CHAPTER XV.

"Oh, think when a hero is sighing,What danger in such an adorer!What woman would dream of denyingThe hand that lays laurels before her?No heart is so guarded aroundBut the smile of a victor would take it;No bosom can slumber so soundBut the trumpet of glory will wake it."

Rosemont was one of the most ideally beautiful summer houses in Fauquier County.

It was a large white mansion, in villa style, surrounded by flower-gardens and pleasure-grounds, with a charming mountain view, and, nearer home, the silvery windings of the Rappahannock River forming the southern boundary of the large estate.

On the afternoon of the picnic Precious Winans swung lazily in a hammock on the long front piazza, while her favorite, Kay, the immense mastiff, lay within touch of the tiny white hand that every little while reached down to caress the tawny head.

At some distance away Mistress Norah, the good-natured nurse, sat cozily in an armchair, knitting lace.

Along the lattice-work that shaded the end of the piazza clambered a great honeysuckle vine loaded with odorous, creamy-white blooms. Here the busy little bees hummed ceaselessly, bright-winged butterflies hovered, and two robins flew in and out of the branches with straws for a nest. The golden sunshine sifting through the leaves in light and shade on the girl's white gown and sunny headseemed like the spirit of peace spreading its brooding wings over the lovely, quiet scene.

Precious had been reading a book of poems. It lay open now under one white hand, and with half-shut, dreamy eyes, she was recalling the last lines she had read:

"Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,Love gives itself, but is not bought;Nor voice, nor sound betraysIts deep impassioned gaze."It comes—the beautiful, the free,The crown of all humanity,In silence and alone,To seek the elected one."

"Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,Love gives itself, but is not bought;Nor voice, nor sound betraysIts deep impassioned gaze.

"It comes—the beautiful, the free,The crown of all humanity,In silence and alone,To seek the elected one."

The velvety blue of the young girl's eyes looked very soft and tender under the long-fringed lashes that were so dark by contrast with the sunshine of her hair.

She was wondering when love would come to her, and if she would find it sweet.

"Ethel is in love, and she seems very happy," she thought. "And there is Earle—he seems grave and thoughtful lately; and my wise nurse, Norah, declares it's because he is losing his heart to a lovely girl down in the village, a little creature with hazel eyes like stars, and a dimpled face all lilies and roses. I would like to see this pretty girl, only Norah keeps me almost a prisoner, lest I should be kidnaped again. I asked Earle about her, and he laughed and colored, and said perhaps he would bring her to see me some day."

She lifted her voice, and cried out:

"Norah, I wish we could go down to the picnic. I can catch voices on the breeze—voices and laughter. They seem to be having a lovely time, and it is so poky here! Earle is there, you know. Do let us go, too—you and me and Kay!"

"Oh no, my dear, not for the world! The doctor said you were to be very quiet here."

"But I am quite well again. See how plump my cheeks are, and how rosy!"

"But, my Precious, you are very nervous yet. In your dreams you start and cry out about the fire, and the dreadful old woman, and your sister Ethel."

"What about Ethel?" demanded Precious quickly, the delicate color flying from her cheeks.

Nurse Norah answered placidly:

"In your dreams, dearie, it always seems as if Ethel had been with you that day when you were struggling to get out of the fire. Once you cried out, 'Ethel, Ethel, the rope is finished, and you are going down first, then I will follow. And you will catch me if I fall!' Then again you cried: 'The rope has broken. Ethel, are you hurt? No, no, I cannot jump now! I am lost! lost! lost!'"

The beautiful eyes of Precious grew wild and startled.

"Oh, what strange dreams!" she cried tremblingly. "I wish you had not listened, Norah; they were only dreams!"

"Yes, I know, my pet, but they show that you are not quite strong yet, and it is better not to go about into society until you are well again. But I think you ought to have some young girls to visit you, and I will ask your brother to bring that little star-eyed village girl to see you."

"She is here now!" cried Earle's voice, with a ripple of laughter in its low music.

They started and looked, and there he stood with a dripping figure by his side, a girl in white flannel, bareheaded, with wet brown curls all over her little head, and starry hazel eyes alight with laughter.

"Miss Conway has had an accident—fallen into the river, Precious, and I brought her up here for some of your dry clothes, also to make your acquaintance, as I knew you were lonely," explained Earle easily.

"You poor darling!" cried Precious, and her heart went out to the little beauty in a swift rush of tenderness. She took Ladybird's hand. "Come, let us go upstairs. My clothes will fit you, I know!"

