Jasper County Democrat, Volume 2, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 November 1899 — BETWEEN TWO LOVES [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

BETWEEN TWO LOVES

BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.

CHAPTER X. “Let us repeat the happy experiment of last autumn,” said the Duchess of Rosedene to Sir Arthur. “Come with us to Dene. I do not remember erer to hare enjoyed anything more than yonr visit. I will ask Sir Basil to come, and the two lovers will be happy—that is, if such unreasonable beings as lovers are ever happy. They seem to me more often discontented.” August found them at Dene, well and happy, without the faintest knowledge of the doom that was fast drawing nigh. Partly on account of its bracing air and partly because he at times had a few engagements in the neighboring towns, Martin Ray had for some years made this place his home. These were the days of Martin Ray’s ieeadrnce, and he could not perhaps have chosen any spot on earth where he could have been more secluded or more forgotten. It was a strange chance that brought these two sisters so near together, yet placed them so far apart. The steep green hill that stood between Dene Abbey and Southwood was typical of the great barrier of caste which parted them. There were times when both at the same moment watched the same seas, the same skies, yet neither had the least notion of the other’s presence in that part of the country. The summer bad been hot and oppressive. Martin Ray had suffered much, and it was some relief when the cool breezes of autumn came. They heard casually that Dene Abbey was filled with visitors, but that any of the visitors concerned them never occurred to them. Father and daughter would not have sat so quietly watching the heaving waters had they known that Leah was so near them. The occupants of Dene Abbey seldom attended the pretty old Norman church at Southwood, where Hettie sang so sweetly and so clearly. There was a church nearer to them called St. Barba uld's, which stood in the center of a little village near the sen. But Sir Basil liked Southwood best. He admired the quaint old Norman church, with its square tower and fine arches. So, one Sunday morning, when the whole party went over to St. Barbould’s, Sir Basil went through the woods, climbed the steep hill and descended the beautiful grassy slopes, until he reached the old Norman church where his fate awaited him. The rector read the prayers, and laid a few words to the people—simple, honest words that went home to every heart and left an impression there. When the clear, earnest voice ceased, there was a slight stir in the organ loft, and then a dead silence. What broke it? A clear, sweet voice which Sir Basil never forgot, singing a solo in a grand old anthem, every word of which was distinct and audible —beautiful words, well matched with the flue music and the angelic voice. He listened in wonder; he had heard some of the finest singers in Italy and some of the grandest music in the world, but nothing like this. He was not sentimental, and flattered himself that hejtook a practical view of most thinks; but as he listened be-thought to himself: “That must be how the angels sing!” He looked up into the organ loft from which the sound came, and there he saw a picture that was photographed on his brain for evermore. A tall, slender girl stood in the midst of the choir, in a dress of pale blue—a girl with a faceNo fair, so rapt, so seraphic, that it awed and bewildered him. She was singing—not to the people, who listened with bated breath—not to him, whose eyes never moved from her face. Her thoughts had pierced the oid groined roof nnd the blue ether that lay beyond, and had gone to the land where angels dwell. Her golden hair made a halo round her head, and he could have thought that an angel had descended from “the realms of light.” Then it dawned upon him slowly that this girl had been the original of the picture. “The First Glimpse of Morning,” and ho remembered what he had said to Leah, “That face has what yours lacks—tenderness.” “I am destined to know her through the arts,” he said to, himself. “She dawned upon me in painting, 1 see her etherealized by music—yet what is she to me?”

She was nothing to him, yet during the whole of the day that rapt spiritual face seemed always before him. He would have asked who she was, but he knew no one tltere, and when the anthem was finished slw vanished. He lingered in the old churchyard where the tali elm trees cast graceful shadows on the grass, but he caught no glimpse of her. He went home to Dene Abbey with the clear, rich voice ringing in his ears. There was a little rivulet that ran through the Dene woods; he bent over it, and, 16! the sweet face smiled at him from its clear depths! He laughed at himself. No woman’s face had ever haunted him before. With all its brilliant beauty, even Leah’s had not haunted him as this one did. The week that passed before Sunday came again was a long one to Sir Basil. He had not the least intention of ever being, even in thought, untrue to Leah. If he had dreamed that there was anydanger in seeing the beautiful singer again, he would have avoided her. What harm could there be in going to Southwood Church to hear a grand old anthem, beautifully sung? He did not speak to Leah about it.' He had one definite motive for silence, and he had' twenty reasons that were not quite definite. 7 On that bright'Sunday morning no warning came to Sir Basil that he £ad better not see the young singer again. He went, She sang more sweetly than ever, and looked to his enchanted eyes fairer than before. When the people went out of church, be contrived to be among the first, and then he saw the bine dress trailing over the grass; and he noticed that every movement and action of the girl was as

