SEMI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE SECTION 7
tc Maun M A M5H
(Continued from Pag 2)
To which came answer ly messenger:
"Hon. John Garcide:
"My dear Garcide. Can't go
for two works. My fool nephew
Jim is on his vacation, nnl 1
don't know where lie is prowling.
"Hastily yours,
Jamks J. Ckawforh."
"P. S. There's a director's
mooting at, three. Come down
and we'll settle all quarrels."
To this the lion. John Garcide tele
graphed: "All right," and hurriedly
prepared to escort his sister and Miss
Castle to the mid-day express for
Sagamore Hills.
H.
Miss Castle usually rose with the
robins, when there were any in the
neighborhood. There were? plenty on
the lawn around the Sagamore Club
that dewy June morning, rhirping,
chirking, trilling, repeating their end
less arias from tree and gate-post. And
through the outcry of the robins, the
dry cackle of the purple grackles, atid
the cat-bird's whine floated earthward
the melody of the golden orioles.
Miss Castle, fresh from the bath,
breakfasted in her own rooms with an
appetite that astonished her.
She was a wholesome, fresh-skinned
girl, with a superb body, limbs a trifle
heavy in the strict classical sense,
straight-browed, blue-eyed, and very
lovely anil Greek.
Pensively she ate her toast, tossing a
few crumbs at the robins; pensivt ly she
disposed of two eggs, a trout, and all the
chocolate, and looked into the pitcher
for more cream.
The swelling bird-music only inten
sified the deep, sweet country silence
which brooded just beyond the lawn's
wet limits; she saw the flat river
tumbling in the sunlight; she saw the
sky over all, its blue mystery untroubled
by a cloud.
"1 love all that," she said, dreamily,
to her maid behind her. "Never mind
ii-v hair now; I want the wind to blow
it.'"
The happy little winds of June
loitering among 'the lilacs, heard; and
they came ami blew her bright hair
across her eyes, puff after puff of per
fumed balm, and stirred the delicate
stuff that clung to her, and she felt
their caress on her bare feet.
"I mean to go anil wade in that
river," she said to her maid. "Dress me
very quickly."
Hut when she was dressed the desire
for childish things had passed away,
and she raised her grave eyes to the
reflected eyes in the mirror, studying
them in silence.
"After all," she said, aloud, "I am
young enough to have found happi
ness if they had let me. . . . The
sunshine is full of it, out-doors. . . . 1
could have found it. ... I was not
meant for men. ... Still ... it is all
in the future yet. I will learn not to be
afraid."
She made a little effort to smile at
hrself in the mirro, but her courage
could not carry her as far as that. So,
with a quick, quaint gesture of adieu,
she turned and walked rapidly out into
the hallway.
Miss Garcide was in bed, snoozing
patiently. "I won't be out for weeks,"
said the poor lady, "so you will have to
amuse yourself alone."
Miss Castle kissed her and wont away
lightly down the polished stairs to the
great hall.
The steward came up to wish her
good-morning, and to place the resources
of the club at her disposal.
"I don't know," she said, hesitating
at the veranda door; "I think a sun
bath is all 1 rare for. You may hang
a hammock under the maples, if you
will. I suppose." she added, "that
1 am quite alone at the club?"
"One gentleman arrived this morn
ing," said the steward "Mr. Craw
ford." She looked back, poised lightly in
the door-way through which the morn
ing sunshine poured. All the color had
left her face. "Mr. Crawford," she said,
in a dull voice.
"lie has gone out after trout." con
tinued the steward, briskly; "he is a
rare rod, ma'am, is Mr. Crawford. He
caught the eight-pound fish perhaps
you noticed it on the panel in the
billiard-room."
Miss Castle came into the hall again,
and stepped over to the register. I'ndor
her signature, "Miss Castle ami maid,"
she saw "J. Crawford, New York."
The ink was still blue and faint.
She turned and walked out into the
sunshine.
The future was no longer a gray,
menacing future; it had become sud
denly the terrifying present, and its
shadow fell sharply around her in the
sunshine.
Now all the courage of her race must
be summoned, and must respond to the
summons. The end of all was at hand;
but when had a Cas'le ever flinched
at the face of fate under any mask?
She raised her resolute head; her
eyes matched the sky clear, un
clouded, fathomless.
In hours of deep distress the sound
of her own voice had uways helped her
to endure; and now, as she walked
across the lawn bareheaded, she told
herself not to grieve over a just debt
to be paid, not to quail because life
held for her nothing of what she had
dreamed.
If there was a tremor now and then
in her low voice, none but the robins
heard it ; if she lay flung face downward
in the grasses, under the screen of
alders by the water, there was no one
but the striped chipmunk to jeer ami
mock.
"Now listen, you silly girl,' 'she whis
pered; "he cannot take away the sky
and the sunshine from you! lie cannot
blind and deafen you, si'.ly! Cry if you
must, you little coward! you will
marry him nil the same."
Suddenly sitting up, alert, she heard
something singing. It was the river
flowing close beside her.
She pushed away the screen of leaves
and stretched out full length, looking
down into the water.
A trout lay there; his eyes were shin
ing with an opal tint, his scarlet spots
blazed like jewels.
And as she lay there, her bright hair
tumbled about her face, she heard,
above the river's monotone, a sharp,
whiplike sound swis-s-sh and a sil
very thread flashed out across her
vision. It was a fishing-line and
leader, and the fisherman who had cast
it was standing fifty feet away up
stream, hip-deep in the sunlit water.
Swish! swish! and the long line flew
back, straightened far behind him,
and again lengthened out, the single
yellow-and-gilt fly settling on the
water just above the motionless trout,
who simply backed off down-stream.
