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Waiting for the Dawn.
BY IRENE INGE COLLIER.
CHAPTER XXVL
Wonderful was the metamorphosis which
skilled workmen and gardeners wrought in
Ocean View. Paint, plaster and varnish were
so skillfully applied and toned in color that they
did not detract from the mellow, antique look
of the building, the moulding and carving were
renovated, the doors and window casings of
richly carved mahogony took a brighter tint and
polish and the beautiful columns, cleared of
moss and mould, rose white and stately.
The extensive grounds under the supervision
of a French gardener from New Orleans, lost
their look of neglected wildness in the pictur
esque and beautiiul forms they assumed. Wind
ing walks led to arbors formed by the interlac
ing branches of cedar and crepe myrtle. Ever
greens were trimmed into fanciful shapes, box
wood bordering clipped till not a leaf was out of
place, grass mown, the long gray moss pulled
away from where it huDg too abundantly on or
ange and lemon trees; terra cotta vases placed
here and there under the shade of trees held
trailing vines, while rose climbers and jessa- ,
mine vines were trained over frames of green I
wire shaped like harps, lyres, triangles or j
crosses. The fountain cleared of choking sand
and weeds once more tossed its little stream of
silvery water in the sun, and long sprays of j
roses already in bud dipped into the marble ba- •
Bin.
Within the stately mansion transformations
had been wrought by the upholsterer’s art.
Some of the rooms retained their rich, old-fash
ioned furniture, but others had been litted up in
sumptuous modern style and one room espe
cially that opened upon the loveliest view of
the Ray was a perfect gem in its tasteful and ex
quisite appointments. A soft carpet of pearl-
gray ground strewn with wreaths of blue forget-
me-nots covered the floor, curtains of fleecy lace
over pale blue damask were looped back by a
silver acanthus leaf. The furniture was exquis
ite in design and workmanship; dainty volumes
in blue and gild strewed a little table of rare
gold-veined marble, and near the mantle a love
ly maible Psyche held out a vase in which
bloomed real violets planted in the earth within
the delicate vase.
This room looked as though designed for a
lady's boudoir. Who could it be meant for?
Who was Bertram intending to bring to this
beautiful home of his ? Is all this grandeur and
spaciousness lor himself? Is Ocean View
to be a bachelor's home and to waste the sweet
ness of its bowers and gardens upon beings who
prefer the odor of a pure havanna to the spir
itual fragrance of a tuberose or night-blooming
jessamine? Certainly, in spite of his beautiful
surroundings, Eugene does not look happy.
He has returned, he sits gloomily by the win
dow. He is not admiring the grassy terraces
that slope so gracefully down to the water’s
edge. His brow is knit, his mouth wears a look
of weariness and disgust. He is unhappy, the
proud master of Ocean View. He could not
stay here by himself. He would be haunted
continually by a pale, proud face and sweet,
dark eyes with reproach in their mourntul
depths. He 6till lf&s his bank business in A.
He has been heard to say that he would not in
trust its supervision to another, why then has
he repaired and beautified this Florida home of
his ancestors ? Only for it to remain here si
lent, lonely; no laughter echoing through its
stately halls; no appreciative eyes to look upon
its beauty; no footlall upon its floors, save that
of the old black janitress, who goes through the
grand rooms daily to see that no dust gathers on
moulding or furniture and no spider weaves his
gossamer web m mimicry of the rich lace drap
eries of the windows.
Surely, he, always so prudent, would not lav
ish so much money upon a home that was not
intended to be occupied. Does he mean to quit
the busy life, the various speculative schemes
in which he has amassed such wealth, and come
here to lead enlolcefar niente life under the shade
of these orange and live oak trees, with some
charming bride ? AnnaFarnam, perhaps. No,
not Anna. She is as true as steel to her North
ern lover and she sits in the veranda of her Flor
ida home, lovlier than ever, as her little fingers
work at the dainty embroideries destined lor her
bridal troeseau. If she thinks of Eugene, it is
as one who is in some way connected with the
one cloud that rests on her Charlie’s life. As for
him, his feelings and motives are hard to ana
lyze. He admires Anna; he had once set his
heart, with his usual stuoborn tenacity of pur
pose, upon marrying her, thinking her stately
loveliness, her wealth and position, made her a
suitable bride for a Bertram—-the only kind his
proud parents would welcome. But his heart
had never belonged to Anna. His passion, deep
and concealed, and hard even for his iron will
to control, had always turned most to one,whose
poverty and want of family name, made her no
desirable wife, but whose beauty and grace
blinded him to his usual prudence. From his
boyhood he allowed nothing to stand in the way
of his will. What he desired, he would have, it
mattered not at what cost of principle in him
or of suffering in another.
