About Columbus daily enquirer. (Columbus, Ga.) 1874-1877 | View Entire Issue (July 29, 1877)
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. *
