Evening Star Newspaper, August 18, 1883, Page 7

‘A GIRLS FOLLY. A small, superior cottage of bright-red-brick, Bweet-scented woodbine trailing over its rustic Porch, a green lawn before it surrounded by Rowers, and a charming country landscape, Spreading out in the distance. Inside, in its bmali but very pretty parlor, on the red table Gover walted the tea tray with its cups and ‘Baucers. The window stood open to the still, warm autumn air, and the French porcelain Clock on the mantelpiece was striking five. A slender girl of some 20 years came in. She was very lovely. But her light-blue eyes bore & sort of weary or discontented look, and her bright brown hair was somewhat ruffled. She Wore a print washing dress of black and white, neither very smooth nor yery fresh, and a lace eck coilar fastened with @ bow of biack ribbon. Glancing around the room and seeing nobody in It, she went to the open window, stood there Ina deep reverte, and then leaned out to pick Brose. Its thorns prieked her delicate fingers, and she let it fall with a pettish exclamation. Mrs. Reece came in next. A middle-aged, faded woman of care, in a small wifow's cap and neat black gown. She looked dushed and fatigued, 1 pe @ you made the tea, Alison?” mamma.” but you might have made it! I wish you would, child! I am very tired.” ‘Alison turned from the window, brought the tea-caddy from a stde-table and put two caddy- Spooniuls of tea into the metal tea-pot. Then she carried it out to the boiling water in the kitchen and brought it in Sled. On days dedi- | tated to some special household work the young servant had to be spared as much as possible. ‘This was troning-day, and Mrs. Reece had stood at the board herself, ironing what they called the fine things, which meant laces and musiins, and helping generally. She was not strong, and aj little work tired her. But she sat down to pour out the teaas usual, Alison taking a seat which laced the window. “Why have you not changed your frock this afte:noon?” exclaimed Mrs. Reece, suddenly noticing that her danghter wore the cotton she put on in the morning. And it may as well tated that at that time, many years ago Bow, the dresses worn by young ladies, whether of cotton or silk, were universally called “ frocks.” ~ Ob. I don’t know,” carelessly replied Alison. “It does not matter.” “Did you forget that Thomas Watkyn was coming 2” “Not at all,” sai ichtly con- temptuous tone, her rosy red, and her blue eyes roving outward to the dis- tant green meado' to the sheaves of the golden corn and to the already chansing tints Of the foliage. “I'm sure the frock is good enough for Thomas Watkyn! And I don't see why he need be dancing to our house so often, mamma.” “ Alison, be silent. you know it.” “Tam very sorry you should think so, mother. Ido not wish to Bebaye ill to you.” “That 1s behaving ill—sayiny those last words; because you know well that I did not mean you — behaving ill to me, but to Thomas Wat- You are behaving ill, and Alison Reece pouted her cherry lips and eat a Whole slice of thin bread and butter before re- plying. “Mamma, how particular you are!” “I never thought you could behave so. Six wonths ago you would not have beMieved it your- self.” “Would yau please let me have a little more | ilk in my tea?” “You treat Thomas Watkyn outrageously,” continued Mrs. Reece, as she passed the mill Jug. “One day you smile on him, draw him es, you do, Alison; don’t interrupt.me— ext day you will hardly speak to him a pleasant word. But he is worth more than | that other: that foolish Vavasour, with whom | You have been flirting lateiy. “Worth more!” retorted Alison,resenting these eharzes, which she knew were all trae, and ; er at hand. Compare a dandy-fop | s Watkyn! Alison, | You are engaged | ou must alter you Watkyn, was no enzagement,” interrupted All- “It is equivalent to one. He comes here openty to court yor a have until lately re- ponded tg it,,, Why! don't, you see that he wor- ips thé Very ‘ground you tread Ap anda conscious ty illumined rs face. things must not go on as they are go- Ing,” repeated Mrs. Reece. “Either tell Thomas ‘that you cannot marry him, and beg him not to Come here: or else make up your mind to do 60 and cease your silly ilirtation with the other. “Itis aot a silly flirtation,” angrily replied | Alison. “Indeed, I see not what else it can be.” “I don't Hirt; he does not flirt. He calls here sometimes and we talk a little; and—-and—I'm sure there’s nothing in that to make a fuss about.” “and how often do you meet him when you are out!—and hew often do I see him strolling with you about yonder fields! Alison, take care that in trying to grasp the shadow you do not Jose the substance.” “What substance? Docently. “Thotas Watkyn. A union with him would a very substantial one indeed; a thoroughiy good settlement in life for you. Mr. Vavasuur at best (looking at him in this tight) is but a shadow. These aristocratic, flirting fops rarely have marriage in their heads. The amusement | of the moment; the talking sentimental non- sense with a silly girl; that is all they look after. Will you take another cup of tea? “Ob, no, thank you. This lecture is as good | as ten cups of tea.” “Then ring the be the young servant, came in and carried tea tray. Mrs. Reece went upstairs to the clothes ironed that day, and Miss | nt back to the open window, leaned ast its side fram i @ prett: asked the young lady in- f that | r: Thomas | More than once | rds, and she had | and a | ueated man tor those y a farmer. Alison had thought herself fortunate that he shouid choose her, for | she wes uot of much account in the world, and | Could say with the milkmaid in the old Sons, | My face is my fortune; and if she was not des- | in love with him, she liked him very | steemed and respected him. But a stranger made his appearance ia the place, one Reginald Vavasour, wiio had come | to read with the clergyman, previous to passing some examination. A high-bred nian of good | family—there could be no doubt of that—and a inan of fascinating manners, given to take the female heart by storm. He had accidentally made the acquaintance of pretty Alison Reece, | had talked a great deal of lazy nonsense to her for his own amusement, just to pass the time away during the intervals of