
• thin »yUan ©llencr, atrang© and «wa©t,
a>I gun. Utah virgin*! I'uce cao bear
iof tier u»u j.ijic bo*oiu U»*t;
ow voir© rchix-d by ©lfln Hlla,
,r-<»ir formii (oun ulna, ajNtrklinf claar
miulBil hollow* of the hoary hit.a.
or wraith of any br©©s© that blow
i Uio.i mini; not ©van you (omai
I awtiiig ’twlit viol©t and wild roae.
to th© airy ©Irmantt aobthfit breath;
itilliios* almost broods Ilka paiu
avusa, holding diui Inuli of
tur
had.iws of aoiiu.l aurpita, th© wavea far
rrirkat'a chirp, or work-bird's croon In
U thin sacra 1, tvfl tranquillity.
• lik.
«jui©t; tba fair laud
an miaul lulled from d ©|» to deep
real, on aom© wav©-whtapering
lO AT I.OVL
i all the world ia ©looping, lore,
stars from h<-*i©n dun-pooping, lot©,
Aud niglit’a black pall
l*.»th equal all
i laugirug and tha weep'ng, lova f
ll.iaa aa.-ot loiialinaas of night
I an. y takea a haavmward flight—
• a Cight toward© th©©, n»y love,
| thou ai t haavou t * mo, tuy love,
For thou art heavou to tua.
ii morning's light ia breaking, love,
ulI tbe world la waking, love,
And our© again
Willi doubt and pain
} human heart i© aching, love,
ot for tho a. Irish Mtrtfe
Ii wlae men call a uarful life;
art my only thought, my love,
out th © 111© wore naught, my love.
Without th.e life were naught.
evoung calm and lender, love,
©da the no m.lay epiendor, love,
A in hi daprataed
Our© more a- ©k* real
|bop. obltvlon-lend -r, love,
tliought© nor pan*© nor abbiog know;
onward keep their couataut flow
©, tny heart'a-wiah goal, my love,
©an of my aoul, my lov©,
Th© oo<an of tny aoul.
orldly thought* excluding, love,
> other men are brooding, love,
Dow tli y nny gaiu
Purct-tuN' with pain;
J I I to wraith drill tug, love.
11y hop© and watch and pray
on i d. ar a mi la, oue h©av©nly ray
• from thy bright ©yea, my lovo,
10 other priz. •, my love,
1 aak no other prir-e.
IRK OF
BY CI2111RTIAN It KID.
Appleton'* Journal.]
4 II A I* I I It I
|l. dear old follow, how glad I am
y<>U HgHIIl!"
I to not. yon. Bertie ! ”
two brothers clasped hands in that
[ns grasp which, with Anglo-Saxon
(press so much, and gazed into
tier’s faces with eyes that were
misted. Five years had passed
oy last saw eaoh other, and many
changes which can be wrought du-
kt length of time on huinau faces,
fas in human lives. Colonel Phil
rston, of the Egyptian army, had
nany shades darker, and somewhat
appearance, since, like Childe
he bade his native land good-
knd sailed away to the climes of
while Bertie Egerton, whom he
ky strippling, with tho world all
liim—a world ready enough to
most attractive side to oue so
In nature, so charming in manner,
^rally endowed with the good
of fortune—bad undergone
change. The bright boy whom
[n well remembered, had vanished
and left in bis plsoe a man
muowhat worn and almost reck'
Ipression on his handsome face,
pc light of oordial gladness died
[is change, Thurston, however,
wise tc speak. The brothers had
|tlie deck of an ocean steamer,
cere a hundred things to say—
s to ask and answer—while they
a carriage and were driven to
s hotel. It was not until after
j that anything like confidential
ation took place. TheD, as they
|iokiiig together, with tbe summer
dying away over the city roofs
t< s, Egerton said, in a studiedly
| voice:
dh bad delayed your coming a lit*
Phil, yon would not have
be on this side of tbe Atlantio. I
pile all my arrangements to go
rben I received yonr letter.”
said Thurston. “Where did
bk of going ?"
11 don't know," replied the other
eutly. “To Europe for the sum-
|uppose. In the autnmn I meant
eastward, and pay yon a visit.
Bust be a pleasant oonntry to live
Ink. If I pitched my tent there
fit have a comfortable time—yon
ill and march and countermarch,
I heart’s oontent, while I reolined
palm tree, or floated on the
bat is yonr idea of life in Egypt,
aid Thurston, with a laugh. “It
Id enough country for me—a aol-
lnature and profession, with no
[besides my sword—but it would
1 \on. Tbe novelty of everythiDg
oiuse you for a time, but I should
for you to think of pitching
bt there permanently.”
pell there as anywhere else,” said
with a shadow of gloom falling
I face. “Novelty is what I want.
|t d to death of tho life I know—
forget myself, perhaps, in one
Mn't know. I have felt lately as
Pild like to escape from the tu-
fret of modern civilization, to
ent and unchangeable East.”
i took bis cigar from bis lips,
eked the feathery ashes off against
i of (he open window by whioh
before he sei* 1
I
“There is cot s great deal of the un
changeable East to be found in Egypt
just now—unless yon go to Thebes, whioh
is not at the present time a very cheerful
place of residence, whatever it may have
been three thousand yean ago. Cairo,
under tbe new regime, has quite as muoh
‘tumult sod fret,' in it as any city of Eu
rope. Bat this disgust of modern oivili-
ration is altogether new with yon—what
has censed it?”
