The Huntington argus. [volume], January 28, 1880, Image 2

About The Huntington argus. [volume] (Huntington, W. Va.) 1872-1905

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TILE STOUT OF A HOMO.
CHAPTER L
The day was full of sweetness aid
light, the glory and warmth that only
simmer can shed aver and extract from
the laid, and which made even the self
absorbed young pair under the trees on
the lawn, down by the verdure eovered
old vicarage house, grateful for the shel
ter afforded them. Any one who had
aeaa the naturalness of such self-absorp
tion, and at the same time have felt sor
Ty for it For though the dawning
lining between them was “natural,” it
was not fit The girl wa9 the third
daughter of a poor country parson, who
eked out a slender professional incoras
bv takiug pupils. The hoy was a highly
prized sou of a noble house. And still
they were allowed to be together.
The young fellow of seventeen, though
he had not come to bn lull nentage oi
maily beauty, yet was a very worthy
idol, so far as appearances went, for a
young girl to set up anil worship. Ho
had the slender, clearly definsd, delicate
form and features that belong to the
handsomest rape in the world—the
English Aristocracy. There was a look
of “breed” about him that was unmis
takable—that look which is ntverseen
unless blood and culture have aided in
prsdueing it. What wonder, then, that
May Barou contrasted him with the
well-to-do young farmer in her father’s
parish; aud having dona that, erected
an altar in her heart, whereon ebe
worshipped Lionel Hastings unceasingly!
She was supremely happy this morning,
tor her mother ha$ given her a half
holiday to dispose of as she pleased.
That excelleut mother, on household
cares intent, quite believed that she
would go off for a stroll in the woods
with some girl friend, as it had been
iaer waut to do from her childhood.
But Lionel magnificently ordered her
to “stay aqd read poetry to him under
the weeping-willow,” nud she was only
too pleased to obey him.
One song rau thus;
X ou call xae t weut ana tenner samss,
Anci gently smooth »ny tresses ;
And all the while ny huppy heart,
Boats time to yonr caresses.
You love me in yonr Under way!
I answer as yea let me;
bet oh! there comes another day—
The day that you’M forget me!
Her voice had faltered more than
once ia the reading, and he had watched
trer confusion and enjoyed it with hall
laughing malice. Boy a? be was he
knew so well what was iu the young
girl's heart. He thoroughly understood
her sudden shame aud perfectly realized
how keculy the dread that he might go
away and forget her cut May Baron.
“Look at me, petl” he said with sud
den authority.
“1—I am looking for something else
to read," she stammered.
“Look at me and confess. Area't
you sorry you lead those lines, because
they define your own situation and feel
ings to a certain degree ?'! . .
“Lionel, don’t be so rudo arid cruel.”
He had taken her chin in his hand
and turned her face toward him. And
she kuew her face was telling the truth
—tint she lored him much I “My own
pi', he paid, more softly and seriously,
“i shall never go away and forget you
—trust me for that." Then he reached
himself up aud kissed the.little face thai
vfne rich with happy blushes now ; and
May was well couteut to Ijelieve him.
i'l shall have you painted-by Millais,'*
he said presently, and regarding her
critically.
Theu he west on to tell her that Mil
a s ad painted his two sisters, both »f
whom wer* great beaiftis* and celebrated
belles and both of whoih were Carried
to peers of the realm. “They were the
youngest brides of their respective sea
son*,”, he added. “Ida wan only six*
teen."
“Sixteeh! my age!" iu astonishment.
“It was luck your sister Ida didn’t
care far any af the others,” she suggested
timidly.
“She did, though. She was an awful
gooae about a fellow called Bartre Friel;
but hadn't the needful. The best of it
is that the St. John’s cousin had intro
duced St. John toTda. He thought”—
the hoy paused and laughed lightly at
the absurdity of it—“that Ida would win
old SL John's liking—she won the title
and coronet."
They were summoned to luncheon
soon after this and May went in dream
ily, her head being full of faint outlines
of the romances in real life, of which
Lionel’s sister Ida was the heroine.