his attendance in the Reverend Mr. Tarbey’s stady; and Alison ‘was supremely fascinated. Beside that slender Young aristocrat, whose clothes were of perfect cat, and whose easy manners (not to say inso- Tent) were as clotlies, whose very draw! betrayed his conscious superiority to men of the rustic loeality, no matter what their st fimight be; what could plain, unpre- nomas Watkyn be in Alison's sight? Nobody. Yet “he was gook-looking In his way, this Thomas Watkyn. A well-grown, well-made, fine man, beside whom the other looked like a boy, with a calm, sensible face, and auiet, un- obtrusive ways. “But again—who could admire | a homely face, its steady, thoughtful, kindly | eyes, and its brown, old-fashioned whiskers, when there was another face over the next field. whose dark orbs were of a flashing bril- Mance, and whose curled-out black mustache was Killing. Not silly, inexperienced, vain Alison Reese. Leaning against the window-frame, Alison Watched @ tall, straizht figure coming across the meadows, and her brow went into a scowl. It was Thomas Watkyn—and she wondered What brought him out so early this evening; Bhe wished he would stay away for good. Or, M not for good-—for something pricked her heart and conscience there—at least for a few caren ery ep care for Tom, —_ she ew it, she supposed she should marry him sometime. Unless indeed—cometimes Ali- Son dreamed dreams of Mr. Vavasour ing sou.e fine morning to carry her off in a car- and four, the horses and post boys display- ing white favors. She had no true love for me ; Vavasour; but she was very pretty, with all & Pretty girl's vanity-and his admiration of her hery = Lt — subtle Incense. hought of vexation cro: h | Mr. Watkyn came in at the ees that po | Rot changed her frock as usual. Some kind of ' perverse obstinacy had caused her not to do te i she knew that he would be there that evening and that Mr. Vavasour would not. ‘Sins walked out to the rustic porch awaiting hig Spproach, and she grew more vexed still as she few his keen, honest gray eyes seanning the ‘untidy dress in muce surprise. (Brae —— Alison.” ‘ evening,” she lied, meeting hi: Offered hand. “You are come early.” “I must leave early. [have but a few minutes to give vou.” “Tt was scarcely mecessary to come at ail, was it 2” “TI knew you would be srpecting me.” “Oh, nof particularly!” replied Miss Alison, tossing her curis back to express indifference. “But I will come to-morrow, Alison, about this hour. I want to have some conversation with you, and——” “To lecture me, pray?” “No: that is over. However, I will not enter upon it now. My uncle came in this afternoon from Barceter, and as he leaves us again early to-morrow, I mast not be away long this even- ing.” “Your father is at home, I suppose?” “Oh, yea.” “‘You were not here yesterday evening?” “IT stayed away purposely. ould you have cared to see me had I come?” “I can't say whether I should or not. You have not been very pleasant with me of late, Tom.” “Not as I once was, perhaps; how can I be? But Ido not think I have made myself unpleas- ant.” ‘We never hardly get # laugh from you. You have grown graver than a Judge.” ‘Have I not nad cause? “Cause!” she lightly repeated. “ What cause?” “Alison, this se of indifference does not become you. say that I do not care to enter upon matters now. If I did I might recall the doings of only the last two days to your mem- ory, and ask you whether they have or have not held cause.” “Well?” “Take Sunday. In the morning you scarcely looked at me as we came out of church; in the afternoon, when I would have Joined you and walked home with you, you threw me over with | Supreme scorn and went away side by side with Vavasour. And in the evening you were pac! the meadows with him.” . vs “It was no harm. He was not eating me.” “Take yesterday,” continued Mr. Watkyn, his face, his gentle voice full of the deepest pain. “Be had holiday, it must be supposed, from his studies, and he and you were roaming about together nearly the whole of the live- long day.” “And he came in and took a cup of tea with me and my mother afterward,” answered Ali- son, with saucy, laughing Insolence. “Mamma thinks him charming.” “He is an idle, heartless——" “Well, why do you stop?” “Twas going to say—vagabond. And tn one sense he is.” “He comes of a race who can afford to be Idle. He does not have to till the ground by thesweat of his brow. He was born with his bread and cheese provided for him.” “With a silver spoonin his mouth,” added Mr. Watkyn, affecting a lightness he did not feel, for her contemptuous tone tried him. “Well, good evening, Alison.” “Oh, good evening, if you are guing.” He stood looking at her, and their eyes met. Alison caught the shadow of pain in his, and in her own there arose a remorseful pity: she nad the grace to feel ashamed of herself. Her lips broke into a tender smile, a pink flush shown in her dimple cheeks. “You are very silly, Thomas.” “Am I?” he returned, holding her hand loy- ingly in his. “Fare you well until to-morrow evening, my dearest.” ‘The Your dearest! And just now you were ready to call me hard names?” “Until to-morrow,” he repeated with a smile, as he quitted her. Alison got a perfumed note the next morning from Mr. Vavasour; gilt-edged paper, crest on the seal. It told her that he was to be so. “glo- tlously busy” that day he feared he should not have time to call at the cottage, but would she meet him in the willow walk at dusk. And it ended: “Your faithful Reginald Vavasour.” The vain expectations of Miss Allson Reece bubbled up aloft; her face and heart were alike ina glow. “Your faithful Reginald Vavasour!” she repeated to herself. “It must mean that he intends to be faithful to me for life. And what grand, beautifal name Reginald Vavasour Is! npare it with the mean old common-place one, Tom Watkyn!” Tea was over, and Alison, all in readiness for the interview with Mr. Watkyn, was steeling her heart against it and against him who was com- ing to hold it with her. She had changed her frock to-day, and wore a fresh, bright colored muslin, blue ribbons at the neck and wrists, and a blue knot in her hair. She waited impatiently; she wanted the inter- view over and done with that she might be off to keep the other with Mr. Vavasour. But Thomas was