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About The west shore. (Portland, Or.) 1875-1891 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 1, 1886)
60 THE WEST SHORE. U useless ti Htay here longer; lie is right. I will cross ... t I I. :i ...Ml I.,, intra linr tO-lllglll, Rll'l Wliell 1 COIIHJ UltCn. 11 will no way." It in hardly evening; as yot the fnctory people linve nut turned out from their work, the streets are empty mid Bili'iit, tho light is dull mid grey, there iH im oppress iviies in the air as of a coining storm. For once, as Horace acknowledges in Hm niidHt of his irritation, for tuiifl favors him. As he looks down the street he sees Aiunta coming towards him. Nhe is on her way home from vosntr, for it is n feast-day. Sho is accompanied only hy Marie, who walks muttering and grumbling close nt her heels. They have come to the stono bridge which leads over the river. They stop for nn iiiHtant to allow n laden wagon, with its team of horses jingling their hells, to pass them hy, and in a moment Horace is on the narrow foot way beside thorn. " Marie," he says, with an authoritative tap on the old woman's slioiildir, "Marie, my good woman, yon nre fa tigued. I see you pant for breath. Hereon this stono wnt you may rest yourself. I am going to take Mile. AimiM) down to the water's side. And roinember silence and discretion are ii woman's greatest virtues; oven in this world they hIiiiII be rewarded." "Ah, monsieur, it is a crime, a treachery you would have me commit," cries the old servant, but ho pays no heed to her, and so she resigns herself, and seated upon the Is-neli which he. IIM Niinted out she folds her brown, wrinkled hands over her brown slulT petticoat. Then it is that IIraee, turning his flushed, handsome face iH,n her, tells Aimeo tlwtt she is to come with him' And sho does not resist his will, f,.r is it not her joy to ols-y his liehests? "The letter has come, AineV," he Bays, "and I boo now Ul ,t was a mistake to write. I can not make them understand "lour father, too, lays u,k, mo harden-'I't'-ns. I think must leave you jht fr liltI(, tlmt j ZZy'Zu" "" f,"1,M nml d"im V" viewwl'v ,j',: Ly- r,.n,o11,rHo f l,iM intor- '!z::i:rMli"" riU i m. J.- " """W m 1 "He wishes your futln-r aL i ryKAit:zrrl-I!uti8 l-rd that ny ne M marric , ."" their M,renU" """l,t tliu consent f nJlrc'ZTJi'f h " Tint, vnn must not lnt ma ht tlio t . , i your pa. rents bomg angry with you. You must not grieve them for my sake, Horace," speaking the last word almost most under her breath. "They have no right to be angry or grieved either" he answers quickly. " Grieved thnt I should have gatk ered the sweetest, fairest little flower that ever bW somed! It is only that English people are so narrow minded that they can only appreciate themselves." " It is, then, because I am French that they will not approve of me." " Yes, I suppose so," he says reluctantly. " And then your papa is noble, and our family is not and also it is true I shall have so small a fortune. He would have wished you to marry some rich lady, per. haps." " Perhaps," echoes Horace evasively. His short answers full like so many stabs upon her heart. If this is true, and he can not deny it, what is to be the end? " What are we to do then," she cries, whilst her tears fall fast. " We must be true to one another." savs her W eagerly. "It is only a question of waiting until I come back from England. When I am face to face with them It is nothing but these preconceived notions; this absurd iiiBulnr prido." He breaks oh. It is not so easy to make all this plain to her. Sho looks at him wistfully enough, poo child, but she does not speak, for she does not know what to say. "It will not be very long," he continues, speaking rather low and quickly, aid looking away from her. "Only eight hours from Havre to Southampton, and then I am close to my home. It will be nearly as quick os writing, and so much better. I suppose they will want me to stay a few days, and it would not do to put them out, would it? If you can spare me, perhaps I hod better stay a week." "You must not think me so unreasonable," she snyi gently. " I cau wait It will only be seven days after all." ' "Only seven days," he echoes mechanically, but some how he wishes she would not be so literal. " It will soon pass," ho continues, more cheerfully. "Do you know it is only ten days since we first mot ?" " I know," she answered softly. Was not each day m distinct as yesterday, mnrkn,! with ml,1r1 Wiors in love'i . , " fc, calendar? "And you have alrnndv " he cam ngain gladly, for sitting here with her hand in his, even .uB uiey aro soon to part, he cau not chooso but glad. " Oh, my little. pnre love, how unworthy of yo 1 "! Why did this dull nl.l urn f nil I.hlCCS i tl world, hold within it such a treasure for me ?" . f Ilft BllnkP8 her head and half laughs at that. WW w she but a little wild flower he has stooped to gath?