Earle detained them a moment.

"I am going down to the telegraph office a moment. Please stay here till I come back, Miss Conway. I will take you home in due time."

"I thank you," Ladybird answered with a stiff little courtesy, then she followed Precious and Norah upstairs.

Some dry garments were soon found, and Norah took the wet ones away.

"You shall have them nice and dry directly," she said kindly, but as she took her way kitchenward, she mused: "This pretty girl reminds me very, very much of the lovely Miss Clendenon, Mrs. Winans' girl-friend, that afterward married Mr. Bruce Conway. This one is like her, but it could not be her daughter, for the little one she named for my mistress, Grace Willard, died before it was a year old, and poor Mrs. Conway, sweet little soul, died herself two years after, and I never heard that she left a child, although to be sure we were abroad then, and when we got home all the Conways were dead but Mr. Bruce, and he had disappeared. He always was a rolling stone."

Meanwhile the two young girls, left alone in the beautiful airy room upstairs, proceeded to get acquainted.

"I don't feel any worse from my ducking, dear, but I'll lie on the bed awhile and rest," cried Ladybird, rumpling up her wet curls with taper fingers.

"Do, dear, and tell me all about it. How did you happen to fall in?" asked Precious.

"It's a long story, Miss Winans," laughingly.

"Call me Precious," said the girl sweetly.

"Thank you, I will; but is that your real name? I never heard of any one named Precious."

"My real name is Pearl; but my mamma called me Precious Pearl so much that it became shortened at last to Precious."

"And my name is Lulu, but my dear mamma died soon after I was born, and then papa could not bear to hear that name spoken, because it had been hers. So theybegan with Ladybird when I was little, and it has been my name ever since, so I will call you Precious if you will call me Ladybird."

"Very well. And now, Ladybird, you will tell me how you came to fall in the water."

She saw the hazel eyes flash with laughter, and Ladybird cried:

"Oh, Precious, will you keep it secret? Will you never, never tell?"

"Never!" answered Precious promptly, and then her guest said gayly:

"I was in a little row-boat on the river, and I fell into the water. They all thought it was an accident, but—you're never to tell any one, you know—I did it purposely. I fell in for them to jump in and rescue me."

"But why?" queried Precious, with astonished blue eyes.

"I will tell you," answered the little madcap, with a silvery peal of laughter. "I have several lovers, Precious, and I wanted to test their love. I thought the one that loved me best would jump in after me."

"And did he, Ladybird?"

"Theyalljumped, Precious!"

"All? How many?"

"Twelve," answered Ladybird, with a littlemoueof actual disgust.

Then the astonishment of the other girl's face moved her to mocking laughter.

"You darling girl! how surprised you look! But I don't blame you. It was very silly for them all to jump in after me! I shall never forget when I lay on the bank after I was rescued, how funny they all looked in their wet clothes, as they crowded around me!" and she laughed ungratefully.

"But—twelvelovers!—I never heard of a girl having so many!" and the younger girl's eyes dilated with wonder.

"Did you never have a lover, Precious?"

"No—I am too young—only sixteen," and Precious blushed at the very thought of a lover.

"I am only seventeen, and I have a dozen. I thought I had thirteen, but when I tested them there were but twelve," cried Ladybird, tossing her dainty head with decided pique.

"Did—my—brother—jump in the water after you?" cried Precious quickly.

"No, indeed—he was not a hero like the others," and Ladybird curled a disdainful lip.

"Do you like heroes, Ladybird?"

"I adore them! If I ever marry any one, he must be brave and grand. I couldn't love a coward!"

"I admire heroes too," cried Precious, her cheek glowing with sudden warmth, her violet eyes shining; and then Ladybird cried eagerly:

"You must admire Lord Chester very much, dear, for I read in the papers how he rescued you from a burning house. It was grand, was it not? and I suppose you will be sure to marry him some day, for that is the way it always turns out in novels."

"You must be very romantic," answered Precious, smiling, though the crimson blushes seemed to burn her lovely face. A moment later she added, in a pensive tone: "I have never seen Lord Chester but once. He is very grand and handsome, but he is my sister Ethel's lover."

"Oh! So he saved your life for her sweet sake! She must really adore him for his bravery; but I wish he would fall in love with you now, you beautiful darling!" cried impulsive Ladybird, entirely disregarding Ethel's claim in her love of romantic denouements.