late. Pacing the garden path in the rays of the fad- ing sun, she stood looking over the little Iron entrance gate, her blue eyes roving hither and thither in search of one whom she could not yet See. Unconsciously she broke out into the verse of a homely song : “ Oh, dear, what can the matter be, Dear, dear, what can the matter be, Oh, dear, what can the matter be, ‘Johnny’s so long at the fair! He promised to buy me a bunch of sweet postes, A bunch of green mosses, a bunch of pink roses, He prot to bring me a knot of blue ribbons. To tie up my bonny brown hair.” The hum of the last words was dying away on the air when the well-known form of Thomas Watkyn came into view. He wore his usual dark-blue evening frock-coat and quiet waist- coat; he dressed well always when his day's vork was over, but not inthe fashionable at- of fashionable Mr. Vayasour. food evening, Alison,” he sald. as he hed the gate. “What a lovely eveping it “Removing his hat, he gazed up at the sapphire | sky, action and countenance alike tull of rever- ence; and Alison, who had not been taking any particular notice before, looked around her, her face softening at the splendor of nature's glory. “What a glorious sunset!” he continued, his voice taking a husked tone. rious!” “‘How solemn you speak, Thomas?” “Tam feeling solemn. I have been feeling so ever since I came out; but I don't know why, untess it Is that heavenly scene that's making me so.” “It is very grand,” she sald, fixing her eyes “Glorious, glo- fonthe bank of golden clouds in the western sky. where the sun was Just slipping down be- hind the purple hill-tops_ in the distance, like a ball of raby flame. Tiny bits of foam-like clouds ecked the limpid blue of the heavens, a warm, len glow gilded the earth, freshened and fied with a past shower. The musical | twitter of birds going to their rest filled the | woodlands; and, as Alison looked, a strange feeling of awe stole into her heart, for the glory that Iay around seemed more than earthly. “There are moments,” he said, ina dreamy Manner, “when I tancy these sunsets must be sciven to us asa faint reflex—though I suppose that's the wrong word—of what we shall ud in Heaven; giyen to us by God to turn our thoughts and hopes toward it. Oh, Alison! it is more than beautiful!” The ruby flame was changing to a soft and brilliant rose-color, inexpressibly lovely. It was, Indeed, a rather remarkable sunset; one not often vouchsafed to human eye. “You make quite sure of going to Heaven, Tom!” she exclaimed, in a flippant tone, for she wanted to ward off all serious conversation, lest he should begin to lecture. Thomas Watkyn turned his eyes upon her, surprise, if not reproof, in their depths, “I hope 1 am,” he answered, “under God.” e (ook: people do not often think of these hings. “The young die a3 well as the old, child; re- member that.” “Won't you come in, Thomas?” she asked, in a softened voice, as they presently strolled up the path, and he halted in the porch, “Not thig evening, Alison. What I have to ‘say 1 will Bay here.” Alison flushed to the roots of her wavy hair, and moved a step or two away from him. Look!” she cried, pointing to the blazing restern sky, “that bank of golden clouds is changing to crimson now.” He went forward, for he had already sat down, and looked again at the gorgeous pano- rama. “Yes, it Is, as T say.a glorious sunset. We may never see noth like it on this side of eternity,” he ad dreamily, seeming to lose himself in solemn thoughts Alison laughed—her little musical laugh that had often set his pulses beating wildly. “You are always looking at the dark side of things, Tom. I hope we shall yet watch many a sunset together.” “Do you really, Alison?” “Why, of course, we must see the sunset if we live,” she returned, in a hard, matter-of-fact tone. ‘As we are nelghbors we may likely see some of them in company.” “That was all, was it! Sit down, Alison.” “7 prefer to stand.” Nevertheless Mr. Watkyn drew her somewhat peremptorily to his side and made her sit down on ip — a Want to say to you, Ali- son, yat you ‘avasour.” mace ee “Oh, fi be Zs not like to = ee make yourself a simpleton with that man; I will not see It; for, if you continue to do it, I shall say farewell to Hn Scapa this side of our grounds in.” Alison's face turned white; s habit it had when she was startled or v e | have anythi bad in ; I should Jess, and, in pi ne to make love to you, Alison, he is but amusing himself and fooling ou.” “How dare you say he is making love to me?” “T say he is ding to do it. Alison, you Lge you would but speak must know it to be so—t Pray, what if he ts?” the candid truth.” “Very well, then! “Only this. That you cannot continue to listen to him and keep mein your train. It must be one or the other of us, Alison, trom this night. You must choose between us.” 5 aan 1 choose him,” she sald, wrathfully ing. “Do you mean it?” asked Mr. Watkyn, rising in his turn. The girl did not answer. Her chest was heav- ing with agitation; Thomas Watkyn’'s gray eyes took a tender light as they gazed at the pretty, changing, uncertain face.’ “Aliso,” he said, and his voice was wonder- fully considerate, ‘I have known you from childhood; I have loved you all your life. ‘Twelve months ago there arose an understand- ing between us that you would be my wife; until recently I_ never supposed that you could. have any other thought. But you have filled my breast with cruel fears; tortured it, my dear, and I cenape bear them longer. You must be to me what you used to be, or give me up.” Alison's eyes grew sullen. Why could not this Tom Watkyn let her alone? ‘She did not altogether want to break with him. What harm was she doing in talking to Reginald Vavasour? Reginald was ten times the gentleman that he was!—and his voice had a sweet, soft lisp!