And yet, contradictory as it seems, he still
had a certain kind of love for Anna Farnam,
and it was partly to show her what she had lost
in rejecting him and to contrast his own mag
nificence with their plainer home that he had
decided on repairing and adorning Ocean View
as soon as he found that Mr. Farnam had bought
a place not far from his own but nearer the city.
The new residence of the Farman’s to which
they had moved within the last month, was with
in a pleasant ride of Ocean View. It was a neat,
commodious farm house, comfortable and pret
ty, but without any of the architectural preten
tions and the decorated grounds of Eugene's
home. The Farnams had lost much of their once
abundant wealth,but they were still what is call
ed well-to-do, for to perseverance and energy
prosperity must always come.
Sam lived with them and his young hopeful
ness, vigor of body and strength of w ill wonld
be invaluable in the conduct of the fruit, vegetable
and sugar plantation which they decided to cul
tivate. Susie is the rosiest and merriest little
matron in the state and Sam the happiest of hus
bands.
It was a strange concidence that two families
so different had both decided to live in the
same place. The Farmans knew nothing of
Ocean View or anything of Eugene's having
gone to Florida before their own removal. They
had purchased the place from a friend, who
wished to try the golden veins of California.
Eugene heard through his agent that he wish
ed him to invest and extend the land of his own
place fully, ten miles, mentioned the man of
the party that lived at A—negotiating for it.
Then Eugene decided that he would repair his
old home.
He determined to remain here a while at least
and was staying at Ocean View and completing
bis improvements when the Farmans moved to
their new place. They were very much aston
ished when he called upon them and informed
them he was their neighbor. He had almost
ceased to be one of their visitors long before
they left A. Sam had been so engaged in winding
up his business, that the banks being closed
did not attract bis attention; but here where
they knew no one they were glad to see a famil
iar face.
soon as he returned from A—where he
went on a flying trip, he called often on the
youDg ladies, and was cordially welcomed.
One afternoon, after they had been in Florida
about a week, he came out in a handsome phae
ton asking Carrie, Anna, and Susie to go with
him and take a look at his Sea side home.
They were delighted, and quickly made ready
to accompany him.
When they had reached the beautiful place
which they saw for the first time, he refrained
from telling them it was his until be had heard
their praises. His vanity was gratified by their
out burst of enthusiastic admiration.
They walked all over the place—grounds
and house, treading in Eloise footsteps; they were
not so deeply imbedded—the tide of so many
years had effaced them, and they told no tales
on the treacherous man, walking so pleasantly
by the side of the fair women.
They stepped from terrace to terrace, each pro
claimed that from the cedar drive bowers and rus
tic grottos at the entrance of the gate to the low
shelly beach, that it was a perfect picture.
‘I think it passing strange Mr. Bertram, you
ever left this spot; I could not imagine one half
so lovely,’ said Anna.
‘After my sister died Miss Anna, my father
and mother went back to Carolina. I became
the owner. I could not live here; scenes^ of
trouble haunted me, so I was forced to leave.’
‘This reminds me of a house I read of once in
Itftlji *
•Glad it suits your fancy Miss Susie: notwith
standing all my trouble here it is a hallowed
spot, and were I some king Midas no fairer
home could be found than I would make this.
1 would take pride in letting it surpass anything
I ever saw or read of.
•You have lelt nothing to be added,’ said Car
rie.
•Y'es; I would intersperse marble statues here
and there through the dark foliage.’
•That would be beautiful. Is not this climate
the most deligbtiul in the world? This breeze is
so exhiliarating Our home slopes also to the
gulf, but it is so far, whilst here it only requires
a few long steps to reach the beach.’
•It does. I have never been through the
grounds of your father’s place—it is compara
tively new to my home.'
‘Yes, yon can see from the ivy and other
growths it is an old homestead, but this last
touch was done by skillful hands,’ remarked
Carrie, quietly tapping her foot and looking off.
•Yes,' Eugene answered with some ostenta
tion. T had a regular gardener from New
Orleans to spend a few days on the yard. But
here we are—at my favorite spot.’
‘A perfect fairy nook ! what more lovely can
be imagined? One could sit here and dream
there was no such thing as care. Why Mr. Ber
tram, shame on you if you are not happy.’
‘Miss Carrie, a pretty house and money does
not always give a man the happiness he most
desires,’ watching Anna as he leplied.
•You are hard to please, what more do you
wish?’asked Susie.
•Many things, Mrs. Farnam,’ curtly and with
compressed lip.