“Satiety, I suppose, ” Egerton, replied,
looking at the yoang moon as it hnog
a golden boat in the pearly aky. “I be
lieve there is no donbt but that if a man
were restricted to a diet of ortolans and
ohampagne, he would tire of them after
a while. For five yeera I have rnn
through every form of social
dissipation, and been sufficiently
courted and amused. But it has palled
at last. 1 sm tired of the frivolity that
has made tbe snm of my lifs. I sm sick
of dancing and flirting, of clnbs and
drawing-rooms. If I do not go away and
tnrn idler or savage for a time, I think I
shall blow oat my brains!”
lie bad forgotten himself and in tbe
last seotenoe there was so mnch passion
ate earnestness—on the oatlines of the
handsome face snoh s deepening reokless-
ness—that Thurston was fairly startled.
Vet what could he say? The malady was
plain enough, bat it must needs be ,a
skillful physician who can minister to a
mind or spirit diseased. Bo, for a min
ute, there was a silence. Carriages were
rolling below, pedestrians passing, lamps
gleaming through the deepening dusk; a
child's laugh floated np together with a
rod balloon; some distance down the
street a band of musicians were playing.
On this medley of sound Thurston's voice
broke.
“If the necessity for change of scene
is so urgent," he said, with a tolerably
successful attempt at lightness cf tone,
“yon most not let me detain yon in Amer
je». So long as I am with you, it does
not matter where my furlough ia spent.
After I have transacted a little necessary
business, I am ready to acoompany yon
to Paris or Stamboul.”
“Nay, I am not quite so selfish a dog
as that,” said Egerton with s smile—bnt
Thnrston noticed that his lip trembled
under the silky-brown mustache. “It
ought to be enough for me to be with
yoo," he went on, “without dragging you
over the ocean again, when yon have just
made a long journey to see yonr home
and friends. Yon’ll be patient with me,
I know. I'm not qnite myself in all re
spects, but with regard to you"—and his
hand fell on his brother's shoulder—“I
have not ohnnged one-iota.”
“Do yon think I donbt that?” asked
Thnrston. “Do yon think I could donbt
it under any circumstances? We have
not been like ordinary brothers, Bertie,
at any period of oar lives—you know that
as well as L do. Thank God. no bitter
ness has ever ootne between us—nor ever
will, I think! Of oonrse I saw, as soon
as I looked at yonr face, that some change
bad passed over yon; bnt yon must un
derstand that I do not ask the canse of it.
Go or stay, speak or be silent, without
fear of misconception from me.”
Egerton poshed baok his chair abruptly
and rose.
“God bless yon, Phil!” hesaid,hnskily,
and walked away in the datiky dimDess of
the anlighted room.Thurston did not fol
low him, sad more than a minute passed
in silence, broken only by the noises
from the street. Egerton paced once or
twice the length of the apartment; then
v-ithont returning, he said: “If I hesi
tate to tell yon the reason of the change
which you find in me, it is only because
a man uatnrally dislikes to brand himself
os a fool. Vet you must hear it sooner
or later—from others if not from me—
and the story is simple and commonplace
enough. You know that I have always
had a very susoeptible disposition with
regard to women. I have ^fallen in and
out of love dozens of times, and a year
ago I should, for that very reason, have
esteemed m>self tbe least likely sul ject
for one of those insane passions that now
and then wreck men's lives. In fact I
was accastomed to say that no woman
had ever made a deep impression npon
me, and I did not believe that any ever
would.”
“Von once wrote me something equiv
alent to that," said Thurston, more to fill
the pause which came just here than for
another reason; “I remember, you said,
a propot of some desperate lover, ‘I can
not imagine why a man should suffer the
loss of oue woman to come like a shadow
lietween him and the sun, when there are
multitudes on every aide as fair, as wise,
as witty as she. There is no such thing
as nonpareil exoelleDoe. Thank Heaven,
the world is a “rose bud garden of girls,”
and he is a fool who, losing one rosebud,
does not pluck another! ’ ”
“Ah!" said Egerton, “it was I who was
a fool to talk so lightly of things beyonc
my comprehension! ‘He jeets at soars
who never felt a wound’—but I have beet
wounded sinoe then. The shadow of one
woman has indeed come between me and
the sun, and I would not tell you, if I
could, what darkness has fallen over my
life. I met Agatha Loriog more than a
year ago, and from the first moment I
saw her I loved her. Do you know what
that word means, Phil? Very likely not.
I never knew what it meant until I met
her-, but compared to what I felt for her,
every feeling that I had ever known for
any other woman was like water unto
wine ten times told. I was warned from
the first that she was a cruel ooqnette,
and would thfow a man's heart away like
a useless toy when she was done with it;
but snoh warnings were less to me than the
idlest wind. To be with her was suffioient;
to bear her voice, to touoh her hand, to
look into her eyes—such eyes, Phil! I
have never seen any others of the same
tint; and as for expression—sometimes I
think that they have no tint, that they are
all expression. But” (with an impatient
acoent) “1 must not maunder like this.