Norah came in just then with Ladybird's clothing nicely dried and pressed, and by the time she was dressed, and the fluffy curls dried, Earle Winans returned to take her home. As it was almost sunset, she took an affectionate leave of her new friend, promising to keep up the pleasant friendship begun to-day, neither of them dreaming of the untoward events that a day was to bring forth.

DID A SHADOW FROM THE FUTURE FALL OVER THAT YOUNG, DREAMING HEART?

"Like the changeful month of springIs my love, my lady-love;Sunshine beams and glad birds sing,Then a rain-cloud floats above:So your moods change with the wind,April-tempered lady-love;All the sweeter to my mind,You're a riddle, lady-love."

As Earle Winans took his seat by Ladybird in his elegant little phaeton, she stole a quick glance at his dark, handsome face, and wondered at the gravity of his thoughtful eyes. She did not know of the scene with Aura that afternoon, or she would have understood his mood.

He did not look at her nor speak to her for several minutes, and suddenly he heard a low, half-suppressed sob.

He turned to her quickly, exclaiming:

"What is the matter, Ladybird? You are not ill from your wetting?"

But a tempest of anger was swelling in the little beauty's breast, and her first words showed him the cause.

"You wouldn't care if I died, you great big coward!" she sobbed, and a pearly tear dropped from her long eyelash and splashed upon her cheek.

"Ladybird!" indignantly.

"Don't call me Ladybird! I'm Miss Conway to you everafter to-day! You didn't care if I was drowned! You didn't jump in the river to save me like those noble heroes! You just stood on the bank with your arms folded, afraid of getting drowned or spoiling your nice clothes, maybe," with a scornful glance. "Then, when the others had rescued me, and brought me to shore, you came so coolly and made me go up to your house with you for some dry clothes. And—and—before to-day I had thought you were so noble, so brave!" sobbed Ladybird, in passionate earnest, for she had plotted the little romance just to show Aura Stanley her power over Earle, and the failure was a cruel blow.

But Earle did not take her tirade seriously. His dark eyes twinkled and his lips twitched with repressed laughter as he answered significantly:

"Really, Miss Conway, I hope I am always brave enough to rescue any one in real danger, but I don't see any heroism in wetting one's self to rescue a girl from the river who threw herself in for fun, and who can swim as well as anybody!"

"Fun, indeed? How dare you say it, when I was almost drowned?" sobbed the little coquette perversely.

"Not a bit of danger!" laughed the young man, amused at her pretense of anger. "Ah, Ladybird, no man could love you better than I do; but, indeed, you are a vain little darling, and ought to be ashamed of your little joke that caused the ruination of twelve good flannel suits and sashes. Don't you know, you willful little flirt, that they will be shrunk to the size of bathing suits? And all to gratify a whim of yours! Ah, little one, it was cleverly done, but no one but myself guesses it was a ruse. I saw you throw yourself out of the boat. I saw you dive, and I remembered then your little hint about heroes awhile before. It was all make-believe, little Miss Mischief, even your pretense of unconsciousness, when Jack Tennant pulled you out. As you lay on the bank I saw your eyelids twitch and your lips curl with secret amusement. You can't deny it, Ladybird."

But Ladybird would not meet the quizzical glance of the laughing dark eyes. Her bosom heaved with wounded pride as she thought how Aura Stanley would triumph over her defeat. Ladybird had been reared in a boarding-school, and had imbibed all sorts of romantic fancies from surreptitious novels. Earle Winans' failure to realize her ideal of a hero had almost broken her tender little heart.

So she would not be laughed or coaxed into a good humor. She pouted charmingly and willfully, and at length she sobbed angrily:

"You may think it very amusing to tease me so, Earle Winans, but I will make you sorry for to-day before the week is out!" and as they drew rein just then at her father's door, she sprang hastily out on the pavement and ran into the house without a word of thanks or good-by.

"Whew! what a tantrum! but the dear little heart will forget and forgive by to-morrow," thought Earle, as he drove back home to tell Norah that he expected a guest in the morning—Lord Chester, who would stay at Rosemont a day or two.

He did not tell her that he had telegraphed for his friend to come, much less that he wanted him to act as his second in a duel. But Jack Tennant's blow was one that Earle's fiery heart would never forgive without an apology. He had determined to challenge him, and he would not ask any of the young men in Rosemont to carry the message. He wanted Lord Chester.