full of grace as her singing was full of music. He found the old sexton. Sir Basil discovered in a moment the way to his heartrlt was suggested by the almost pathetic manner in which the man said that it was a dry day. He was so completely overwhelmed when Sir Basil dropped something in his hand with which to make the day more comfortable that he would have answered any number of questions. “Who was the lady that sung?” She was Miss Ray—Miss Hettie Ray, daughter of the old man who lived at Rosewalk. Where was Rosewalk? “It is a cottage built on the slope of the hill around there by Southwood”—a vague direction, but Sir Basil remembered every word of it. Who was the old man? Ah, that the sexton did not know! A.ll that he could tell was that he had heard "that he was a bit of a writer in the political line, that he was poor, and that his daughter worked very hard. He knew little'bf him, because he kept away from everyone and shut himself up in his little cottage. “Rather a curious history,” thought the young baronet “Such a father and such a daughter! He cannot possibly be a political writer of any note, or I should have heard someone speak of him. Before long I will see for myself what Rosewalk is like.” One autumn day Sir Basil strolled over to Rosewalk. He told Leah that he was going for a long Amble; but he did not ask her to accompany him. There*was in his mind no direct thought that be was going somewhere clandestinely. He climbed the sleep hill once more, and there before him lay the pretty town of Southwood. After walking so far his courage failed him; he passed through the lane and did not even look at the cottage he had come to see. He felt ashamed of himself, and went back again—the lane was a long one. When he returned, he found that an elderly man was standing watching the passing of a ship at sea. The scene was so beautiful that be was charmed with it. Some instinct told him that this was Martin Ray. “This is a lovely scene, sir,” Sir Basil remarked, as he paused in front of the old man. “It is well enough,’,’ he said. And then Sir Basil was slightly disconcerted. He hardly knew what next to say. He stood and looked, first at the blue, rippling waters and then at the stern, worn, haggard man. It was better perhaps to be frank. “I am looking,” he said, quietly, “for the house of Mr, Martin Ray. Can you tell me if this be it?” “I am Martin Ray,” answered the other, briefly. And again Sir Basil was nonplused. The man raised himself from his leaning attitude and looked at the handsome, dark face before him. “You wanted to see my house and me—why?” he asked. “My reason is very simple,” replied Sir Basil, raising his hat. “I heard that you were living here, and I wished to see one who, rightly or wrongly, has been a leader among the people.” “Are you of my way of thinking?” asked Martin, abruptly. “No, I am not,” replied Sir Basil. “You carry to excess that which I believe in but little. I hold a middle path between you and those whom you would call your enemies.” “A middle path,” repeateJ Martin. "Ah, then you will not interest me!” . “I am not sure that I wish to do so,” replied Sir Basil. “It was "not with a view of interesting you that I desired to see you.” “I did not intend to be rude,” returned Martin Ray. “I mean this—that my life 'has been a fierce fight. I know but two extremes. You must forgive me—l hate all mediocrity.” “You are like an old soldier who smells gunpowder,” said Sir Basil, good-temper-edly. “You would enjoy a warm political argument with me; but it is not passible. I am only just beginning to understand matters. In a few months or a few’ years,” continued Sir Basil, “I shall be better informed about politics than I am now. 1 intend to read, to study, to think, and then, when I hare mastered both sides of the various questions, I shall be able to form dear and decided views of my own.” “That is right, said Martin. “Come and see me again. You have stirred an old pain in my heart. Good-by.” And without another word Sir Basil retraced his steps to Dene Abbey, thinking the whole way of the man he had just left. CHAPTER XI. Sir Basil resolved to study politics; and he wad well pleased that chance had made him acquainted with Martin Ray, who in his time had caused some stir in the political world. When he started for Rosewalk the next dny, he honestly believed that he was going to see Martin Ray from the most honorable and the highest motives. He might, of course, see the beautiful singer again; it was not improbable; but he was not going for that purpose. When he reached Rosewalk a young and beautiful girl was seated near the wall overlooking the sea. Whiit, at the first sight of her, made his heart beat so fast? He had to pass close by her; but he would not look at the golden hair and .sweet face. He went into the quaint .flower-wreathed porch and rapped at the door. Then as one watches things in a dream, he saw the young girl arise and walk toward hfm with a firm, graceful step. v “r beg your pardon,” he said. “I want to see Mr. Martin Ray.” "My father?” she replied. “H[e is not at home.” The blue eyes looked Into his for a moment, then they Ml, and a soft color like that of the fairest petal of a rose covered ha* face} the dark eyes looking at her