— and he wore a diamond fing on his white hand! “Oh, my dear—my best and dearest—give up this folly! Let things be with us as they used to be! "t you care for me?” “No,” she replied to him, in her cross and contrary spirit, conscious all the while of a latent wish that Mr. Vavasour had been buried in the sea before coming to disturb the peace. “Nor “Then you decline to marry me, Alison? You have not loved me as I love you!” The sad, passionate fervor, nearly scared her breath apy the heartfelt sorrow, all too plain, touched hér with a qualm. But she was in an obstinate mood. a e “Mr. Vavasour does not hurt you. I wonder you should concern yourself with him!” “No trifling,” sternly spoke Thomas Watkyn. “J tell you it must be him or me.” She would not answer. “Will you give him up, Alizon, from this night ?” he pleaded. “No.” hat inward spirit of evil prompted her to speak that short, sullen word Alison never knew. But it was spoken. oh well.” For long afterward the pain and pathos in those two short words haunted her like a wail from the grave. Thomas stood before her, calm and self-possessed. “Twill never trouble tes again, Alison, he said, quietly. ‘‘ Will you kiss me once—ere we say farewell forever?” She felt awed at the sternness, the reality that was stealing upon their, interview, and trem- bled at the thought of losing him. ‘But she did not believe it would come to that in the end, and she was too proud and willful to take back her answer unsolicited. With a playful air, half saucy, half defiant, she shyly held up slightly her red'tips, while he Kissed her with a long, lingering kiss, such as we give the dead. “*Good-by,” he said husklly. He strode away, leaving her standing in the giow of the sunset, a wild, scared look on her young face. “He will turn bac! she whispered to her- self.“ Surely—surel for I could not bear to lose him.” But Mr. Watkyn went straight on to the gate. * “Thomas!” she called out. “Thomas!” He turned then. “What is it?” he asked. Perhaps she had it in her mind to humble her- self to him—who knows? She did nothing of the kind. A moment's pause, possibly of inde- cision, and then she produced a note from with- in the folds of her frock. an asst “May I ask you to do’ mea little fayor,. Thomas—for the last time?” “What is it?” he repeated. ‘If you would not very much mind going home by the hill, and would leave this note at Miss Ford's. I particularly wish her to have it this evening.” He paused for an instant, not replying. She went on hurriedly. “I see that it is disagreeable to you. I have offended you too much.” “Not that,” he answered, holding out his hand for the note. -‘But I can hardly spare the time for the jong, way this evening, as I have to call at Killick’s for my father. However” he sald no more, but took the note. “Good-by, Thomas,” ~ “Good-by for aye. God be with you!” “What a solemn mood he isin, the stupid fel- low!” commented she. “But I am glad he took the note! I shall be safe now.” Miss Alison Reece was aclever young lady. The direct and near way to Mr. Watkyn’s home would lead him past the willow walk. She had devised this impromptu note to her dressmaker in the afternoon to prevent his taking that usual route. Had heseen young Vavasour cool- ing his heels within the precincts of the willow waik he would Inevitably suspect he was wait- ing to keep a lover's tryst. Alison leaned over the gate and watched him ashe walked away, watched him take the lane that led to the route she had wished, and dis- appear. She stood there until the gold in the clouds had changed to crimson, the crimson to purple, that spread itself like a royal mantle over the western hills. White mists began to settle on the brooks that but a moment ago had reflected the gorgeous rays of the setting sun. Somehow it seemed to make her shiver, and she crept up to her own room with a strange sense of loss at her heart. Mrs. Reece had gone out after tea to sit with asick neighbor, and Allson devoutly hoped she would not be coming home yet, or there might be a difficulty in getting bide! to keep her ap- pointment. It was nearly time to be starting; at least, she might as well go at once, and then she should be safe from her mother. Putting on her hat she ran downstairs and opened the kitchen door. “Patty, if mamma comes in and asks for me tell her i am only strolling about a bit this lovely evening. I shall be in directly.” But the loveliness of the evening had gone. Somewat to Alison's surprise the white mist had increased so greatly as to obscure every- thing but itself. “How quickly it has come on,” she exclaimea. Mr. Vavasour was wait for her, and they paced for a few minutes the willow walk to- gether. But for a very few; the young man said he was pressed for time; he had * aps” of packing todo, not having touched it yet, and e was going away in the morning. “Going away!” exclaimed Alison. “Yes, and be shot to it!” said he. “I gota letter this morning recalling me home. My mother’s ill, is ordered to Nice, and she wants me toaccompany her. Fate is eruel to us, dear lag Reece.” “But—you will be co1 back here!” cried the startled Alison. oa “I'm sure I don't know whether [ shall be coming back here ever, or whether I may fina myself banished to the remotest regions of Siberia,” drawled the dandy, twirling one end of his mustache. ‘Nothing seems certain in this sublunary world, except uncertain changes. Old Tarbey eee, knocked down with the news. I wrote to ask you to be enough to mect me _here, knowing 1 should not have a minute all day to get down to your place—to tell you of it, and to say good-by.” . ‘here was a matter-of-course carelessness in his voice and manner that grated terribly on Allson; her pride rose to the surface. “Weil, I suppose you will be glad to go, Mr. Vavasour!” “Glad? Ah, I don't know about that. Glad to escape Tarbey and his grinding; immensely sorry to leave you. Wish you were going with me.” “You are too kind. I will not hinder you longer; and I must be going home, too. Good- night, and good-by.” Mr. Vavasour took her hand and held it. “Good-by, dear Miss he sald. “I shall often think of you and of our leasant meetings. You will let me take a farewell kiss?” He bent hia face to hers. ‘How dare you, sir?” she exclaimed, beck from Until this night “Kiss me, indeed! and here! I had taken you for a gentleman.’ “rT ur pardon,” he said, Iat 3 te mae Tine! Halloa, what omit eet he broke off. as oe came to the end of the walk, pions field beyond it. ‘One can hardly Bee ten before I 7 “No, no, no!” cried. Alison vohecee sears: I know my way Derfecty-—better than you do— he"| shail go alone. You hay go to the ive enough to do to remaining softness faded out of her oe toe get take care ess out 3 as the glow was beginning to fade out | miss the path. ‘by, air,” naratily ore) western sky. She flew from across the field, and was you calime? Thank * “‘It is nothing leas,” he returned. ‘A short while and this man will be leaving the place lost in the mist. He took the “and go that'athe last of Regionld Vatescar,” thought Alison. It serves me right. What a “Thomas Watkym took care I should do that, ndeed. If icoke song ” replied Mrs. “ re E Reece, “fam gid you ‘have’ had ‘Thomas ere. Alison complained of a headache and went up to bed; she was afraid of being questioned. 1 tho) evening 6c ld come HS ee would treat Thomas Watkyn differently. She felt a little ashamed of herself; she felt a little “But I will make It up to him,” she sighed, as she latd her head upon her pillow. ‘He wilibe sure to let me; he 8 80 good and he loves me so A ‘ Alison awoke betimes, and to a vague sense of uneasiness. It wasa fine morning, the mist all cleared away. As she stood at the window, the rising sun, lifting himeelf ranletically in the east, tinted her cheeks with a rose-red flush and threw down on the green meadows floods ofa coe glowing light, while the songs of re e8, cue latks broke out from every hedge and co} eWeraust uiske the amson Jam to-day,” ob- served Mrs. Reece to her as thevrose from break- fast. “And if you would only wash up these breakfast things, ation while Patty goes about her other work, I should soon have the kitchen table clear and might begin it.” “Oh, very well,” answered the girl cheerfully, for she had been taking herself to task for her lewd behavior, and meant to turn over a new leaf. ‘You shall have the table clear directly, mother.” She was busy in the kitchen when she heard her mother open the front door and some one come in. “It is that chattering Mrs. Bennett,” thought she, as she dried the teaspoons. “‘Atison! come here,” called her mother, ina quick voice. She went to the parlor just as she was—her sleeves turned back at the wrists, a large brown holiand apron on. Very pretty she looked with it all. Bat it was not Mrs. Bennett who sat with her mother; it was a venerable, white-haired old gentleman—Mr. Watkyn the elder. “I am come to ask about Thomas,” said he. *‘I believe he came here last night, Miss Alison! at what time did he leave you?” A prevision struck her, with a sort of terror, that something was wrong. “He left quite ear- ly,” she faltered. “Well, he has never come home.” , “Not come home!” she said, with a whitening face. “T sat up till oneo’clock, and then I thought the mist must have kept him, that he had stayed at some friend’s house, I knew not what to think; and that he would be home the first thing this morning. But we haye not seen him, and T cannot hear of him.” - Mrs. Reece was impressed with the fright- ened, guilty look that Alison could not keep out of her countenance, and began to feel uneasy. “Cannot you tell what time it was when he left you?” she demantied, sternly. “It was before’dusk; it was just after sunset, before the mist ¢ame bn, It must bave been near 7 o’clock. “Which road did he take?” pursued Mrs. Reece. And very reluctantly Alison answered, for she foresaw it would bring on further qaes- tloning. 1 )The long wayaround by the hill.” “Round by the ‘hill?’ echoed Mr. Watkyn, in alarmed surpri “Why did he take that way?” ; : Alison flushed and paca alternately, her lips weretrembling. The fear creeping upon her was that he and young Vavasour had met and quar- reled. Perhaps’ fought—and injured one another fatally.’ In these dread moments of suspense the mihd 1s ‘apt to conjure up far- fetched and unlikely thoughts. . “T asked him to go around that way,” she re- plied, in a timid tone; “1 wanted him to leave a note for me at the dressmaker’s.” Old Mr. Watkyn sank into a chair, putting up his hands before his troubled face. “I see it all!” he breathéd, faintly; “he must have fallen down the Scar.” Alison uttered a scream of horror. “Deceived by the mist, he must have walked too near its edge,” continned the old , man. “Heaven grant that it may not be so! but T fear it. Was he mad?—to attempt to cross the plateau on such a night!” Catching up his hat Mr. Watkyn went out swiftly. Kies. Reece grasped her daughter's hands. They were icy-cold. “Alison, what passed between you and ‘Thomas last night?” “Don’t ask me, mother! Let me follow Mr. Watkyn; I cannot rest indoors. Oh, it cannot, cannot be as he fears!” “Not one step until you tell me what passed,” said the mother, firmly. “There's more in all this than meets the eye.” “He asked me to—give up talking to Mr. Vavasour.” “And you refused. Well?” “He told me I must choose between them,” continued Alison, bursting into tears. “Oh, mother, it was all folly, all my temper; he could not see that, and when he went away he said he went for good.” Mrs. Reece drew in her thin lips sternly. She stood thinking. “And what does it mean about your giving him a note for the dressmaker? I do not under- stand. You had nothing to write about.” The girl got her hands free and flung them betore her face to deaden the sobs. But Mrs. Reece was a resotute mother at times, and she extorted the confession. Alison had improvised the note and sent Thomasaround the long way to deliver it, and so keep him from passing by the’ willow walk. “Oh, child, child!” moaned the dismayed woman. “It he has indeed fallen cover the Scar it is you who will have given him his death.” And it proved to beso. in taking the two miles around between the cottage and the farm ahigh and perpendicular precipice. called the Sear, had to be passed. The table-land, or’ plateau, on the top was wide and a pertectly safe road by daylight, since a traveler could keep as far from the unprotected edge as he pleased, But on a dark night or ina thick fog it was most dangerous. _ Deceived by the mist on the previous night Thomas Watkyn must have drawn near the edge unwittingly and fallen over it. There he lay, on the sharp rocks, when the poor father and others went to look for him, his death-like face upturned to the blue sky. ‘Speak to me, Thomas! speak to me!” wailea Alison, quite beside herself with remorse and grief, as she knelt by him, wringing her hands. “Oh, Thomas, speak to me! 1 loved you all the while.” But Thomas neither spoke nor moved. The voice that