He believed that Ethel held the young nobleman's heart; he did not dream of danger to the fair young sister whose waist he clasped with a loving arm as she stood by him on the piazza while he told Norah to prepare the finest rooms in the house for the coming guest.

And there was no hint of a tragedy or sorrow in the balmy air, nor in the sunset sky where the rosy tints faded to purple, and the full moon rose over the sharp outline of the distant hills and flooded the world with its silver glory.

Precious did not speak one word, but her heart thrilledwith a silent rapture as pure as the moonlight flooding the world with light.

"I shall see him—I can thank him with my own lips for saving my life," she thought happily, and at night she sat alone at her window when Norah believed she was asleep, thinking of the morrow, when Ethel's lover was coming.

She thought of Ladybird too, and her romantic fancies and hero-worship.

"It was a strange fancy that Lord Chester might some day be my lover," she mused, and added, with an unconscious sigh: "Perhaps—he—might—have been—only that he loved Ethel first!"

Did a shadow from the nearing future fall over that young dreaming heart—some prescience of the pathetic truth of the poet's plaint:

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen,The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"

She sat long by the open window watching the beautiful night with solemn, wide blue eyes, and a strange sadness crept over her spirit, a loneliness never felt before. Tears came at last, tears, and low, soft sobs.

Norah caught the sound in the next room, where she dozed upon her pillow, and hurried in.

"What, darling! sitting up in your nightgown, catching cold at the open window?" and she carried her in her strong arms to the bed and piled the snowy covers over the shivering form. "Did you have dreams that frightened you, pet?" she continued, as she warmed the cold little hands between her own.

Precious, trying to hush her hysteric sobs, murmured faintly:

"I have never been asleep, Norah. I was sitting at the window watching the beautiful stars, and thinking—of many things. Then I grew sad—I do not know why—and—and the tears came. I think I am homesick.I want papa and mamma. I have been so long away from them."

"I will write to Mrs. Winans to-morrow, and tell her she must come to Rosemont very soon—that you are lonely."

"Yes, I am lonely," sighed Precious, all unconscious that it was the restlessness of an awakening young heart.

She fell asleep presently with the dew of tears still on her lashes—slept, and dreamed fantastic dreams, in which she saw Ladybird married to Lord Chester, and Ethel drowning in the river, and herself and Kay perishing again in the burning house.

"OH, THAT WORD 'REGRET!'"

"Ah, rosebud mouth for kisses made,And are you not the least afraid?And do not know, my little one,What mischief kisses sweet have done,O'er all the world and through all time,In every age and every clime?"—D. L. Proudfit.

—D. L. Proudfit.

"I think we shall find her here under her favorite tree," said Earle Winans as he and Lord Chester came down toward the river.

It was the morning after the picnic, and Earle had gone after breakfast to the station to meet his friend, Lord Chester.

Precious and Norah, with the ever faithful Kay, had gone down to the river as soon as the dew was dry on the grass.

Precious sat under an apple tree with her dog at her feet. Norah chose another tree close by and resumed her favorite lace knitting.

It was a scene of the most exquisite beauty, and the spirit of peace seemed brooding over the spot.

The orchard trees were pink with bloom, and the soft green grass was studded with violets, pale yellow cowslips and golden buttercups. Overhead arched a sky as blue as that of Italy, and in the sweet warm sunshine the blithe birds were flitting and singing, while the hum of bees in the may blooms blent in the music of the river rippling along at the young girl's feet.

She had taken along a book to read, but she had notopened it yet. She was gazing dreamily at the river, now and then throwing flowers on the swift-flowing stream and watching them drift away out of sight.

So the young men came upon her unawares, and when Lord Chester saw her he started with keen delight at the lovely vision. When he had told Ethel how much he admired her sister's portrait she had answered that it was flattered, that Precious was not half so beautiful.

He realized instantly that Ethel had spoken falsely that day.

Precious Winans, in her white gown and with her pearl-fair face, velvet-blue eyes, and cloud of golden ringlets, was the most exquisite beauty he had ever beheld. She looked like a young angel strayed away from paradise, and when she raised to his her liquid eyes, so clear and innocent, he saw mirrored in their depths a pure, true soul.

Then Earle said in his most genial tone:

"Precious, this is Lord Chester. You must be very friendly with him, for some day he will be your brother. He tells me he is engaged to Ethel."

"I am very glad," Precious answered simply.

