Rensselaer Republican, Volume 21, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 August 1889 — TOO LATE. [ARTICLE]

TOO LATE.

A Story of Si Valentine’s Day. CHAPTER I. “It is very distressing John, excuse her as you will; but beyond dancing and riding I verily believe Nell has not a single thought.” “Nevermind, Mary; she won’t distress you long. She is far prettier than arty of her sisters; she’ll marry soon. \V§ have more cause than most parents to be grateful to matrimony, not only on our own account, but on our girls—it has taken them all off our hands. Seven marriageable daughters were an embarrassing stock-in-trade.” “Nell with all her frivolity, will be difficult to please, John; but, if she ever loves, it will be forever. Somehow I dread the future for Nell." Mrs. Thanet paused, and then continued with a sigh—“Do you still intend Randall for the medical profession?” “Yes; we have discussed that subsay. My mind is made up. Besides, Randall has given in; I knew he would, for, as I have said over and over again, the boy has no special bent, but he knows a good deal about natural history. Believe me, he is more suited to the medical profession than any other, though I dare say he will never rise above mediocrity in it, nor indeed would he in any calling requiring indepence of thought or action.” “Which, above all others, the medical profession does. Your judgment is at fault John.” “Not at all. There are certain lines laid down, and, if he keeps to them, he’ll do—he has brains enough to get through the examinations, and that’s all we need care about it.” Mrs. Thanet sighed; but she was a wise woman, so wasted no more words. At that moment the door was rather brusquely opened, and a young girl came hastily into tho room. “Oh, mamma," she cried, “the Hammonds are getting up a pic-nic to Hart's Hill, and they want us all to join. It is to be on Thursday, next week. ” “Next week I shall be at Warminster, Nell,” answered her mother. “Poor Gussy’s baby is ill. I don’t think you can very well go without me. The Hammonds are not at all select in their choice of acquaintances.” “Well, Ido think it hard!” pouted Nell. “If ever there is a special party a sister or a baby is certain to turn up, and I am left to shift for myself.” “You are too giddy, Nell, and a picnic is a very free-and-easy sort of affair.” “But you forget, mamma,” urged Nell; “Randall can act as my escort. A pic-nic is not like a ball.” Mrs. Thanet smiled; she was an indulgent mother, if a little anxious. „ “You can go, dear,” she said, “if Mrs. Masters”—referring to a matronly friend—“will be responsible for you. She is sure to bo of the party; the Hammonds are never out of her house.” And so it was settled. Nell went to the pic-nic, duly credited by the bland Mrs. Masters, as well as by her twin brother Randall, between whom and herself there existed a marked resemblance. Both were dark of hair and pale of cheek, both had eyes of the deepest darkest hue: but, while Randalls on close scrutiny revealed the soft rich tint of the violet, Nell’s showed the strange rare iridescence of the hazel, suggestive of power and soul. Their very voices, when low pitched, had the same tone, and their smiles displayed the same pearly teeth, in both slightly inclined to be prominent; but, while the smiles on one face were somewhat melancholy and infrequent, on the other they were bright as sunbeams. To-day, on Nell’s fair face, the sunbeams were every w liQcg—now the ayes bad them, anon the lips, which quivered as quivers water touched by a darting ray, and, when eyes and lips were stftl, the lovely countenance seemed to scintillate with radiance from within, for by her side was the one man whom In all the wide world she was destined to Jove for ever. Youth and beauty were his too. They seeqied a pair well matched, as many said; but the love which had entered Noll’s soul, to bo a part of her very being, had only touched the surface ol Lyon Leslie’s heart. He believed himself to be in love; so he had dono on many previous occasions. But this time ho sjoined to have been rather hard bit. If the Initb were tola, he was more than a little uncom r oi table, and in very sober being a soldier, be could command e«- . •*. ,v.