Her meditations on this subject were
put to flight abruptly. Her father
spots in agitated tones—tones which
the poor wife knew so well portented
fresh struggles, fresh combats with pov
erty. “Lionel, I have had a letter from
Lady Hastings this morning; she thinks
that the sooner you go to Oxford the
better.” Mr. Baron’s voice trembled
very obviously. Lionel “going to Ox
ford” meant the direct loss of three hun
dred a year to the poor overwrought
vicar of Ballon.
Lionel wrote a nice note to May during
his first term—a note which May prized
next to her twisted gold ring, though
there was little in it save an account ©f
his feaats on the river,and of the prowees
of a certain well-pedigreed bull-dog pup.
She heard bo more from him.
* * * * * , * -
Gradually the old vicarage house and
all the occupants of it faded from his
mind. He finished his college career
with inorethau credit. He was a touch
more than clever, and his impetuosity
stood him instead of perseverance and
carried him well on the road he had
$hoeen. By the time he was five-and
twenty had done such good service to
tire government by the subtlety, skill and
energy with which he had carried thro1
a delicate negotiation abroad, that the
government recognized his claim munifi
cently, and gave him an important and
highly salaried home appointment. In
fact, Lionel Hastings bad made his mark,
and the mothers of daughters regarded
h:m kindly. The years had flown with
him—the eight years had passed since
he had said good-bye to May Baron and
promised never to forget her. But they
had flown with her.
CHAPTER II.
The first three years that passed after
their parting had gone by peacefully
enough. But the last five had seen her
knocked about from oue family of stran
gers to another, now as companion, now,
as governess, for her father and mother
were dead, and all May inherited from
them was a patient, brave heart. There
had been uo lack of lovers during those
long years. But Bhe clung as tenacious
ly to her old memories as she did to that
•frail little pledge of the affection Lionel
Hastings had forgotten. So she prefer
red working her way on wearily enough
to forfeiting her claims to aherished
hope and her ring.
She was acting as Secretary and aman
uensis to a lady, who insieted on being
“literary,” and who, luckily for May,
was really fond of good works. This
lady was sufficiently bright and clever
to be able to collect about her a bright
and clever circle. It wae while mingling
with this circle that May heard the name
of her old lore again for the first time in
eight years.
One evening there jgs a company and
among tie foist# was Lionel. May felt
aa$f tne w<S#»."Lionel, don’t you know
me?" must be painted on her face, aa
after speaking to Mre. Gaspard and
his mother he turned and carelessly
scanned the form and feature# of the
girl who wore the twisted ring on her
finger,.. . . .....
“A golden beauty," was bi# thoughts
as he let his gaze travel away from her.
“Never seen her before; quite new
evidently."
It was relief to ber that at this mo
ment, Mr#. Gaspard came to her and
issued her polite command in these words,
“My dear, will you sing ?”
Lionel looked at her again.
How dear be was to her in spite of
bis unconsciousness! How desperately
dear! How she hated Lady Hastings at
that momeut for comiDg up to him and
putting her hand ©n his arm and telling
him that she must take him away ! How
she envied the mother! IIow sheen
vied the sen !
hhe ooulu not resist toe impulse, be
fore her—though she strove to be blind
to it—rose the scene and the actors in
it—the day that was full of all summer
glory, sweetness, warmth and light—the
velvet lawn the weeping willow and rose
colored vicarage, and the splendid boy
hero to whom a lovely, shy little girl was
reading poetry.
She could not resist the impulse.—
Come what would, he should be remind
ed of that scene too. And so when her
pearly notes in all their purity emote his
ear, they fell on the words:
Ton love mo in your tender way ?
I answered as you let me ;
But oh 1 there cemes another day—
The day that you’ll forget me 1
And after one eager gasping glance,
be exclaimed. “Why, it's May—May
Baron,” and her song came to an end.
ITis self possession was eo easy, so
perfect, that May at once recovered her
own. True, she ceased singing the in
stant he exclaimed;
“Why* ita May—May Baron I” But
even his mother could find no fault with
the slow, sweet smile and gentle inclina
tion of the head with which the beauti
ful and clever compauion greeted her
father’s former pupil.
lie did not recognize the ring. As
soon as she recognized that he was ab
solutely without any recollection of what
she had supposed them to be to one an'
other, May took care that he should not
aee it She slipped on her glove, and
when that was done she felt safer. But
she need have had no fear. He had for*
gotten the episode of the ring as utterly
as he bad forgotten the words he had
spoken when she read the poem under
the willow tree, the same poem she had
sung this night
Soon there was a fresh arrival. Love
ly Lady St. John, the leader of the wild
est, gayest, most daring set in tows,
entered, and in another minute a “friend
ly” smile flashed round the circle as
Bartie Friel lounged in.