The end oame as it had been foretold.
When I grew too earnest to amnse her
any longer, she turned to ioe and bade
me go. I weaned her, she said, coldly;
she had nothing to give me; ahe fancied
that I had understood that flirtation was
only flirtation; if I had made a mistake,
it was not her fanlt. And so it all ended.
Well, no donbt yon think me weak to
suffer such a woman to rob life of a aavor
for me. But most women who play this
game are bunglers more or less while
Agatha Loring waa an expert. When she
is done with a man, he is fit for nothing
bat to go to the devil as fast M may be.”
“And do yon think such a woman worth
going to.the devil for?” asked Thnrston,
with indignation. “Why can yon not
put her out of your heart through scorn?
Great Heaven! if I loved her better than
my life, and she showed herself in snch
colors, it would be enough. I should
thrust her aside, and go my way as if she
did not exist.”
“Yonr theories would fall away like
cobwebs if Agatha Boring once laid her
spell on you,” said Egerton. “I know I
am a fool, but the ia a sorceress. No
ordinary woman conld fill a man’s life
with the consciousness of her and the
need of her, and then wreck it as she
does. When she sent me away, I was
like a wretch hnrled in one moment out
of heaven into hell! I do not under
stand yet how I failed to blow ont my
brains, unless it was that I shrank from
beiDg the subject of a three day's talk. I
did not even think of yon, Phil—consider
that!”
“My poor boy!” said Thurston. Invol
untarily he rose and pnt his arm aoross
the yonng man’s shoulders In their old
boyish fashion. More he conld not say.
His heart was hot as he thought of tbe
woman who had wrought such work
through cruelty or caprioe, but he knew
that to speak of her as she deserved
would for the present avail nothing.
Egerton, on his part, was touched by
his sympathy. “Yon are exactly what
yon always were, Phil," he said grateful-
ly. “Dear old fellow, -it would be a dark
day, indeed, when any estrangement
oame between ns—bnt we need not speak
of shch a thing; it will never be. And
yon must not think that I mean to bore
yon with my folly. I have told my story
and I am done. Now let ns discuss yonr
plans. Where do yon mean to go. All
oar relations are eager to see yon, and
welcome yon to their hospitable roofs.
(That’s the correct phrase, I believe.)
People are amazingly hospitable, yon
know, when they are only called npon to
appreciate success. I have pressing in
vitations for yon from all ancles, and
aunts, and cousins to the tenth degree.”
“Not one of whom I care to meet,”
said Thurston. “Apart from desire to
see you, I have chiefly ootne to America to
reernit my health, which has been a little
enervated by five years in Egypt, and to
attend to some business concerning whioh
there is no haste. Therefore, in order to
accomplish the first two objects, I pro
pose that we shall tarn oar faces toward
the old home of onr boyhood. Let ns
go to Beechwood. I should like to ride
through the woods and fish in the river
again. I used to think, in the East, that
one whiff of the pine-odors would be
better than the fragranoe of Araby tbe
Blest.”
I have not been there for years,” said
Egerton. ‘ ‘My agent attends to the bu-
siuess. The plantation is rented ont, yon
know, bnt the house is nnooenpied, and if
yon desire we can go there. All plaoes
are alike to me. We will go to-morrow,
if you like.”
Bo they started next day, for Thurston
perceived more and more clearly that his
brother's case was one demanding prompt
treatment of some kind. The Beechwood
idea had come to him like an inspiration,
and as an inspiration he acted npon it.
To take Egerton away from all associa
tions which intensified his pain, to break
the chain of later habit, and reoall the
fresh, simple pleasures of earlier years,
was what he wished to do, and he felt
sanguine that the result would be all that
he desired.
This impression lasted for a few days
after they bad taken np their abode at
Beechwood—one of those old Southern
bouses, around which, even when desert
ed, still seems to linger the oharm of the
hospitable existenoe they once enshrined
—bnt it did not last more than a few
days. It was soon apparent that Eger-
ton’s malady was beyond the reach of
such remedies as this. As Thurston
watched him, he realized bow deeply the
poisoned shaft had struck. The spring
or all joyoasness and hope seemed bro
ken within the young man. He exerted
himself to appear cheerful, be made an
effort to feign interest in the old porsnits
bnt his brother's eyes—rendered by af-
feotion almost as keen as those of a wo
man's saw through the pretense readily,
saw the deadly indifference, the apathy
born of pain, the recklessness that at
times was almost fierce.
Nevertheless, he still hoped that this
aente stage of the disease might pass,
and oonvalesoenoe set in. But daya
lengthened into weeks; and after a month
bad elapsed, he acknowledged to himself
that snoh an expectation was fruitless.
Indeed, Egerton had of late seemed to
grow worse instead of better. He was at
times intensely irritable, and again de
pressed beyond all power of concealment.
He had also become fond of solitude, and,
wandering off into the woods, taking
long rides, or floating in a skiff on the riv
er, would spend hoars alone, without any
occupation. Thurston ottered no re
monstrance, bnt be observed cloeely, and,
having drawn his conclusions, formed
them into a resolution.