She rose and put out her hand to him. He clasped it a moment with lingering pressure, and while he held it felt himself grow dizzy with a rapture so keen it was akin to pain.

"From my swift blood that went and came,A thousand little shafts of flameWere shivered in my narrow frame."

He murmured something in a low voice, he scarcely knew what; then Earle said carelessly:

"I will leave you two to entertain each other while I go over and tease Norah a little."

He turned away and left the pair together—two young romantic hearts in that romantic spot.

Precious stole a shy glance at her companion, and her girlish heart thrilled with admiration for his manly beauty.

How grand and handsome he was! so tall, so graceful, his complexion so clear and pale, his eyes such a splendid dark-gray, his close-clipped hair such a shining chestnut brown, where it lay in careless waves on his broad white brow.

They sat down close together, and Kay, after one or two suspicious sniffs, threw himself on Lord Chester fawningly, recognizing him as his comrade on the eventful occasion when their combined powers had saved Precious from the fire.

"Kay remembers you," said Precious softly. "It was to you and him I owed my life that night. I—I—have wished to thank you so often, but now words fail me. Oh, Lord Chester, I cannot express my gratitude. I was so young to die like that—to leave the beautiful gay world!"

She spoke as if life was a great boon. She was so young and fortunate, she did not dream of all the sorrow the world contained; she had a horror of death, that is so welcome to many.

"Do not thank me for doing my duty. It is reward enough for me to be sitting here looking at you and listening to you," he answered gently, as he caressed the mastiff that fawned at his knee, and his words were simple truth.

It gave him a keen and subtle pleasure to breathe the same air with Precious. The sky was bluer, the air sweeter, the sunshine more golden, the bird songs sweeter, because they two were together there, smiling at each other.

"Tell me about papa and mamma," she said, after a moment's silence.

"They are well. I saw them yesterday. I went to the capitol with your mother and sister. Your father made a great speech on the tariff—the most brilliant and telling effort I ever heard from his lips. He was applauded to the echo. The galleries went wild."

"Dear papa. If I only had been there!" she cried, and her eyes kindled with pride.

"In the afternoon," he continued, "I attended Mrs.Winans and Ethel to the reception at the White House given by the president to the cabinet ministers, senators and representatives. It was a grand affair, and the banquet was magnificent."

"What did mamma wear? And Ethel?" she queried, with feminine curiosity over silks and laces.

Lord Chester laughed and said:

"Very few men can describe a woman's dress. I'm not an adept at it, but I remember how they looked. Your mamma wore a pale silvery-blue brocade, softened by dainty real lace and pearls and diamonds. She looked very beautiful. Your sister looked like a queen, in a white silk embroidered lavishly with gold. Her hair was arranged in Grecian style with a fillet of gold studded with rubies. She had so many admirers it was difficult for any one to get within speaking distance."

"Dear Ethel, she is so beautiful. She looks like papa, with his splendid eyes and rarely sweet smile! How I wish I had been there with them! But mamma has promised that I shall come out in society next winter. I shall be past seventeen then—too young, mamma and Ethel say, but papa is on my side, and we shall carry the day!" with a sunny, willful smile.

"You are General Winans' favorite, I know," returned the young man, smiling, and he said to himself that he applauded her father's taste. His betrothed was very beautiful and queenly, but her sister was the realization of a man's ideal of everything lovely and lovable.

"I wonder if they thought of me moping here in the country!" continued Precious softly.

"Yes, I am sure they did, for I heard your father saying to his wife that he had been thinking of you all the afternoon, and that he really must get away Saturday and spend Sunday with you at Rosemont."

"Oh, I shall be so glad. I shall beg him to let me go home with him," she cried beamingly. "Didn't they send me any message by you, Lord Chester?"

"They didn't know I was coming. It was after I hadleft them that evening I received the telegram from Earle to join him here for a day or two. I didn't have time to leave a note for Ethel; had to hustle to catch my train, you know. I can send her a line to-day."

Earle sauntered back to them, saying:

"I am going to the house now. Have some letters to write. Do you care to come now?"

"Do you need me?"

"Not for two hours yet."

"Then I will stay here with your sister awhile longer, if she will let me. I am lazy to-day, and thisdolce far nientesuits my mood exactly."

"Stay, then, for you certainly look the perfection of indolence. Precious, you can bring him back when you get ready."

He turned away and then Norah called:

"I must go back, too."