•I have often heard blessings brighten as they
take their flight. Most assuredly if this villa, all
your earthly possessions were snatched from
you, you would wish many times you had them.
How bright they would seem! I regret you are not
satisfied,’ answered Anna thinking she would
make him cease his strain.
‘Contentment is not easy, Miss Anna, when
the one object of life is far above your reach.’
‘I do not know. I am easily satisfied. Now
we have to work for what we make,I still am con
tent,’ said Carrie,
•You are quite a little heroine.'
‘Thanks lor all but the ‘little.’
•Precious packages are always in small bun
dles, said Eugene, looking at Anna.
•So Sam thinks,’ chimed in Susie.
‘How grasping we all are, longing for what we
cannot obtain, never contented,’ remarked An
na, not noticing contentment had been drop
ped.
•Yes, Miss Anna, the philosopher's Btone has
been denied me.’
•How often the poisonous brilliant berries
tempt us to reach for them to our hurt. Per
haps this may be your case, Mr. Bertram ?’
‘Yes,Miss Anna, I have always been unfortun
ate.’
•We should not despair,’ said Carrie,.
•Quite true, Miss Carrie. I await my time,
and hope for success.
‘I wish you success—but do look at that tree.
Is it the real bay, or the Laurelas?
•Something quite similar to both, Miss Car
rie, but neither. It is a wild tree, the woods
abound with them. The leaf and also the flow
er have the shape of the bay, only a great deal
larger. I have often heard what they were call
ed, but have forgotten.’
I should have thought a moment. Here a week
and pretend to know the trees A week in Flor
ida cannot unfold all its beauty, although in
tramping through the woods with father I have
botanized every plant, tree and flower near our
house. 1 shall have to extend my seatch far
ther out and be more critical.’
‘Then when you exhaust all near your home,
pay me a visit, I would like to repay you all
some of the hospitalities I enjoyed at Oakland.’
•I will accept your offer,’ answered Carrie.
‘Miss Anna, I have a good library and if any
of you ladies choose will give you the key, so
you can have free access to the books.’
‘Thank you, but I am quite busy just at pres
ent. and will have little time for reading.’
A servant came in at this moment with a large
basket of apples and pears—ripe and juicy.
‘Here are some of my income; at this time of
the year they are delicious. I get tired of or
anges and bananas—have them in such quan
tities,’said Eugene.’
While they enjoyed the fruit, Eugene said:
‘I will have some good pictures to show you
soon. I sent by a friend of mine who was go
ing to New York an order for a few fine paint
ings— a nd that reminds me, he was speaking of
you ladies the evening before he left; met you
on the street. I halt way promised to bring j
him out when he returned.’
Anna glanced at Carrie. The look said:
‘He evidently does not know that we are soon
to be married. Is it right to encourage him to
come?'
•Look at that man,’ cried Carrie, glad to
change the subject. ‘He is riding up in great
haste.’
‘He has stopped,’ said Anna.
‘Excuse me. I will see what he wants,' Ber
tram said, hurrying down followed by his guests
who half feared some message of bad news from
their own home.
Eugene, walking ahead took the note that a
negro boy handed him, glanced over it and told
the man he would come.
No one asked him anything of the contents
but after he had driven his visitors who left im
mediately a short distance, he remarked to
Anna who was sitting near him that a friend of
his was dying and wished to see him.
‘Oh, why did you not go at once and let us
find another driver, or I could manage the reins
myself. I trust you will reach your friend in
time,’ said Anna much concerned.
They stopped at the gate, the ladies sprang
out without any hesitation, and bowing to them
Eugene wheeled the horses round and drove
rapidly away. He was too late. The words he
wished to say to Eugene remained unspoken for
ever. When Eugene reached his bedside he
was too far gone.
He had been concerned with Eugene in keep
ing secret his connection with Eloise. He was
the one who bad readdressed her letters so they
would reach P He knew the days of their
arrival and got them from the well paid mail
carrier. Eugene Bertram could not have hid
den all trace of of Eloise had he not received as
sistance. Now this man was silent. One more
witness against him on earth gone. Eugene
asked what were his dying words, and was re
lieved to find they were not such as would com
promise him.
CHAPTER XXV.
Where meantime was Eloise—Eloise who had
returned to her native land as a wounded bird
comes back to her nest. She had landed in
New York in the gray twilight of a Maroh day,
with none to meet and welcome her, no home to
go to, and but little money in her purse.
She had taken a cab and been driven to a ho
tel, where she ordered tea sent to her in her
room, and sat afterwards looking over the daily
papers. She found in them the advertisement
of Clives & Ennis, and knew that her brother
was living. Then came a struggle in her breast.