The time for expressing this oame ooe
evening when the July twilight had faded
into night, and still Egerton, who had
gone ont on the river, did not return.
Thnrston, Having waited for him vainly,
took his solitary supper, and then, in the
fragrant semi-darkness, paoed the lawn,
at the foot of whioh the river ran. It
was nine o'clock before he beard tha welt
come sound of oars, and then a boat gra
ted against the bank. He walked toward
the landing place, and, as Egerton sprang
on the shore, said, quietly:
“You are late, Bertie—what detained
yon so long?”
“Nothing in partionlar," answered Ber
tie, carelessly. “I saw no reason for
coming back. How warm it is! One
gets a breeze on the river, which is more
than one gets here. ”
“You will find supper waiting. I took
mine some time ago.”
'Supper—bab! Who oen eat in snoh a
temperature as this?” he put his hand to
his throat, and loosened impatiently the
collar ronnd which no cravat was tied—
“I shall not go through the form to
night.”
“Light a cigar then, and join me in
my promenade. I have one or two
things to say.”
To this Egerton made no demur. The
oigtr was lighted, and, as they walked
back and forth over the grassy slope,
Thnrston said:
“I see plainly that this life does not
snit yon. Despite all your efforts, you
are restless and wretohed; therefore, as
I proposed to oome, let me propose to go.
There is nothing to detain ns here. I
am ready to start to-morrow, to go any
where you like.”
“Yon are very kind,” replied Egerton,
after a moment's panse, “and you have
borne with my moods better than I de
serve; but, when you talk of starting to
go anywhere I like, yon make a mistake.
There is nowhere I like. This place does
not snit me, bnt I do not know any other
whioh would suit me better. The fault
is in myself, not in^ny surroundings. Bat
I have felt for some time past,” he went
on, “that I am no fit companion for any
one in my present condition. I decided
this evening that, instead of troubling
yon any longer, I will go away by myself
somewhere—I don't care where—and see
if I oannot summon manhood enough to
end this insane folly. In snoh a straggle
a man is sometimes best alone. ”
“I have been thinking of that,” said
Thurston, gravely, “but the question is,
oan I trust you alone?”
“I think bo,” answered the other. “I
am past the stage of blowing out my
brains—if that is what you mean. Give
me a month; Phil,and by that time I hope
that I shall be able to bear myselt more
like a man.”
As he looked at his brother, the star
light was bright enough for Thurston to
see tbe reckless misery on the faoe that
usually concealed this pain, in a measure
at least, under s mask. At that sight,
something rose up in his throat, and al
most ohoked him. It was fully a minute
before be oould control himself suffi
ciently to speak as he desired.
“You must do exactly as you wish
without reference to me,” he said. “I
told yon that sqmetime ago. Where do
yon think of going—abroad?”
“Yes,” Egerton replied. “I am sick of
America. When you have finished yonr
business yon can meet me in Paris. Then
after we have spent a month or two ram
bling about, I will go with you to Egjpt. ”
And so it was settled.
CHAPTER II.
After Thurston had accompanied his
brother to the seaport whence he embark
ed for Europe, and had seen the ship
which bore him “sink below the verge,”
he was conscious of a strange sense of
isolation and desolation. It was true that
tbe shore on which be stood was that of
his native land—a land where he had re
lations by the dozen, and friends (in the
conventional sense of that term) by the
aeore; but he had oome to see Bertie—
and Bertie was gone. As is sometimes
the case with men of his order, the sun
burned soldier had a very tender heart,
and his heart aohed now not only with
the desolation already mentioned, bnt
with the thought of his incapacity to re
lieve one single pang of the pain which
his brother was suffering.
It was the latter reflection chiefly
which drew bis dark brows together as
be set his faoe cityward again, leaving
the docks and the shipping, the tossing
waves and Vanishing ship behind. “God
grant that all the suffering she has oansed
may be returned npon her before she
dies!” be said to himself; and it is not
difficult to toll to which one of all the
daughters of Eve his wish referred.
Turning his thoughts from Bertie, it
became a serious question what he shonld
do with himself daring the next month.
It was true that oertain affairs of bnsi-
ness demanded his attention, but at the
most they would only claim a part of his
time, and bow he shonld dispose of the
remainder was an enigma. He might
travel; bat to travel alone is a dreary an
dertaking, unless the traveler has some
definite object in view, or ia so wrapped
up in an absorbing feeling as to stand in
no need of companionship. There were
summer resorts; but the idea of lounging
with a newspaper and oigar on a hotel
piazza, listening to watoring-plaee gossip,
or floating on the tide of watering-plaoe
dissipation, required more fortitude or
more frivolity than Thurston possessed.
He thought of his relations.for there occa
sionally oomee a time in a man’s life when
he feels inclined to seek those of his own
blood; but such lenghts of absenoe, such
difference of association, intervened be
tween himself and all his kindred, that
there was not a single door to which he
oould go certain of a welcome or of con
genial soaiety. He sighed slightly, and
dismissed the thought. If the worst
oame to the worst in the matter of ennui,
he oould follow Bertie's example and go
abroad as soon as his business would per
mit him to do so.
It happened oddly—as things some
times do—that an hour later, ae he stood
by the counter of a bank which he had
entered, a gentleman, after watching
him olosely for a minute, oame up with
outstretohed hand.