had nothing but tender words for her was silenced now; the heart she had so coos might never beat in joy or sorrow gain. “No. person had seen or spoken with him after quitting her the previous night, save the dress- maker, little indaatrious Miss Ford. She had answered his knock herself, she related, and he pat the note Intol-her hands, saying Miss ad asked him toteaye fit in passing. “What a thick mist it is thas had come on,” he remarked to her in his pledsant, ¢hatty way. ‘‘Ay, it is indeed, sir,” she dnswered, and shut her dooras he walked away. : be For many weeks Alison Reece lay ii with brain fever, hovéring between life and death. Some people safd it was the shock that made her ill and took her senses away; others thought she must have loved the poor young man to distraction; no dne, save her mother, knew it was the memory of her‘last interview with him and the scheming'to serid him on the route that led to_his accident, that had well-nigh killed her. But the young ar¢strong in their tenacity of life, and she iter by slow degrees. One warm Aprif afternoon, when the winter months had given place to spring, Alison, leat- Ing on the arm of her mother, went to sit in the Porch. She was very teeble yet. It was the first time she had sat there since that memor- able evening with her ill-fated lover. There she remained, thinking and dreaming. They could not persuade her to come in, so wrappi her in a warm shawl. Sunset came on, and was almost as beautiful, curious, perhaps, that tt should be 80, as the one he and she had watched together more than six months before. The brilliant beams shone like molten gold in the Blowing. west, the biue sky around was flecked with pink and Alison’s eyes were fixed on the lovely scene with an enraptured gaze, her lps slightly part- ing with emotion. ‘‘Aligon, what are you thinking of?” “Of him, mother. “Of his happiness. He is Boing 10 all that glorfous beauty. I think there must have been an unconscious prevision in his mind by what he sald that evening as we watched it, that he should soon be there. 01 mother, I wish I was going to him! I wish could be with him to-morrow!” The mother paused; she felt Inclined to something, but feared the agitation it might cause. a : 1.do get better,” sighed the gin «I suppose it pleased God that f should.” * Time soothes all things, Alison. In time you will be strong again and able to falfill life's walk back again without a rest. The sun was going down to-night without any loveliness; just a crimson ball, which seemed to give a red light tothe atmosphere, and to light up redly oe ire of a le, (rhea man, who was com! to the gate by he! i ted whien he reached ie, ‘Alf, descr! or ‘of Columbia, as and being all of Lot num. ered ten (10), in equare 2 ‘four hundred sad (450), Said 1 route 88 foot Linch on Letrect ‘nd wilt be soid'in three "Torme of aale: One-third cash; inaix, twelve and teen months, notes to bear interest and to be ‘by di of trust on the premises, or all cash, at the option of the purchaser. “Conveysncing, Be. at Darcel aad at time Of sla Li tarme of sale ate net Some plied with in seven daye from day of sale, the ‘Trasiec oye erie co Feed at dink aod tt tie FEET inches front 10, aa ia POSIPONED son turned sick and faint with all manner of QUeT ee: ore x aes 5 © ag SR emotions as she gazed at him, fright being up-| $0 2 o 5 WALTER, ti “Alison!” fy THE PURCHASER OF THE 17 FRET 8 “Thomas” Serer ah reer ey er oe we He held out his hand; he came instde; is | Esvisy railed to com sith te tertae ofl ie a face of Jo Seal on SATU Pale, sad wore for her its old sweet expres- Reeighinewta bay OF acguST oan ihe a “Oh Thomas, I thought you were dead,” she | risk aud cost of the defaults i burst forth, ina storm of sobs. “I came here to look for'your grave? I thought I had killed ey “They thought I was dead at first; they thonght for a long while that I should die,” he answered, as he sat down beside her, keeping her hand In his. “But the skillful medical men have raised me up, under God. I hope in time to be strong and well again.” “Can you ever forgive me?” she walled, bitter, painful tears falling down her cheeks like rain. “I shall never forgive myself.” “No? Then you must atone to me, Alison, instead. Be all the more loving to me during our future lives. We must pass them together, my dear.” “Do you mean it—still?” she gasped. “Oh, Thomas! how good and true you are! if I can only be a little bit worthy of you!” They walked home slowly, arm-in-arm. Neither could walk fast yet. Mrs. Recce came to the porch to meet them. God is fall of mercy, she thought. “I did not teil her, Thomas,” she said, ‘‘she was so dreadfully low when she came out of the fever. I meant to tell her to-night.” “I have told her myself; it was best #0,” answered Thomas Watkyn.— The Argosy. +0 What Was Seen on a Jaunt Through Colorado. From The Monongahela Republican. Since Icame into Colorado I have played at snowball with John Sutman on the last day of July, Ihave seen ladies scrape away the snow and pick flowers from the ground under the snow, and I have seen red ripe strawberzies picked from green bushes after kicking off a foot of snow from over them. This at Alpine Pass. Thave seen men on horseback along the rail- road tracks, where we have men afoot, as track- walkers; have seen these horsemen draw out a red flagand ride back a dare-devil gallop over the ties, to flag a train. I have seen the ticket agent at Marshal’s Pass 10.725 feet altitude, eltting by a roaring fire in his office, July 80, while outside the ladies of our excursion were gathering wild flowers and berries, thermometer 44° in the shade. I have seen the adobe houses of the Mexicans at Pueblo, wherein was more dirt and filth than ever dreamed of by an eastern family; wherein men, women, girls and visitors alike slept under straw on & clay floor,in the one room which was alike kitchen, parlor and bedroom. I have seen Mexican girls with castanets dancing a fandan- go, wearing nothing but a few sunflowers in their long black hair, unabashed in the presence of a hundred onlookers. I have seen in the streets of twenty-saloon towns open gambling hells. with asign above the door, “Cards and Rum.” I have seen on the streets of Denver splendid houses, the occu- pation of whose