"I am coming presently," Precious answered coaxingly, as she pulled Kay's ears.

Lord Chester picked up her book from the grass.

"You were reading. Perhaps I disturb you?" interrogatively.

"You may read to me, if you will. I should like it very much," she answered, leaning her golden head back against the tree, her eyes half closed and dreamy, a pensive smile on her rosebud lips.

Seen thus she looked adorable. He gazed at her earnestly and felt as if he would give the world to kiss those exquisite crimson lips.

Then he pulled himself together with a pang. He was betrothed to Ethel. What right had he to feel his heart throb faster at the sight of her sister's beauty? Those luscious pouting lips were not for him.

The little blue book opened at random in his hand. His eyes fell on a suggestive line:

"Devils laugh when mortals kiss."

The young man started and trembled. Then he read on:

"Alas, and who shall count the costOf human souls for love's sake lost?For peasant's hut and kingly crown,And rural dell and stately town,And vineyards ripening in the sun,And kingdoms by the strong arm won,And armies marshaled for the fray,Have been overthrown and swept away,Betrayed and wrecked and lost for this,The needless harvest of a kiss!"

He was silent so long that the dreamy, half-shut eyes unclosed and looked at him in wonder.

"Are you not going to read?" she asked in a tone of disappointment.

"I don't think my voice is in tune to-day. I'm hoarse as a raven. I'll read you a verse and then you will cry, 'Hold! enough.'"

She laughed, and Lord Chester began:

"A sweeter, sadder thing,My life for having known you,Forever with its sacred kin,My soul's soul, I must own youForever mine, my friend,From June to life's December—Not mine to have or hold,But to pray for and remember."

His voicewasdiscordant with the hoarseness of subtle pain. He let the little book fall on the grass.

"You see?" he said.

"Yes you do not read well," she answered frankly. "But how can I amuse you? Shall I read to you, or talk?"

"Neither," he replied with a forced smile. "Let us sit very, very quiet for awhile and listen to the river. It has a voice, you know, and when we listen thoughtfully it will repeat over and over some one word, according to your fancy. Then you shall tell me what it said to you and I will confess what it said to me."

"What a romantic thought! but I like it," cried Precious,and for some time both remained silent; listening to the low, monotonous ripple of the river.

She did not know that he wanted to be silent awhile to fight a battle with his own heart, to gain strength to bear a cross of pain.

"Well?" he asked her presently in a gentle voice.

She answered pensively:

"It kept whispering, whispering over and over, one sad word: 'Regret! regret! regret!'"

"Mine was similar," said Lord Chester. "Its burden was, 'Too late! too late! too late!'"

He looked at her, and she lost her pensive air and smiled.

"I felt quite solemn while I was silent," she said. "And it was several minutes before I could make out the river's words. I am sorry they gave us plaintive words."

"I was wondering," he answered dreamily, "whether each would catch the same word."

"Oh, that would have been very amusing," cried Precious.

"Yes," he answered gently, "there was one word—one—that I should have liked it to echo to both our hearts. I should have taken it for a prophecy."

"What word?" asked Precious with innocent curiosity.

In spite of herself she returned his look. Dark-gray eyes met the tender blue ones in one long, lingering, thrilling glance. What did they say to each other?

"How does Love speak?In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek,By the uneven heart-throbs, and the freakOf bounding pulses that stand still and ache,In the tenderAnd unnamed light that floods the world with splendor,In the fireGlance strikes with glance."

With an effort Precious withdrew her eyes from his, the color flaming up into her cheeks, her bosom heaving a low soft sigh, while Lord Chester echoed the sigh andlooked away at the distant hills in a strange silence. Yet he had answered the girl's question without a word!

And after that it was hard to make conversation.

At last Precious grew frightened at her own silence.

She felt so strangely, her cheeks burned, her heart beat heavily in the stillness, her lips seemed glued together.

Suddenly he spoke, but without turning his glance from the mountains:

"Pardon my silence. I must seem very dull to you. I was trying to hear the river say your word 'Regret.'"

And before she could answer he added:

"Do you know Miss Ingelow's poem 'Regret?'"

She answered in a low voice, with a deepening flush:

"Yes, I found it once in a book of mamma's, heavily underlined. It begins like this:

"'Oh, that word Regret!There have been nights and morns when we have sighed,Let us alone, Regret.'"

"Ugh! it gives me the dismals!" he groaned, and she paused diffidently.