Should she go to him ? She felt almost sure he
would forgive and welcome her. She no longer
felt her promise to Bertram a binding one, since
he had broken his own word and acted with such
duplicity. Why, then, did she not seek her
brother and tell him all? Complex were the
motives that held her back. Pride and shame
were among them. She felt a strange repug
nance in going to him now, after ail these years,
and returning to her old home, meeting her old
friends and standing the tire of their questions
and inquisitive eyes. ‘If I had not lost my
voice,’ ghe thought ‘If I had reached the aim of
my ambition and,had fame and wealth in pros
pect I would not shrink so from revealing my
self. But to come back dependent, with lines of
soryow and care on my face, broken in spirit,
with a load of bitter memories and of self-re
proach, to come back when I am thought to be
long since dead or dropped out of sight forever.
I have not heart for this. Rebuke and suspi
cion, a cold reception, a want of sympathy even,
would be more than I could bear. I have suf
fered too much—my heart is too sore to risk an
other blow. Better to remain dead to them all
until I can prove that I have not been so much
at fault, that though I have erred I have not sin
ned. This I must do for myself. I feel assured
Eugene Bertram will oppose my revealing the
secret he so long forced me to keep, holding
over me the solemn promise I was weak enough
to be cajoled and entreated into making. Oh,
I wonder if he is still alive. There have been so
many, many changes. I must see him; he must
tell me of my Oh, how remiss in my duty
I have been ! Why did I go to Italy? my duty
was here. And yet, what could I do ? My will
was crushed by his;he would not lift the burden
cf silence from me and I could not bear to live
here, so near my brother and friends and yet
separated from them by a wall of silence and
mystery. And then I hoped by going to Italy
to perfect my voice, and to prepare the way to
be independent and to return Bertram the mon
ey I have had of him. I have been sorely dis
appointed: 1 have had my expectations dashed
to the ground; misery and blighted hopes are
my portion. I have been sorely punished for
the mistake of my early girlhood. But I will
not be weak enough to despair; I will still live
and struggle. To-morrow I will telegraph to
Eugene. I must know about the matter that
lies near my heart—that stirs there under this
crust of care. Oh, my clouded, darkened life !
Will the dawn ever come to this long night of
misfortune!’
So mused Eloise, leaning from the window of
her small,isolated upper room and watching the
lights of the city flashing through the gloom.
The next morning she dressed herself for the
street, doubled^ Let thick veil over her face
threw a loose wrap around her to conceal her
form, and went out into the bright sunshine, the
buzz and movement of the city. She took her
way to hei place of business. After
hesitating and Struggling with contradictory
emotions she went in, hoping to see once more
the face that was so dear and familliar. She
was gratified. While she stood, purchasing
some article she had called for, Charles Ennis
came forward and spoke to the clerk. He glanced
at her and slightly inclined his head in ac
knowledgement of her presence. She trembled
behind her thick veil; she felt a dizziness come
over her, a wild longing to call his name,and cry
out that his sister stood befi re him, but she
controlled herself, though a pang struck to her
heart as she saw the traces that care and sad
ness had left in his* fine eyes and on his hand
some brow.
She hurried away and went to the nearest tel
egraph office and there sent this message across
the wires to A:
‘I have returned from Italy; I am here in New
York. I wish to see you at once.’
She wailed for an answer. None came and
she telegraphed to the operator in A:
‘Is Eugene Bertram still living in A ?’
Again she waited and received the answer:
‘He is not here; he removed to Florida, near
Pensaoola.’
She went back to her room and sat down in
deep reflection. What should she do? She had
but little more than money enough to take her
to Pensacola and she determined to go there and
to find Bertram. For two reasons she must see
him. He must not only permit her to tell the
secret, he must tell it himself, stand by her in
making it public. And then he alone could give
her information about the trust she had left in
his hands. She opened one of her trunks and
•took from it some paintings of her own and some
beautiful mosaics, tits of antique carving and
specimens of rare stones that she had collected
in her travels. These she determined to sell.
She intended to take them to a store up town,
but first she put them on exhibition at the hotel,
and to her surprise, she found a purchaser that
very day—a young Southerner, apparently with
plenty of money. It was Guy Laurence, and he
bought them for Bertram, though of course El
oise had no knowledge of this, but the purchase
led to some conversation with Guy, and she
found that he was going to Pensacola and told
him that she too intended soon to leave for that
city.