female inmates was only too plainly indicated by a transparency gas lamp suspended in, the vestibule. Ihave seen mountains of rocks thousands of feet, hich, with the stones arranged layer upon ayer ag if built by a mason, as regularly and ‘carefully laid, and Ihave been standing in the middle of a plain, a flat stone, on its edge 330 feetto the top. And Ihave seen in the Royal Gorge a mountain over 2,000 feet high, all seem- ing one solid stone, without a crack or crevice, actually one big solid rock. I have seen, and have In my satchel, speci- mens of coal brought from the same mountain, one from an anthracite vein proving up 89 per ct. carbon, aud another of bituminous coal from a vein 8 feet thick, and from a tested fleld of 3,500 acres owned by one man. I have seen a girl, dashing over the plains on horseback, dismount to pick a boquet for her hat, and, ‘calling her Newfoundland dog, step on his back and remount. Ihave seen an open Bible lying on an ele- gantly carved oak altar at the entrance of a Tum shop and gambling den at Leadville, and above the Bible a sign painted, saying: ‘Please, Kind Friends, Don’t Swear.” Think of such an appeal, made in sucha way by the keeper of a drinking den! T have ridden in Ree car on a Rio Grande railroad, the name of which, painted on its side in gilt letters, was “The Blood of Jesus.” fol- lowed by another car named “Heart of the Saviour.” “T have travelled nearly 2,000 miles over ter- ritory west of the Missouri river in a land which my inind had peopled with Indians, and have not seen a single Indian on the whole trip—not one—except two filthy squaws on the station platform at Cheyenne. Mle Drank a Tear. From the Arkansaw Traveller. “Boys, I won't drink lessen you take what I do,” said old Josh Spilit in reply to an invita- tion. He was a toper of long standing and abundant capacity, and the boys looked at him in astonishment. “The idea,” one of them replied, ‘that you should prescribe conditions is laughable. Per- haps you want to force one of your abominable mixtures on us. You are chief of the mixed drinkers, and I will not agree to your condi- tions.” “He wantsto run us inon castor oll and brandy,” said the Judge, who would willingly have taken the oil to get the brandy. “No, I'm square.” replied Spilit. “Take my drink and Tm with you.” The boys agreed, and stood along the bar. Every one turned to Spilit and regarded him with interest. “Mr. Bartender,” said Spilit, “give me a glass of water.” “Water!- water!” the boys exclaimed. “Yes, water. It’s anew drink for me, I ad- mit, and I expect it’s a scarce article with all of ou. Lemme tell you how I came to take it. veral days ago a passcl of us went fishing. and we took a fine chance of whisky along, an’ had a heap of fun. ’Long toward evenin’ I got powerful drank an’ crawled under a tree an’ went to sleep. The boys drank up all the whisky and came back to town. They thought it a good joke ’cause they left me there drunk, and told it around town with a mighty bluster. My son got a hold of the yy and told it at home. Well, I laid under that tree all night, ‘an’ when I woke in the mornin’ thar sot my wife right thar by me. She didn’t say a word when I woke up, but shesorter turned her head away. I got up an’ looked at her. She still didn’t say nothin’, but I could see that she was chokin’. “T wish I had suthin’ to drink, ’s’I. “Then she tuck a cup what she fotched with her an’ went down to whar a spring biled upan’ dipped up a cu; and fotcheditto me. Jes as she was handin’ it ter me she leaned over to hide her eyes, an’I seed a tear drap in the water. Ituck the cup an’ drank the water an’ tear, an’ ratsin’ my hands I yowed that I would never hereafter drink my wife’s tearsagin; that , an’ that I was going to stop. You boys Know who it wan that left ne draak. You was a gang. Give me another glass of water, —_——_re-—________ visits his patients every day, itis to ran up a Dill; if he don’t, it is If he orders the same medi Hr Pe changes the prescription, is in with the If he uses any of ular medicines of the Heist led ‘CHAS. DUNCANSON BROS., Aucta. FUTURE DAYS 1HOMAS DOWLING, Auctioneer. EXTENSIVE SALE OF GROCERIES, COMPRISING FANCY AND OTHER SOAPS, CIGARS, TOBACCO A : CHOW CHOW, "PICKLES, FELLIES, EXTRACTS, CANNED GOODS, SAR DINES, BASKETS. TEAS AND SOnrRAS, SYRUPS, WOOD AND WILLOW WARE, PaP' AND PAPER BAGS, TEA CADDIES, TIN AND GLASSWARE. CROCKERY, LAMPS 8c. COAL Ol, D LARGE TAN! COAL scars 1cE AS! ‘AN "AN x BOXES, TWO PLATFORM AND FOUR OTHER SCALEA, FINE LANGE COFFEE. MILL, SILVER PLATED SHOW CARE, CHEESE CASE, COUN- ERS AND FIXTU! ) HORS Ti «Ke. : Al WAGON ‘A’ BEING THE ENTIRE ND COMPLETE STOCK OF GROCERIES CON- INED IN STORE No. 2825 BRIDGE STREET, GEOKGETOWN, D. C., AT AUCTION. On WEDNESDAY MORNING, AUGUST TWENTY- NINTH, 1883. at TEN O'CLOCK, at 2825 Bri stroct, Till seit. the abovs nearly how and comp stock: The stock and. fixtures will be gt private sale until 29th instant, and off opportunity for an investment. Store for For further in- formation apply to the auctioneer. ‘Terms ca: THOMAS DOWLING, anl7-10t Auchonesr. FOLEY, Auctioneer. fell the stock of Dry and Fancy Goods, con- ction, stocl in store No. 908 7th a Gommencing EVERY MORNING AT ‘TEN-AND- A-HALF O*CLOCEK, and will continue from day to day ‘att all is disposed of. e stock consints of Bilke, Dress Velvots, Cashmeres, ‘Table Linens, Towels, Ni reaillies Spreads, White "Hiowiery, ‘U. derwetr, C t reserve. ‘M. FOLEY, Auctioneer. For Other Auctions See Sth Page. FAMILY SUPPLIES. Sith wan: ORGR LEA ND EXCELSIOR! ie perenne at eae TNELEDING we Sats, . 85.30 pm siTaars AND SUNDAYS AT 6 P. ot Satuniay Night Excursions a special feature. Tcounection wits tse Boetan cad Providengs ‘Freight received cany won 5 = wwe. g M. HUDGINS, Gen. Supt, y OOK AT LOW FARES. NORFOLK, 30cm, RIVER LANDINOR, 25 Cte, EXCUESION TRIPS to Binckintone Teland, 25 SUNDAY FERRY to Atczan.ay Sou, = To Piney Point, Point Lookout, Fort IONDAY, WEDNESDAY aud FRIDAY, at 5:30 p. - and BATCRDAY at >Re; zp, oiligaat . eave Norfolk NEXT BAY at 4p. m. FARE, BO. RACH WAY. POTOMAC RIVER LANDINGS. —Steamer ‘TROMP. SON leaves MONDAY, WEDNESDAY aud FKIDAY, 5 a. m. 2 EXCURSION TRIPs. —Rteamer MOSELFY, EVE y, TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY and tune DAY, to Tsiand, at 9. m. “Hound Crip, NEW ALFXANDRIA FERRY.