“I hardly think I can be mistaken,” he
said. “Are you not Philip Thurston?”
“The same,” Thnrston answered turn
ing quickly. His glanoe had soaacely
fallen on the face before him when a
laugh oame into his eyes. You are Cam
eron Jennings," he said, shaking hands
warmly. “I should have known you any
where. ”
“You ought—if only by this token,”
said the other, touohii^g a slight sear on
his forehead. “You gave me this with a
hatchet when we were both about five
years old. When did you oome baok to
Amerioa? I did not know yon were in
the country.”
Thnrston replied by a brief detail of
the why and wherefore of his presence.
Mr. Jennings looked a little surprised
when he beard of Egerton’s departure
for Europe; but he was a man of suffi
cient taot to make no comment farther
than to say : “I saw Bertie at the Mardi
Gras in New Orleans last spring, and I
thought he was not in quite his usual health
and spirits. No doubt he needs change of
air. We all need it more or less, espe
cially in snmmer. Have you seen none
of yonr old friends? \tfhy, this is shame-
ful. You shall go home with ms, and my
wife will kill a fatted calf for you with
the greatest pleasure. Don’t you remem
ber her as Lucy Denmead? She is a cou
sin of yours.”
“I remember her,” answered Thnrston,
conscious of an absolnte thrill of regard
for Lncy Denmead, whose existenoe np to
that moment he had forgotten. “She nsed
to be very pretty.”
“She is very pretty yet,” said Mr. Jen
nings, with commendable pride, “and gay
as a lark. She fills Sans-Sonoi—that’s the
name of my oonntry plaoe—with compa
ny every summer, and makes things as
pleasant as they can be made. Sans-Sou-
ci is the place for you, my dear fellow!
Can’t you leave the city with me to-mor
row? I am only hare on business, and I
find it excessively hot.”
In Thurston’s present frame of mind
it did not require much persuasion to in
dace him to entertain this proposal very
favorably. He dined with Mr. JenDings
and the next day found him by that gen
tleman’s side in the train which bore
them away from the place where he had
last seen poor Bertie’s haggard face.
Sans-Sonoi was several hundred miles
distant—bnt what are hundreds of miles
when steam annihilates time and spaoe?
The evening of the second day they dis
embarked at a way-station, and found a
landau drawn by two black horses wait
ing for them.
“This fa pleasant,” said Mr. Jennings
in a tone of relief, as they rode along a
shade-flecked road, with fresh breezes
coming to their faces, green hills on all
sides, and breadths of rich meadow-land
making a pastoral foreground. “I think
yon’ll like the country, Thnrston, and I
hope yon'll like Sans-Sonci. Lncy had
the house fall when I left, and we are
pretty Bare not to find it empty now.”
A drive of five or six miles brought
them to this home of hospitality—a pic
turesque villa, crowning a gently-swelling
hill, with a winding stream and fertile
valley below. On the 'piazza as they
drove np stood a very small lady very
elaborately dressed, who welcomed Mr.
JenDings affectionately and Thnrston
warmly.
“Of course I remember yon,’’ she said
to the latter, when he hazarded the ex
pression of a fear that she did not. “I
think we had a flirtation before you went
away, and five years ia not such an age in
this part of the woTld, whatever it may
be in Egypt. I am oharmed to see you,
and I hopo we shall keep you with ns
some time. Y 7 es, Cameron, I received
yonr telegram. Cousin Philip’s room is
ready.”
As Cousin Philip was conducted to his
room he felt that, after all, relations had
their uses. This bowery chamber, so
tastefully yet inexpensively furnished,
with a background to all its windows of
green foliage touched with low-slauting
golden, snnbeams, was very different from
any apartment in whioh he had fonnd
himself for along time. He made his toilet
with an odd sensation of satisfaction, and
then sat down by one of these windows
to watch the sunset, while waiting for
the sound of a bell which be felt sure
would presently ring below. Instead of
the sunset, however, be soon fonnd him
self observing a very different soene.
Immediately below the ground sloped
away in a depression, and, as shrubbery
had been set ont thickly, and grew luxu
riantly here, the dell thns inclosed was
altogether oonoealed from the lower win
dows of the house. Thnrston’s easement
commanded a bird’s-eye view of it, and
when he glanced down the first thing
which he perceived was a woman's dress
thrown into relief against the deep-greta
back-ground. Something about this
dress—perhaps the grace of its fashion,
or the manner in whioh it was worn—at
tracted his attention, but he oonld cot
see the face of the wearer for a broad
straw hat whioh effectually concealed it
She was sitting on a rustic bench, and
by her aide was a man talking eagerly, as
was evident from his gestures, though no
word reached Thnrston’s ears.
He watched tbe scene for some time—
amused, as trifles will amuse one nnder
oertain circumstances. There is an ex
pression of figure as well as of face, and
attitudes often betray as much as the
oonntonance. The attitudes in the pres
ent instance betrayed a good deal. “The
man is in earnest, the woman indiffer
ent,” he said to himself. As the thought
passed throngh his mind, he saw the man
suddenly take one of the lady’s hands
and raise it to his lips. The significant
little motion made Thnrston draw back
with a sense of playing the spy. He rose
and left the window.