That strange, throbbing silence fell again, and frightened her. It was like some mesmeric spell.

She cried out quickly:

"Let us go up to the house."

Her broad leghorn sun-hat lay on the grass and she stretched out her arm for it.

A terrible shriek followed.

In the soft green grass beneath the broad brim of the hat a deadly rattlesnake had lain coiled. At her disturbing touch it reared its evil head and struck its fangs into her arm.

Lord Chester saw it all, and with a loud cry sprang forward, setting his heel on the serpent's head ere it could strike the second blow. It writhed hideously for a moment, then lay still in death.

Precious had fallen back, deathly pale and half unconscious,against the tree. He fell on his knees beside her and cried out tenderly:

"Do not be frightened, my darling. I will suck the poison from the wound."

And he placed his lips on the tiny wound on her slender wrist and with desperate fervor drew forth the fatal venom, spitting it again and again on the ground.

When he felt that the danger was removed, he looked up at her and saw that her eyes wore closed in apparent unconsiousness. With uncontrollable love he clasped her in his arms and kissed the cold white lips, sobbing:

"My love! my darling!"

"HAD I BUT MET YOU FIRST."

"But cruel fate that shapes our ends,Dark doom that poet love attends,The fate unhappy Petrarch sungIn fair Italia's burning tongue;Such fate as reckless tears apartThe tendrils of the breaking heart,From every prop where it would twine,That cruel fate, alas, is mine,For love of you!"—Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.

—Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.

Lovers and poets rave of voices so dear and sweet that they can call one back almost from the borders of the grave.

Perhaps there is some little truth in those romantic ravings.

Precious Winans had been lying back as mute and still as some marble image of a dead maiden, but those frenzied caresses, those sobbing whispers, "My love! my darling!" sent the warm blood bounding sweetly through her veins once more and her eyes opened with a dazed expression.

She saw Lord Chester's face bent close to hers with actual tears in the splendid eyes, and her lips seemed to burn with his kisses. Wildly she struggled out of his arms.

"How dare you kiss me?" she half moaned, trying to be angry.

"Forgive me, Precious, I thought you were dead and it almost drove me mad. Do you not remember the dreadful rattler? I sucked the poison from the wound, but I must take you home at once and send for a physician, although I do not believe there can be any danger. Canyou lean on me, dear child—little sister that is to be—and let me lead you to the house?"

His passion had changed to remorseful gentleness, and drawing her arm through his he conducted her to Earle and Norah, who were horrified at learning of the accident. Precious was taken to her room and a physician summoned.

But beyond the shock and fright Precious suffered no ill effects from the rattlesnake's venom. Lord Chester's measures had been quick and effectual, declared the village doctor.

But Precious kept her room all day, with Norah near at hand, and only came down at night when Earle begged her to sit awhile with Lord Chester while he went on an errand to the village.

Lord Chester was sitting on the long piazza, watching the beautiful moonlight as it silvered the landscape with its opal gleams.

He went to meet the girl, and placed her in a chair where the full flood of moonlight shone on her marvelous beauty. But he saw that she shrank and trembled at his nearness.

"You are angry with me," he said humbly, sorrowfully.

"I owe you my life for the second time. For that I must be grateful," she murmured faintly.

"Yet you despise me—because I dared—almost fearing you dead—to press one kiss on your lips."

"You had no right," she faltered, holding her golden head quite proudly; then, almost inaudibly: "You belong to Ethel."

There was ineffable sadness in the subdued voice—sadness and struggling pride. He whispered thrillingly:

"Yes, Precious, I am not forgetting your sister's claim. Before I saw you I loved her, but the moment I gazed on your face—ay, the mere sight of your portrait—turned my heart from her to you. No, let me speak, for I am not disloyal to Ethel. I mean to keep the troth I plighted herwhen I realized that my honor stood pledged to her. But to-day I was weak, wicked, if you will, for my heart o'er-leaped control when I met you again. In my love and grief I went mad over you. But will you forgive me? Will you let me keep that kiss as a precious memory in the long years when I shall see you no more? For, dear, I shall marry your sister and try to give her my heart. Our home will be far away, in another clime, and I shall pray Heaven that I never see your face again—the sweet face that lured me from queenly Ethel! But, oh, love, if I had met you first, ere the mournful river sang, 'Too late! too late!'" and turning quickly from her he went out into the shadows of the night.

A MADCAP'S PRANK.

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