cape if the symptoms became dangerous. Matrimony never entered his thoughts—-at least, not marriage with a dowerless girl of no particular family. He had a pretty exalted idea of his own worth, social and personal, and his ‘figure’ was high. Nell had no thoughts of her own worth from either of those appraising thoughts, in the common sense of the word, of marriage; she only felt she loved, and believed she was loved in return. They had been speaking of Randall, a subject on which Nell always waxed eloquent. “What is your brother going to be?” asked Lyon. “Oh, a doctor! but he doesn’t like the idea.” “Then whoever'makes him become one will be responsible for manslaughter, some day.” -•You see my other brothers are doing well in their professions, and papa chose for them. I think it Will all come right in the end, for he ia clever hnmtfrK fm njifjßut Nell’s trow had a shade of care. She threw it off. “Who made you a soldier?” she asked abruptly. “Myself. They wouldn’t hear of it at home; they wanted mo to take orders, because of a family living—you see I am only a second son—so I enlisted. They saw I was in earnest then, and got me a commission. Do you like soldiers?” She looked up at him quickly; his eyes had a tender questioning look. Hers sank, and she blushed. “Everbody likes soldiers,” she replied; “there's always something about them suggestive of the old days of chivalry and ro——” She stopped, and blushed more deeply. “Romance,” he said, finishing the word for her, and watching her eloquent face. She lifted her head quickly, and again met his gaze. He drew a decanter towards him, then lifted a glass and whispered softly— * “Drink to mo only with thine eye 9, ™ And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine.” Her deep hazel eyes literally glowed with fire as they for one brief moment seemed to blehd with his. His kindled cheek flushed, he leaned forward and touched her hand; then, pale as a lily, she rose and strolled as in a dream into the dell. He followed. Wild flowers clustered at their feet, the dog-rose and woodbine arched their heads. In shady nooks the violet thronged, filling the still air with perfume, and on grassy mounds was grouped the fragrant lily of the valley. Threading its way with a scarcelyheard murmur, was a tiny stream, filled to the very Brink with clear limpid water, fed by a well-less spring that in tlie droughiest summer never Iried up; it flowed on its even way to the great placid lake outside the confines of the valley. The banks of the silvery rivulet were fringed with ferns, for-get-me-nots, and flag lillies. Nell bent by its side and threw blossoms in. With his hands full of for-get-me-nots Lyon Leslie stood watching her. “Shall we try our fate, Nell?” he whispered, giving heras he spoke some of the flowers he lipid. She took them, and again their eyes met. There was no one nigh, no sound but the quret murmer of the stream, and now and again the broken song of some bird returning to its mate. No loud carol ever pierced the dell, only snatches of tender melodies. A subdued halo was over all, and the very sunbeams stole in with mellowed light. As the flowers were passed to her her hand touched Lyon’s, and she trembled. His arm stole round her, and Che-made no-adverse movement. His pell—love’s spell—was on her. Then their lips met in one long silent kiss, and the flowers fell to their feet. The strains of music came from a distance. “They are going to dance,” she whispered. “ Let us go round by the lake.” Still encircling her with his arm, he obeyed. Her spell too was on him, and he weighed the words she whispered. There was not one to bind him to her. She did not miss such words. She hardly heard those he spoke; all that entered her soul was the deep rich tone of his voice, the glowing fire of his eyes. In her heart of hearts she believed that in that supreme hour their spirits had mingled in an indissoluble union, and that what must follow to join their hands was but the required conformance to the word’s rules. As they neared the lake, the stream broadened; it hardly seemed to move. The trees had grown sparse, and the sunshine was strong and full. She stooped and plucked two sprays of for-get-me-nots. “Let us put each other to the test,” she said, giving him one. “Throw with me and see if we reach the lake together, Whoever fails is false.” And she laughed in merry defiance of such a possibility, at the same moment coating hor v veßture. He did the same. Then, hand in hand they followed the frail dies, which slowly bore onwards, his in advanoeof here. Insensibly Lyon’s spray wore toward the bank, from which, as the stream neared the lake, the fronds of the fern grew taller and stronger, and now, pushed forward by the thick growing herbage behind, were bent over and touched the water. But straight, unswerving as the clear water itself, Nell’s spray sailed on. It was in advance now. “You are tired of me,” she whispered. He answered her with his eyes, and she was content. As the rivulet advanced to its source it widened and its waters became troubled. The lazy lappinjr of the lake, too, against the tshore changed at that point to tremulous agitation, and then, with ceaseless quiver, and now and again an im- • " ' ’

potent dash, as if in protest and warning, received into its quiet bosom th« little tributary from the valley. But, as .the waters touched each other, Nell's spray rose above the troubled surface, and, carried by an impetuous wavelet, lay still and fair, beyond the margin of the lake. But Nell was not looking at the stranded spray; her eyes were fixed upon its laggard convoy,—which, caught by an over-reaching frond, had bean sucked Into the thick fuliuge of the bank; and now, to all but her keen sight, was lost to view. With a great sigh she looked up at Lyon, a scared expression in her sweet eyes. “You are superstitious,” he said. “I shall live to plague you long enough.” “It was not your death I feared,' 1 she

whispered. “Then what?” “Your truth;” and her cheek paled. ‘ ‘Love and fear do not dwell together, Neil, in trusting hearts.- 11 Then, as if curiously, he added—“ Would you be very angry?” “At what?” It was a home question, and Lyon was prudent. “If anyone played you false,” he said, smiling. “Any one!” she said, flushing as if pained; and then proudly—“ You say love and fear cannot share the same heart; neither can anger and love. When anger enters, love has gone.” “You would be unforgiving then?” he asked. “Not unforgiving; I should simply forget”—and then, in a lower tone—“and never, never trust again.” There was a silence between the two. She stood before him pulling a fern to pieces, her head bent and her eyelashes wet. He was reading her downcast face with a strange wonder in his heart that he could feel so strongly as he did. Would it then be so easy for him to “forget”? Would he repent when too late? His face too grew troubled. A great tear dropped from Nell’s eyes upon her hand. He bent and wiped it away. She flung the fern to the .ground, and threw her.head back with just a Aouehof Hauteur. “If any one played me false, I should find something better to do than poor Mariana of the Moated Grange did,” she laughed. “I should gather up the fragments of my shattered life and work.” And there stole into his heart a conviction that the young impressionable girl he thought to love so lightly, to dally with a few leisure hours, and leave for other “woods and pastures new,” was a noble woman, strong in, as yet, untried character, brave to dare and to do. Deep he might dive again, but never find so priceless a pearl; wide he might range, but never pluck so sweet a flower. Words from which he might never >swerve trembled on his tongue; his hand was raised to cast the die, when she said, very simply, but earnestly—- ♦-? I- think I have what some would call Plebeian instincts. I love work.” Yes, that was the barrier—Plebeain bringing up. He would never pass that. When the glamour of early love had given place to sober reflection, he would be sure to feel the difference between them; it would he shown in a thousand ways; and then her relatives, he could not stand them—at least some ; and he knew he could not separate her from them entirely, if at all, for Nell was devoted to her father and fond of her sisters. So quickly passed these thoughts through his brain, that almost on the instant he answered Nell, Tightly, yet tenderly—- ‘ * There is nothing of the Plebeian about my Nell; she would grace a throne! ” 7 * - • At that moment came the strains of music from the valley, “They are going to dance,”, she said. • “Then we’ll tread a measure on the greensward together,” he answered, taking her by the hand and leading her back to the rest of the company. Nell’s heart fluttered, and her eyes were pensive; there was a blank, she could not tell why—a want, she could not tell what. (to be continued.)