were so fall of passionate nemlratioa that' she could not raise her own to his again. * “Not at home,” repeated Sir Basil, “I am very sorry for that I was to see him to-day, and I walked some distance. Have I your permission to wait until he returns?” She looked slightly confused at first; then she felt that it would be impossible to refuse. She was only too pleased that her father should have a call from so pleasant a visitor. "You can wait if you wish to do so,” she replied; “but the hour of his return is quite uncertain.” “If you will allow" me, I think I will risk it,” he said. “I do not think any one could find a more beautiful spot„than this in which to while away the time.” He sat down on the pretty rustic bench, which was so placed that one could see the incoming tide. The waves were rolling in grandly; the wind bad freshened, and they broke in sheets of white foam. The sunlight lay on the sea and on the shore, on the white cliffs and on the green hill; it fell on the golden hair and sweet face opposite to him. A feeling of perfect rest came over him, of happiness such as in his whole life he had never known before. “I heard you singing in churcti last Sunday,” he said. “I have been staying in this neighborhood for some time. You have a very beautiful voice; I was quite delighted with it.” * “I am fond of music,” she answered—“above all things, I am fond of singing; »t is the one pleasure of my life. I forget everything else when I sing.” When once Hettie had lost her shy, embarrassed manner, she talked to Sir Basil with all the ease and grace that were natural to her. He told her of the picture in the Academy, and she was amused to hear about it, and 'in her turn related how the artist cam# to Southwood in search of picturesque scenes, and saw her sitting by this same wall, and begged that he might make a sketch of her face. She did not know thq? the picture had been the success of the year. He told het all about it. “You seem to be quite out of the world here,” he said, when she expressed her surprise. And then she told him of her busy and how, do what she would, she could not make the days long enough. He sat by the ivy-covered wall more than an hour; and, last he rose, longing to stay, yet aware that be had been there long enough, they both felt as though they had been friends sos. years. Sir Basil called several times at Rosewalk, and Martin Ray, who had all his life hated everyone who could not be called aristocratic, took a fancy to him. They did not agree in all respects. Sir Basil told him frankly that he thought some of his ideas terrible and hideous. “You will see,” said Martin. “You will live longer than I shall. What I now teach the world it will believe and practice when the stinging nettles art growing over my grave.” “Why do you suppose that your grave Will be covered with stinging nettles?" asked Sir Basil. Martin laughed a bitter little cynical laugh. "I do not imagine that anyone living will care to plant flowers there,” he replied. So the weeks sped on, and Martin Ray, in his own cynical, selfish fashion, after a time became quite fond of Sir Basil. He looked for his coming; he was more gloomy than usual on the days when h« did not make his appearance. They were talking together one morning, while Hettie was away giving her lessons; and Sir Basil said laughingly that it was strange they had met so often without Martin even knowing his name. There was something impressive in the gesture with which Martin suddenly held up his hand. “Is it a name that you have made for yourself?” he asked. “No; it was made for me,” replied Sir Basil. “Then Ido not want to know it. As a man with good intentions, I like you; you are straightforward, honest and honorable: but, if you have one of those names with a ‘handle/ probably borne By many generations of men who have lived upon their fellow-men, I do not wish to know it. The first time I saw you I thought you looked like an aristocrat. If you are one, do not tell me so; it would spoil my opinion of you.” “If you eall me ‘Glen,’ ” said Sir Basil, “I shall understand; and that name will do as well as any other.” “I hope,” said Martin half savagely, “that you are not a young duke in die guise.” “I am quite sure of that,” replied Sir Basil, laughing. “I am neither duke nor belted earl.” “It would be hard work to hate you; but I should hate you if you were,” said Martin. From that time he always called Sir Basil “Glen;” and when Hettie spoke of him it was as “Mr. Glen.” (To be continued.)