The west shore., August 01, 1885, Page 245, Image 17

THE , WEST;, SHORE.
245
" I I thought you could not get from the ledge," I
muttered. It was too absurd, too ridiculous. It was no
wonder that they all screamed with laughter at the fool's
errand thoy had pome upon, nnd stamped about and cluug
to one another. But when he laughed, too, there was not
an ache or pain in my body and I had out my wrist to
ine bone against a splinter of rock that hurt me one
half as much; Surely lie might have soon anothor side
to it But he did not; and so I managed to hide my
bandaged wrist from him, and papa drove me home.
There I broke down entirely, and Clare put me to bed,
and petted me, and was very good to me. And when I
came down next day with an ache in every part of me he
was gone.' ' '
"He asked me to tell you," said Clare, not looking up
from the. fly she was tying. at the window, "that he
thought you were the bravest girl he had ever met."
So he understood now, when others had explained it
to him. " No, Clare," I said coldly, " he did not say that
exactly; he said "the bravest little girl."' ; For, indeed,
lying up stairs with the window open, I had heard him
set off on his long drive to Laerdalsoren. , ;
. . ; ' . ( : , ' HI8 BTORY.
I was not dining out much at that time, partly because
my acquaintance in town was limited, and something too
because I oared little for it But these were pleasant
people, the old gentleman witty Bnd amusing, the chil
dren, lively girls, nice to look at, and good to talk with
The party had, too, a holiday flavor about them whole
some to recall in Scotland Yard; and as I had thought,
playtime over; I should see no more of them, I was pro
portionately pleased to find that Mr. Guest had not for
gotten me, and pleased also to regard his invitation to
dinner at a quarter to eight as a royal oommand.
What ,with one delay owing to work, and another
' 3 i i .i..nna tiia of the town, it
was twenty-five minutes after the hour named when I
reached Bolton Gardens. Mr. Guest greeted me kindly,
hushed my apologies, took me down the table, and said,
"My daughter," and Miss Guost shook hands with me
and pointed to the chair at her left ' ' ;
I think that I never saw so remarkable a likeness- to
her younger, sister in my life. She might have been
little Bab herself, but for her dress and some striking
differences. Miss Guest could not be more than eighteen,
in form almost as fairy-like as the little one, with the
same childlike, innocent look on her face. She had the
big, grey eyes, too, that were so charming in Bab; but in
her they were more soft ami tender and thoughtf ul, and
a thousand times more charming. Her hair, too, was
brown and wavy; ouly, instead of hanging loose or in
pig-tail anywhere and anyhow in a fashion I well reroem
ii AniUl in a coronal on the shapely little
head, that was so Greek, and in iU gracious, stately, old
fashioned pose, so unlike Bab'a. Her dress, of some
M.m. r.uv stuff, revealed the prettiest white throat in
the world, and arms decked in pearls, and, so far, ntf
more recalled my little fishing mate than the sedate suit
possession and assured dignity of tlus girl, as she talkod
to her other neighbor, suggested Bab making panoakos
and chattering with the landlady's children in her
oUiuiguly aud wonderfully acquired Morse.
"Have you quite settled down after your holiday?"
she askod, staying the apologies I was for pouring into
her oar. , .
" I had until this evening, but the sight of your father
is like a breath of fiord air. ' I hope your sisters are
well.".
"My sisters?" she murmured wonduriugly, her fork
half-way to her pretty mouth and her attitude oue of
questioning. ..
" Yes," I said, rather puiutlod. " You know they were
with your father when I bad the good fortune to meit
him. Miss Clare and Bah,"
I really began to foel unoomforkble. Her color roso,
and she looked me in the face In a half-proud, half-foar.
ful way as if she resoutod the inquiry. It was a relief
to me, when, with some show of ooufusion, she at length
stammered, " Oh, yes, I beg your pardon, of oourse they
were! How very foolish of me. They are quite well,
thank you," and so was silent again. . But I understood
now. Mr. Guest had omitted to niontiou my name, and
she had taken me for some one else of whose holiday
she knew.: I gathered from the aspect of the tuble and
the room that the Guests saw a good deal of company,
and it was a very natural mistake, (hough by the grave
look she bout upon her plate it was dear that the young
hostess was taking herself to task for it
'"You were nearly drowned, or something of the kind,
were you not?" she asked, aftor an interval during which
we had both talked to othore.
"Well, not precisely. Your sister fancied I was in
danger, and behavod in the pluckiest manner -so bravely
that I can almost feel sorry that tho danger was not tlutre
to dignify her heroism." "
"That was like her, she answered In a tone juat a
little soornf uL " You must have thought her a trribln
tomboy. Now toll me did you not third so?" she mur
mured, graciously burning the slightest bit toward inn,
and opening bor eyes as they looked Into mine in a way
that to a man who had spnnt the day In a dusty room in
Great Scotland Yard was sufficiently intoxicating.
' "No," I said, lowering mr voice In imitation of hors.
"No, Miss Guest, I did not think so at all. I thought
your sister a brave little thing, rather careless as ohildru
are apt to bo, but likely to grow into a charming girl."
I wondered, marking bow she bit her lip ami refrained
from asseut, whether, iiuixswibls as it must win to auy
one looking in her face, there might not be something of
the shrew about my beautiful usighuor. Iler Urn wheu
she spoke of her sisktr seemed to impart do great g'l.
wilL . ;
"So that is your opinion?" she said, aftar pause.
"Do you know," with laughing glance, "that soma
people think I am like her." -'
' "Yes?" I answered gravely. " Well, I should 1
fable to judge, who have sou yott both and yet am not an