Hut there were further troubles for
the optimistic angler; atough alder stem,
just under water, became entangled in
the line; the fisherman gave a cautious
jerk; the hook sank into the water
soaked wood, buried to the barb.
"h, the deuce!" said the fisherman,
calmly.
Heforo she could realize what, he was
about, lie had waded across the shallows
and seized the alder branch. A dash
of water showered her as he shook the
hook free; , she stood up with an in
Voluntary gasp and met the astonished
eyes of the fisherman.
He was a tall, sunburned young
fellow, with powerful shoulders and an
oay, free-limbed carriage; he was also
soaking wet and streaked with mud.
"I'pon my word," he said, "I never
saw you! Awf'lly sorry; hope I haven't
spoiled your sport but 1 have. You
Were fishing, of course?"
"No, I was only looking," she said
"Of course, I've spoiled your sport"
"Not at all." he said, laughing;
"that alder twig did for me."
"Hut there was a trout lying there
I saw him; and the trout saw me, so
uf course he wouldn't rise to your cast.
And I'm exceedingly sorry," she ended,
niniling in spite of herself.
Her hair was badly rumpled; she had
been crying, and he could see it, blit
he had never looked Upon such tear
stained, smiling, and dishevelled love
liness. As he looked and marvelled, her smile
died out; it came to her with a distinct
shock that this water-logged specimen
of sun-tanned manhood must be Craw
ford. "Are you?" she said, scarcely aware
that she spoke. "What?" he "asked,
puzzled.
"Mr. Crawford?"
"Why, yes and, of course, you are
Miss Castle," he replied, smiling easily.
"I saw your name in the guest -'..ook
this morning. Awf'lly glad you came,
Miss Castle; hope you'll let me show
you where the big fellows lie."
"You mean the fish," she said, with
composure.
The shock of suddenly realizing that
this man was the man she had to marry
confused her; she made an effort to get
things back into proper perspective, for
the river was swimming before her eyes,
and in her cars rang a strangely pleasant
voice Crawford's saying all sorts of
good-humored things, which she heard
but scarcely comprehended.
Instinctively she raised her hands
to touch her disordered hair; she stood
there naively twisting it into shape
again, her eyes constantly reverting to
the sun-tanned face before her.
"And I have the pleasure of knowing
your guardian, Mr. Garcide, very slight
ly - in a business way," he was saying,
politely.
"Ophir Steel," she said.
"Gli, we are making a great battle,"
he said. "I'm only hoping we may
come to an understanding with Mr.
Garcide."
"I thought you had already come to
an understanding," she observed, calm-
ly.
"Have we? I hope so; I had not heard
that," he said, quickly. "How did you
hear?"
Without warning she flushed scarlet
to J-cr neck; and she was as amazed
as he at the surging color staining her
white skin.
She could not endure that she could
not face hivi so she bent her head a
little in recognition of his presence and
stepped past him, out along the river
bank. He looked after her, wondering what
he could have said.
She wondered, too, and her wonder
grew that instead of self-pity, repug
nance, and deep dread, she should feel
such a divine relief from the terror that
had possessed her.
Now at least she knew the worst.
This was the man!
She strove to place him, to recall his
face. She could not. All along she had
pictured Crawford as an older man.
And this broad-shouldered, tanned
young fellow was Crawford, after all!
Where could her eyes have been? How
absurd that her indifference should
have so utterly blinded her!
She stood a moment on the lawn,
closing her eyes.
Oh. now she had no difficulty in re
calling his face in fact the difficulty
was to shut it out, for it was before
her eyes, open or shut - it was before
her when she entered her bedroom find
sank into a cushioned chair by. the
breezy window. And she took her
burning cheeks in both hands and rested
her elbows on her knees.
Truly terror had fled. It shamed her
to find herself thanking God that her
fate was to lie in the keeping of this
young man. Yet it was natural, too,
f r the child had nigh died of horror,
though the courage of the Castles had
held her head high in the presence of
the inevitable. And now suddenly into
her gray and hopeless future, peopled
by the phantoms of an old man, stepped
a living, smiling young fellow, with
gentle manners and honest speech, and
a quick courtesy which there was no
mistaking.
She had no mother nobody to talk
to so she hail long ago made a con
fidante of her own reflection in the
looking-glass. And to the mirror she
now went, meeting the reflected eyes
shyly, yet smiling with friendly sym
pathy: "Silly! to frighten yourself! It is all
over now. He's young and tall and sun
burned. I don't think he knows a
great deal hut don't be frightened, he
is not a bit. dreadful, . . . only . . .
it is a pity, . . . but I suppose he wa
in love with me, . . . and, after all, it.
doesn't, matter, . . . only I atn . . .
sorry . . . for him. ... If he had
only cared for a girl who could love
him! ... I don't suppose 1 could, . . .
ever! . . . Hut I will be very kind to
him, . . . to make up."
III.
She saw him every day; she dined at
the club table now.
Miss Garcide's hay-fever increased
with the ripening summer, and she lay
in her room with all the windows closed,
sneezing and reading Anthony Trol
lope. When Miss Castle told her that Mr.
Crawford was a guest at the club,
Miss Garcide wept over her for an
hour.
"I feel like weeping, too," said Miss
Castle, tremously "but not over my
self." "Dot over hib?" inquired Miss Gar
cide. "Yes, over him. lie ought to marry
a girl who could fall in love with him."
Meanwhile Crawford was dining every
evening with her at the great club table,
telling her of the day's sport, and how
a black bear had come splashing across
the shallows within a few rods of where
he stood fishing, and lrw the deer had
increased, and were even nibbling the
succulent green stalks in the kitchen
garden after nightfall.
( Continued on Page 8 )