•Then, we may go in company, may we not?’
he asked eagerly, for her lovely face and the
picturesque grace of her whole appearance ex
cited his admiring interest. She gave an evasive
answer, but was really willing to accept his pro
tection on her anticipated trip, and the next day
saw them both ensconced in the same railway
carriage of the Southern bound train, with her
trunks and other baggage carefully seen to by
her attentive escort. Not until they had left
New York far behind did she know that Lau
rence was the friend of Eugene Bertram and liv-
| ed near him at Ocean View. She asked questions
about him; was he married ? was he living quite
alone? no relative, not even a child, to share
his solitary home? In turn Guy asked if Ber
tram was an old friend, and she answered while
her cheeks flushed and burned:
captivated by the lovely, pensive face of this qui
et lady in mourning robes. He scarcely left
her side during the long journey and enlivened
its tedium by his pleasant talk. He had an in
imitable fund of anecdotes and incidents at his
command, and he also knew when to be silent
and how to be quietly sympathetic in Eloise’s
admiration of the glimpses of picturesque or
gloomy and impressive scenery through which
they passed.
They reached Pensacola and Laurence saw El
oise safely established in comfortable rooms at
the hotel. He learned from the landlord that
Bertram was in town. He had put up his horses
at the stable here and gone out on some business;
would probably be back to dinner.
‘Twill Bee him and tell him of your arrival,'
said Guy.
‘Nc; wait please till he returns to the hotel
and then give him a note which I will write. Do
not speak to him of my being here until he has
read the note. He does not know of my having
returned from Italy. It will be a surprise.
‘A charming one, I am sure,’ Guy answered
promptly. He almost changed his mind when
a few minutes afterward he handed the note
that Eloise gave him to his friend, and saw the
sudden pallor that overspread his countenance
when he reoognized the familiar hand and
glanced over the contents.
It was some moments before he recovered
himself. Then he said, ‘This takes me by sur
prise. My cousin’s return is an unlooked for
pleasure; I will see her directly.’
He went to the bar-room and drank a glass of
brandy to strengthen his nerves. He felt a curi
ous mixture of feelings in view of the approach
ing interview. He would look upon the woman
he had wronged, and who probably hated him
as he had given her cause to do -the woman
whom he loved with more passion than he had
ever felt for any one, but whom his narrow,
shallow soul thought not altogether fit to be his
wife—not of sufficient social distinction to en
title her to the aristocra ic name of Bertram. He
had not sufficient intellect or independence of
mind to disoern and acknowledge her real su
periority, and while he instinctively felt she was
more fascinating than Anna Farman, he would
have preferred Anna as his acknowledged wife.
And yet he felt a thrill of pleasure as he thought
of meeting her again, and he said to himself:
‘I have her in my power; my secret is safe—
almost. Even if she tells it she will not be be
lieved, and she will find it hard to prove.’
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‘What! did you never hear him speak of his
cousin, Miss Clives, who went to Italy to culti
vate her voice ? 1 have been abroad for years,
since before the war began and there has been
so many changes I did not know if my consin
yet lived. I have come back to my native land
with strength and voice impaired, I am now go
ing to Florida, tinsting the climate will restore
me,’
‘I sincerely trnst it may, and that yon may
be induced to stay among ns. 1 am delighted
to find that yon are a relative of my dearest
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von. If I had had such a consin I should have
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He spoke with enthusiasm, for he had been
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KENMORE
NEAR AMHERST C. II., VA.
H. A. STRODE (Math. Medalist, U. Va.t. Principal and
Instructor in Mathematics; H. C. BROCK. B. Lit. L . \ a.
(recently Asst. Ins. Latin U. Ya.), Associate Instructor.
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TERMS FOR HALF SESSION :
! Bnnrd and Tnitlon S123.
This charge may be reduced in many cases to $85, £7
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TESTIMONIAL.
The success which the Kenmore High School has
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aug3 2m C. S. Venable, Prof. Math. U. Ya.
1/ M fl\A/ A new Me(iical Treatise, “The Scienc.
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Medical College.
The Twenty-First Annual Course of Lectures will com
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FACULTY.
A. W. Griggs, M.D., Emeritus Professor of Practice.
J. G. Westmoreland, M. D., Professor of Materia Med-
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W. F. Westmoreland. M. D., Professor of Surgery.
Win. Abram Love, M.D., Professor of Physiology.
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Jno. Thad. Johnson, M.D., Professor of Anatomy and
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C. W. Nutting, M.D., Demonstrator of Anatomy.
Send for announcement, giving full information.
JNO. THAD. JOHNSON, M.D., Dean.
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D R. WARD’S SEMINARY.—A first-class, non-
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