A moment later tbe bell for whieh he
had been waiting rang, and be went
down stairs. As he entered the drawing
room, fall of sunset light and gay with a
ripple of roioes and laughter, his hostess
met him with tbe same oordiality whieh
made her w el oome so charming.
“Yon have no idea what a lion we are
prepared to make of yon, Cousin Philip,”
she said, availing brightly. “It is not
often that wa have a genuine nineteenth
oentnry free-lance in our midst, and if
we bore yon with questions about life in
Egypt and the oourt of the Khedive, yon
must exouse us. You shall take me in to
dinner, and then I will have an opportu
nity to ask my questions first."
Needless to say what Thnrston replied,
and when a few minutes after he found
himself by Mrs. Jenning's side, overlook
ing a dinner-table round whioh a compa
ny of eight or ten ware gathered, he be
gan to feel more and more that Fate had
been kind to him. Before leaving the
drawing room he had been introduced to
the majority of the guests, but, glanoing
now over the assembled faces, be noticed
two whioh he had not seen before, and
which inatinot assured him belonged to
the figures whieh had played a bit of
comedy below his window.
I have written ‘two faoea,’ yet in truth
he saw for some time only one—and that
was feminine. Not a strictly beautiful
faoe, but a face that he felt at onoe might
hold a fascination deeper than mere
beauty. A clear oomplexion, clear-out
features, odd limpid eyes under dark
lashes, dark straight brows, and a Greek
forehead, from whioh rich masses of dus
ky hair waved—these things made np a
whole which awakened not so much ad
miration as interest. The mouth was
cold and almost disdainful when at rest,
but when the mobile lips spoke or smiled
their play of expression was singularly
winning.
Tbe man by this woman’s side—evi
dently the one who had kissed her hand
—was dark, slight, and handsome,
with something of French grace in his
manner and bearing. Thnrston watohed
tbe pair with a good deal of interest, and
presently, nnder cover of an animated
conversation near by, asked Mrs. Jen
nings who they were.
“Those,” said she, “are the moat noted
members of our party. I fancy you
have heard of the young lady: she is
Miss Loring,the famous bell and beauty.”
Thurston’s brow lowered.
“Do you mean,” he said—and untfon-
soiously his voice grew stern—“that she
is Agatha Loring?”
Mrs. Jennings shot a significant glanoe
at him.
“Yes, that is Agatha LoriDg,” she an
swered. “You have probably heard of
her from poor Bertie, who was one of her
victims. No one oan deny that she is
a heartless coquette, and yet one oannot
help liking her. Even you will find
yourself fascinated by her before you
know what you are about.”
He smiled a little grimly.
“You mast allow me to donbt that,” he
said. “Nevertheless, I will ask yon to
present me to her after dinner, and, if
yon will be so kind, I should prefer that
yon did not mention my relationship to
Bertie.”
“If yon desire it, certainly not,”
said Mrs. Jennings, who was very qnick
to take a hint or suggestion. “No one
here knows of the relationship except
Cameron, and I will request him not to
mention it. Do yon observe that hand
some man sitting by Agatha? He be
longs to the genns lady-killer, and is as
noted in bis line as she is in hers. It was
a ease of Greek meeting Greek, bnt I
think Agatha has vanquished him already,
though they only met three or four days
ago. His name is Yirien, and he is from
New Orleans.”
After dinner, when the ladies retired to
the drawing room, Mrs. i/ennings sat
down by Miss Loring's side.
“Yon were so late in making your ap
pearance before dinner, Agatha, that I
was not able to present my cousin, Colo
nel Thurston to you,” she said. “I shall
do so, with your permission, presently—
bnt mind! he is not to serve as food for
powder.”
“On what ground is he to be exempt?”
asked Miss Loring, with a laugh. “I
rather like his appearanee, if you mean
the sunburned man who was talking to
you at dinner. ”
“He has a right to be sunburned,” said
Mrs. Jennings. “He is in the Egyptian
army.”
“Indeed! Well, I did not question his
right you know; and I have often felt
that if I were a man I shonld go to
Egypt or Spain, or somewhere else where
fighting was to be done and honor won,
instead of sitting down in the old, old
rontins of social and agricultural life. I
am tired to death of the ordinary men
one meets. If your oousin brings a
fresh element into my life, I shall be pro
foundly grateful to him.”
“I doubt if he will be profoundly grate
ful to you in the end; but I have warned
him, and I can do no more.”
“You were very unkind then. Do you
imagine that with a man like that—a
simple, straightforward soldier, I have no
donbt—I should be the same creature
that I am with Antoine Yirien, for in
stance?”
“You are like Cleopatra in your infinite
variety, I know very well, my dear; but
I have never heard that yon were less
dangerous in one form than another; and
a ‘simple, straightforward soldier’ ia just
the person yon will tales pleasure in be
guiling.”
“Yon do me injustice—but hneH here
he oomee. Introduce him, pray.”
Mra. Jennings beckoned with her fan,
and, in obedience to her summons,
Thurston crossed the drawing-room. A
moment later he was presented to Miss
Loring, and when, after a few more
words, his hostess moved away, he sat
down in her vacant chair.