—FVERY SUNDAY Steamer THOMPSON, leaving her wharf, Washit oo the Half Hon andria, on the io Fare, 5 Cents. dvi ———— eR ARLOWSMITH ‘Leaves 7th street wharf at 7a. m. for POTOMAC RIVER LANDINGS, ‘Round tri 4 H pa tn either Leary or Excelsior, steatners. fc Chament’s Bas. whee retu Friday “onset . and intern, returning Sundaye. — z. PADGFTT, be ©. a. RIDLE = 522 __Tth at. wharf, Want M®™ VERNON! Mr. VERNO! STEAMER W. W. cornconan eaves Tth strect wharf daily (except Sunday) for Me returuiug reaches Wasliag- Vernon at 10 o'clock a, ma. ; ten about 8:90 p.m, om ZL. L. BLAKF, Captain. POTOMAC TRANSPORTATION LINE. m. * A accommodations strict first-class. AE RES St ust be vrepaid,and will be received ou 5 ons. ee STEPHENSON & BRO. mi6-Om Th street wharf and 12th at: and Pa ave, vis want xo; uredays, at Tands ab '« down, Wetnen- Point Thursdays ‘T THE PALACE MARKET ‘AM SELLING Shriver's best Tomatoes, 3 Ib. eer se Gann fore quarters. s Everything in the market at ioweet watket prices. FRANK J. TIBBLTS, my10 corner 14th and New York aventie, NOTICE TO HOUSEKEEPERS OCG KEB RRI EER SSS bin Bie E & o mm RRR Em Sassy | OQoxk RR = 000 Eke R KEKE %gss8 7 Ss EI 4 NN ON oat sie THT EE EPRE B RR TOSS = = ge Ey HENNG | Sgs8 7 Eee & UY NN GSO tT EERE «ot A NN N CCO RI Ez TASAN NNO CR Ho ikeetuuciia ah NN 0G Eent GGG oOo L EEG NN N @ GoOoL Bb EO NNN & ca 8.3 DE ON NS GGG 00 Dov’ Eee § Me HHUTL ? HOH UL ile E: HOR OH Fun co : WAYS MAKE BEAUTIFUL ROLLS, ere <2 | Sl 01 ret and Indiana av: Jel WM. M. GALT & CO. 5 rns RAILROADS. rE cueag, ENNSYLVANIA ROUTE TO THE NORTH, WEST, AND SOUTHWEST, TRACK. SPLENDID SCENERY. UIPMENT. Car Pitt to Chicago. Mail Exi $50 pom. daily, for Fattxbarg and the West. with § Car Ws BALTIMORE AND POTOMAC RAT For, Ene, Canandsimna, Rochester, Buta, Wp. m. daily, ex Saturday, Ince Wanhingion 0’ Canabdaivus, sid arrisburg 3 For Williamsport, Lock Haven and Elmira, at 9:30 a.m. daily, For New York and the East, 8:00 a. m., 10:40a. m., 4:20, 9:60 and 10:20'p. m. On Sunday, 4-20, eh ae 1:36 p. m. every week re ugh trains connect at Jersey City with ts of Brooklyn Annex, afford- ine alcect tesnster to Fulton street, avoiditiy double AD. N ferriage across New ¥ For Philadelphia, 8 9:50 and 10:2 3020p, ma, cept Sunday ‘or Baltim: a m, On 30, 1, 6:20, 7: 93 10:20 p. m. For Pope's Creck Line, 6:40 a.m. and 4:40 p.m. daily, except Sunday. For Annapolis, 6:40 a.m. and 4:40 p.m. daily, except ALEXANDRIA AND FREDERICKSBURG _RAIL- WAX, AND NDRIA AND WASHINGTON RAILROAD. For Alexandria, 6: 11:00 and 11:30a.m.. Pe 4:20, 5:4 oes P-m. UD m., 8:00 p.2. C 6:30 11:00 a.m, ‘Trans leave Alexandria for “W: 00, nd 10:3) 8. SR 0 i 200 and 9:16 p.m, ivania eveciun, and af left for the checking 3. WOOD, General Pas - CHAS. E. PUGH, General Manager. 4y9 ALTIMORE AND OHIO RAILROAD. (HE MODEL FAST LINE AND THE ONLY LINE ‘THE EAST AND THE WEST. ‘TON. DOUBLE TRACK! saneer COUPLER! Schedule to take effect SUNDAY, MAY 23th, 1883. Leave Washington from station, corner of New Jersey rere? FF ‘Cincin: oe ee ees TG eh toe Cars ‘without : 10:15 a.m. to pointe, change: 10:15 a. m. Chicara, For Pi and, Detroit at 8:30 pnd 0p tn daly 60 pte to ocd Se to Pie Bore wit ‘attached. For Toledo and Detroit via Monroeville, 10:15 a.m. ‘and New York at8:10a. m. facbrands fag O40 Be aly a ‘Baltimore on. week. 80, 6:40, 7:45. R10, 9 :35, 3, 3:30, ta, ban. f ‘Yo, recipe ca Aanigs StH, 1005 am, For jh ale 408.1 10 and 4:40;on Sunday, an tt ‘tations between W: Te Rae ap pe Tae = al t exoegs Sunday, ¢20 8m... 245 and 5: i av lop Frederik, 8:30am, 20:0 a nd 4:65 For ilacerstows TAs ain daily except Sunday, 5:45 ‘arrive from the West daily, 6:20, 7:35a.m., pate ee 2:55, 8:30 am From az . 9:20 am., 1:50, 6:31 p.m. ; Bunday, 40 a.m... ; fee am, 6:00p.m. eet pEenis oe are aie weer set = Agent. ee __ Be Bra Jlotwby mau peompuy amended t cad Aus LINE-SUMMER SERVI Quebec to Liverpool every Saturday, making the shortest ocean voyage. Only five days from Innd to land, Accommodations unsurpassed, Cubin—§70 and $80 single; $135 and $260 Excursion. Baltimore to Liverpool every alternate Tucsday, vie Halifax and St. Jolus, N. F. Intermediate Passage, $40. Prepaid Steerage, $21, LEVE & ALDEN, General Agents, ‘207 Broadway, New York; or, At Washington, D. C.: D. A. BROSNAN, 612 9th street. JAMES BELLEW, 711 7th street. G, W. MOSS, 225 Pennsylvania avenue, jy. 2 NORTE GERMAN Lrovp— breamsnir Lixe Betweex New Yous, Haveg, Loxnox. SOUTHAMPTON axD BREMES. ‘The eteainers of this company will «ail EVERY WED- NESDAY AND SATURDAY. from Bremen pier, fom $f 3d etrect, Hoboken. Kates of passage: From York t» Havre, London, Southampton and i first cabin, $106; ‘cobin, $00; steerage, £30, Paid steorage cortinestas, $i. or treucit OF guns fo CELHICHS © Co.) 2 Bowlin, Green York: W. G. METZEROTT & ©O., 25 Peunaylvania rthwest, Agents for Washinton. jal2 ARE ROUTE, TBE con, STEAMSHIP COMPANY LIMITER, BETNEEN NEW YORE AND RPOUL. CALLING AT us “"Wea., WEI DAY ritoh Ne Eatcs of passage-$8U ana $100, according to accomi- eee cen tow e gre tert Quociitownand alleter parteot’ Rurorest rates. Eee eee eee SF ST ¥or: Ko. 4 steerage and cabin gis BIGELOW & CO., 60s 7th street, W: : VERNON H. BROWN & CO., New York, Meer, OFS BIGELOW & CO Jani2 605 7th street, Washington. YEW YORK, ROTTERDAM, AMBTERDAM.— See Greets See Pax, SCHIEDAM Leen AM, ZAARDAM, PB. es _MEDICAL, &c. Ds BROTHERS AND GRAY GIVE NO FARE prescriptions and send you to site side-ahow ruxkist, who divide profite with the doctor. ieappolnted of a cure N furnish medicine, ‘Thirty years’ experience. Wy Ho Is THE Mos Sworn to before A. C. Kichards, 3931-1" MAXH00D RESTORED BY USING A BOTTLE or two of Da. BROTHELS’ Invigorating Cordial, ‘Wid cure any case of Seminal W: vou De- bihty and Impoten It eystem. 906 Ima? DIES. treated. ‘Thi:ty-five years’ experienco. R. LEON'S FEMALE PILLS MAILED TO ANY address on receipt of $1. Box 307 City P.O. J21-im? ]\{4DAME DE Forest Has EEMED Y FOR LA- Mie at 240 7th etrwotuortweat, Oficehoues from 1 to Dem, with indiesoulye” 4y au ORTANT TO LADIFS.—LADIES MAY BE ‘eros lated with Board, before, fickness, with Medical ‘ine ‘s family. reex Mrs. M. H. SLO, 116 North Car- lize sires, Baltimore. ir. Sloane's Nervine, Tous for ‘je15-3m"