Of all spectacles od the face of the
earth, Lady St. Job p’s reckless disregard
of appearanees was the most obnoxious
to Lady St John’s brother. He was
fond oHier, proud of her, well inclined
to believe that there was—as 6be used to
assure him—“no harm in her intimacy
with poor Bartie.
But he could not indure the looks that
wereca6t npon the affair. And in exact
proportion as he loved his sister he
detested Bartie Frisk
So now with a sterner face than Lady
St John’s friends and aJspereers cared
to smile into, he proceeded to take leave
of his hostess and botf himself out of
the room.
As he was doing this he heard the
man who was carelessly compromising
Efa—the man whom Ue toast disliked in
the world—aok: “Who is that will the
jet in her fiaj$v? ^b* is the lonliest
woman out! A9 these words fell on
Lionel'* ear lie remembered that ha h^d
not said good-bye to “the loveliest woman
out," who was no othef than hi* kid
friend and play fellow, May Bhrok.
II* wade his way back to her, atfd
some little delay being caused by tbe
increasing crowd, by the time he reached
her Bartie Friel bad gained tbe intro
duction and was engaging Ler in con
versation.
A sharp angry spasm of annoyance—
he could not define the cause of it—
Lionel Hastings, and he tufneJ away
and left the house without giving an
other word to May. '
That night the ring and his own letter
were packed up carefully put aside, she
could not make up her mind to destroy
them though something told her that
it would be wiser to do so. But “just
for a little longer" she kept them.
******
Itlis greatly to be pitted that every one
is afflicted with the baleful thing, a too
communicative triend. At any rate
Lady St. John was ao afflicted, and thus
it happened one day, when Lionel was
quietly having a cup of tea with his
sister, that they learned from the lips
of this friend that Bartie Friel waa posi
tirely going to marry that Miss Laron
who lived with Mr#. Gaspard.
Lady St. John received the tidings
with the utmost sang froid. “Ishe?’
she asked, indifferently.
“Bartie Friel marry that girl!” Lionel
exclaimed the moment he was alone with
Ida. “She shall know what he is before
she is a day older. Why, shea a good
girl. The fellow would shock her out
of her life or reason.’’
And then it all came to him. “Why,
I was in love with her myself when I
was a lad,” he thought, and he wondered
if May ever thought of that An hour
later he was inquiring for Miss Baron at
Mis. Gaspard’s door, and heariug that
ehe would receive him.
“On the score of old friendship I am
going to presume greatly with you—
greatly, Miss Baron,” be began.
She opened her evea in aatonishment.
“Haven't you forgotten the old friend
ship yet?” she said. “What a wonder
ful memory you must have!’’
“Indeed I have not forgotten the old
friendship yet,” he replied gently; “it
prompt* me to say something that you
may not like to hear."
lie paused and her treacherous heart
began to beat. But she was mistress
of herself. His ring and his letter were
nestling in her bosom all the while.
She made no answer and he thought;
“She is resenting my interference; she
has forgotten how fond I was of her
when I was a boy and ebe looks upon
this as mere impertinence.”
“You are astonished at my interfering;
I feel sure of that. But, May, I cannot
forget the days when we were children
together; ean you ?”
“She bent her head down lower and
he could not we her eyes, but he went
on; “You have forgotten, probably,
May, and why should you have remem
bered, inJeed? But 1 will remember
you, and then you will understand that
it was more than friendly interest that
prompts me to interfere." Memory jog
ged him at this moment and be went on
glibly ; “Ycm must have forgotten how
I loved you, darling—'”
“Have you not been the one to for
get V , _
“On my faith, no! Not now, when I
see yon again,” he protested ardently and
then as he clasped her in his arms she
showed him a verse from tbesoDgthat
had awakened his memories:
I do not fear the darkest way
With those dear arms about me ;
But oh ! I dread another day—
The day you’ll d^ without me I