It was with a very deliberate purpose
that he did so. In all his life he had
never felt a deeper, more bitter enmity
toward any human creature than he now
felt toward this fair, graceful woman. As
he looked at her faoe, the vision of poor
Bertie’s haggard oountenanoe rose before
him, and blotted out all its beanty. An
almost savage desire to return npon her
pang for pang the suffering whioh she
had caused took possession of him. “If
I can find some means to strike her, I
shall not hesitate to do ao, in memory of
Bertie's wrong,” he said to himself; and
while these thoughts were in his mind,
Agatha Loring looked at him and felt in-
stinotively that there was something
strange—something to whioh ahe was not
aeons tom ed—in the steady regard of tbe
the deep-set eyes.
Mrs. Jennings wss just toiling’me that
you are in the Egyptian army, Col. Thors-
ton,” she said, and I remarked
to her that, if I were a man, it is where
J should like to be. Women are perforce
born to live in • social treadmill; but I
oannot imagine bow a man oan do so,
when freedom, fortune and honor, are all
to be won, as of old, by his sword.”
“Yon forget,” said Thnrston, “that to
the majority of men fighting, even in
oase of neoeaaity, is irksome work. There
are only a few here and there who are
soldiers by nature, and to them an ac
tive life is so neoessary—the profession
of arms, with all its dnwbaoks, so attrac-
—that they deeerve no credit for embra
cing it.”
• “I should belong to that olass if I
were a man, ” she said. “I have always
had a passionate longing for adventure,
novelty, oonqueat. No doubt,” with a
smile, “you think that I am talking like
a romantic young lady, who ‘reokona not
the battle and the march,’ nor the prioe
that must be paid for everything worth
having. But this longing of which I
speak is more than a mere sentiment. It
is sometimes so strong that I feel as if I
were possessed by a power urging me to
be something, to do something, to achieve
something; and then I look aronnd and
ask myself—what?”
The disdainful expression whioh he
had notioed larking in the lines of her
mouth oame out as she uttered the last
words, and still oorled her lip after she
eeased speaking.
“From what I have heard of you Miss
Loring,” Thurston said, with a directness
of manner very different from the gal
lantry with whioh many men would have
ottered the words, “I shonld not judge
that yon have been greatly in donbt what
to do and aohieve. ”
“I have aohieved a certain degree of
social snocess,” she answered, carelessly.
But if you oonld know—if yon oonld even
imagine—the weariness and littleness of
the life whioh it represents, yon would
feel inclined to pity me.”
“What an actress!” he thought. Mend,
be said, “Women generally do not seem
to be oppressed by the weariness and lit
tleness of snoh a life.”
“That is very true. Will you think
me strong-minded if I say that I often
look at them in wonder? A new dress, a
a flirtation, or a ball—these things are
enough to satisfy most of my sex. They
don’t satisfy me, and in that sentenoe
yon have the secret ot my disoontent; for
1 own, Colonel Thnrston, that I am a very
disoontented woman!”
“So yon belong to the olass of women
who take part in what is known as the
modern revolt,” he said with a slighily
sarcastic laugh. “I oannot congratulate
you, Miss Loring. I think that in many
respeots the old ways are best. It ia even
better for women to be content with
dresses, flirtations and balls, than to be
alamoring for new careers, and aiming at
heights of whioh their mothers never
dreamed.”
“Men of your class always feel that
way, I believe,” said she, without any
sign of discomposure. “The more dis
tinctly feminine a woman is, the better
you like her—is it not so? I suppose I do
belong to tbe olass of women who revolt,
but not exaotly in the manner of which
yon speak. I do not olamor for a career
which is closed to me, nor aim at heights
beyond my reaoh. I only feel that I
have a fund of power and energy within
me which, for want of a proper outlet,
often finds an improper one, and wifi
continue to do so to the end, I sup
pose.”
“You mean to imply, in other words,”
said Thurston, bluntly, “that you break
men’s hearts because you oaunot break
their heads.”
She ottered a low sweet peal of laugh
ter.
“That is a terse and epigramatio way
of summing the matter up; and perhaps
it is a true one. But do you believe in
broken hearts, Colonel TburstoD? Hon
eetly, I do not. Fanoy may be disap
pointed and vanity mortified, but a bro
ken heart is a phenomenon I have never
seen. ’’
“Probably you have never seen it be
cause you did not care to reoognize it,’’
said Thurston; and so deep was the wrath
whieh he felt that his voioe sounded as
never man’s voioe had sounded before in
Agatha Loring’s ears.
She gazed at him in surprise, waving a
fan back and forth in a hand bo white
and slender that he was constrained to
observe it.
“Perhaps yon are right,” she said, af
ter a moment’s pause. “Sympathy is
sometimes neoee-ary for comprehension,
and I confess I have no sympathy with
maladies of the heart.”
“And yet yon are a woman!” laid
Thnrston, indignantly.
“A woman!” she repeated. “Well, yes,
I oannot deny tbe fact; and yet I often
feel inclined to echo Clytemnestra's
words:
and then yon may learn a better appre
ciation of the suffering yon now regard
so lightly."
He rose as he spoke, for he felt that he
had had enough of this, and Yirien was
approaching with his eloquent eyes and
finely-outlined faoe—the most irresisti
ble of heroes of flirtation.
Thnrston gave a glanoe at him as he
walked away—a critical glanoe, which
the creole naturally fails to understand,
since he conld not possibly be aware that
the other was wondering if he was the
man destined to teach Agatha Loiing that
she had a woman's heart. “Mrs. Jen
nings says that he is a noted fiirt,” the
soldier grimly thought. “I would give all
I possess if be would flirt with this wo
man and make her feel what she has in
flicted mercilessly on others."
‘Monsieur le Colonel is jealous al
ready,” Yirien said, with a laugh, as be
sank down by Miss Loring's side. “His
subjugation, is accomplished, I perceive,
even in this short time.”
“Pray don’t be absurd,” she replied.
“Col. Thurston is the last man in the
world whom I should be likely to subju
gate. He is—what shall I say?—simple,
literal, stern and so old-fashioned in his
ideas that he not only disapproves of me,
bat he has plainly told me so.”
Her companion arched his dark, deli
cately-penciled brows. “I hardly know
whether to pity his obtuseness or admire
his temerity most,” he said, “That mor
tal man shonld venture to disapprove of
la belle dee belles, and—height of audacity
—tell her so!”
“It does seem bad taste, does it not?
But it is a consolation to feel that I have
your good opinion to fall back upon.’
Virien waa too well trained for his re
ply to be andible at two paces distant,
but it is very easy to imagine what tnrn
the conversation took after that.
Fifteen minutes later Mrs. Jennings
went out on the dusky, flower-scented
piazza, and after looking round for a mo
ment, peroeived the dark ontlineB of two
figures and the glow of two cigars at the
far end. She at onoe walked thither.
“I thought I should fiDd you both
here,” she said. “Cameron, are you not
ashamed to carry consin Philip off in this
way? The girls are all anxious to culti
vate bis acquaintance. By-the-by,” she
added, turning to -Thurston, “what did
yon think of Agatha Loring?”
“She came specially to ask yon that ?”
said Mr. Jennings, with a laugh.
Thurston, who had risen at her ap
proach, answered with that quiet decis
ion of a man who does not need to hesi
tate over his opinion:
“I think that Miss Loring is a practiced
coquette and a thorough actress. Like
all women of her type, her vanity is so
great that she would ensnare every man
who approaches her if she could; bnt it
strikes me with wonder that such a wo
man can win the admiration of any man,
even for an hour.”
[to be continued.]
......‘Ton grent gods,
Why did yon fashion me in this soft mould?
Hire me theee lengths of silken heir? these hands
Too delicately dimpled? and theee arms
Too white, too weak? yet leave the man's heart in
To mar yonr masterpiece. '
Now, if you think me ridiou#Rsly mock-
heroic, yon will at least not Wink that I
flatter myself, Col. Thurston, since Cly-
temnestra was not an estimable oharao-
ter?”
“I think that yon may find yonr woman’s
heart some day, Mias Loring," he said,
—“Clothes cleaned and repaired in the
rear,” is a west side sign.
—Clergymen, like railway brakemen.do
a good deal of coupling. .
—A kiss on the forehead means rever
ence; but there’s no fun in it worth
mentioning.
—Rather metallic—a girl with si lvery
voice, golden hair, brassy cheek, and led
to the altar.
—O, please, sir, I’ve brought your
shirt 'ome; but mother says she can’t
wash it no more, 'cos she was obliged to
paste it up agen the wall, and chuck soap
suds at it, it's so tender.
—“Do those bells sound an alarm of
fire?” said a stranger the other Sunday, as
the church bells were calling together the
worshippers. “Yes,” was the reply, “bnt
the fire is in the next world.”
—“Why,” said a lover to his mistress,
“are you like that hinge?” “Can’t even
gness.” “Because yon are something to
adoor.” She cut his acquaintance im
mediately, which we surmise, considera
bly unhinged him.
—An impostor who was trying to pass
herself off as Dr. Mary Walker out West
reoently, was detected while trying to put
her pantaloons on over her head. The
doctress always gets into hers, feet fore
most.
—Baby is seven years old, and walking
on the beach, says to his mother: “Mam
ma, give me a knife; I want to kill the
sea.” “My child, you are stupid; reflect
a little. How can the sea be knifed?’
“Well, then, tbe Dead Sea—what did it
die of?"
—“I don't know what you mean by not
being an Irishman,” said a gentleman
who was abont hiring a boy, “but you
were born in Ireland.” “Och, yonr hon
or, if that’s alL," said the boy, “small
blame to that. Suppose that your cat was
to have kittens in the oven, would they
be loaves of bread! ”
—The young man who was heavily fined
in a San Francisco court for kissing his
betrothed against her wifi, didn’t break
np the engagement and demand the re
turn of rings, pictures and letters, He
Bimply wrote: “Dear Lydia: You’U have
to wait now till I can borrow enough to
pay the minister."
Tbe prevailing taste in female attire
renders the following incident net quite
impertinent: Two gentlemen at a late .
hour the other night, engaged in earnest
conversation respecting some person who
had just passed. Said one: “I know it
waa a man.” “No, it wasn’t! His panta
loons had only one leg.” That appeared
to settle it.
*
