Saturday Evening Post 1884-01-19: Vol 63 Iss 27

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Ghe Oldest Frterary and Family Paper in the Yuited States. Founded I. D.1821. Entered according to an aet of Congress, in the year 1881, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress. PUBLICATION OFFIOB, No. 796 SANSOM ST. - ‘TRUST ME. BY J. H. Ob, trustme! As one pleads for life I come to-night your face before, Dear, whose foud words, though lowly breathed, May bid my sad heart fear no more. With tre-nblisg lips and searching gaze, A suppliant for your love I bend ; Oh, darling, lay your hands in mine, And trust me—trust me to the end, Oh, trust me ! Though like storm-tossed bird Swept far from leafy-sheltered nest You roam, my yearning arms would reach And fold you safely on my breast. I ask no more than your sweet self— Toward you all hopes, all longings tend— Oh, darling, lay your hands in mine, And trust me—trust me to the end. Oh, trust me! By a man’s strong will I claim you mine o’er time, o’er death, Content for you to toll, to bear All things e’en tlil my latest breath. Love's willing slave, yet master brave, But yours whatever Fate may send— Oh, darling, lay your hands in mine, And trust me--trust me to the end, —_P—- <a Thorns and Blossoms BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘‘A BLACK VEIL,’ ‘HER MOTHER'S CRIME,’’ ‘‘A BROKEN WEDDING RING,’’ ‘‘MABEL MAY,’ ETC., ETC. CHAPTER VI. ([\HERE was no moon on that night Lord Ryvers had looked forward to with such anxiety ; but the light scarcely dies out of the sky on a fair July night. From the bonnie woods uf St. Byno’s a faint, sweet sound, like the echo of an lian harp, reached Violet’s ears; from the river caine a soft musical murmur. It was not till after a hard struggle with appointinent. She consoled herself however with a false | line of argument. Miss Atherton had forbidden her to leave | the garden, and she was not going to leave it. She would be within young artist. Hic had looked so handsome,so imploring | almost | the promise to see him again had unconsciously been wrung froin her. It was all her aunt’s fault. If she had allowed thein to say good-bye | openly and quietly, there would have been no need for this twilight interview. After all she did not quite sense of propriety was opposed to it; but she could not let him go without one word; he had been so pleasant and kind to her. The girl’s heart rebelled against her aunt. | Why had she not asked the young artist in, and allowed thei to spend an hour or two together ? Then he would have said good-bye, and would bave gone out of their lives probably for ever. Now she was going to do that which she would rather not bave done. “Go to your room at once,’’Miss Atherton had said, when the usual faunly devotions were over. “You will not want a candle. It is quite light enough. Good night.’’ And then Miss Atherton had retired to rest, happily unconscious of her niece’s meditated plans. Meanwhile a handsome, ardent young er moved softly through the lee; ws of St. Beno's He went siOW!lY down the riversid crossed the corner of the wood, passed little gute where the white acacias grew,

| much, I did not like w think I should not her conscience that Violet went tu keep her | the rose-covered | hedges; aud she would not have gone at all | but that she really feltso sorry for the your face again,”’ he urged. like it. Her |

down by the rose-covered hedge, and then he stood still. Never had his heart beaten so before, There was no stir in the cottage;the white blinds were down. Would she come? The Ryverses were not famous for pa- tience; but the young lord had never been

in such a tever of suspense before, Would she coine ? Ah, there wasastir, something surely | was noving over the long grass that shook | the white clover, and sent the acacia-leaves | fluttering to the ground! But it was only the summer night | breeze. Would she never come? A little bird in the far distance twittered. He heard the deep baying of a’hound across the river. “Oh, nny love, ny darling,” he cried, ‘ii you would but come!” And jusi then the pale beautiful face of | the young girl looked anxiously down | through the shadows, She could not see him, and she did not know if he was there. Just as he had pictured her, she came out in her long blue dress; over her head she had thrown a black lace veil. It was darker than she thought it would be. She stopped for one moment under the chestnut-trees to reconnoitre before she passed on to the place of rendezvous, In another ininute they were standing face to face, the handsome young lover and the fair-haired bautiful girl. “How good of you to come!” he said. “fhard!y dared t» hope you would do 80.”’ “Tought notto have come,’’ she said. “Do not praise ine for doing what I know to be wrong; but you have been so kind to me, and Ihave enjoyed our intimacy so se? you again.”’ He was looking at the hedge. “T am standing,” he said, “outside the | gates of Paradise. Will you open them tor me ?”’ “T cannot,’’ she answered. “Youcan, if you will, Tell may leap over this hedge.” “T ought not to do so,"’ she said. “T cannot see you here, and I want to see

me that I She was silent fora few moments. Then she thought to herself that, as he wasthere, he might just as well be on one side of the hedge as the other. ‘You may corne,’ mind you do not fall.”’ “T could clear a hedge twice as forinida- | ble as that,’’ he replied, with a laugh; and the next moment he was standing by her side. “How strong and agile you are!’ she said to him, with a sinile,looking admiring- ty at himn,as women do look at brave,tnanly ’ she said softly. “But nen. “Show ie anything that I would not do to have the happiness of standing by your side for one minute. You said something to ime about good-bye. Do you think I could leave you ?”’ His voice trembled with passion. “T have never thought about it,” she said. “I suppose you will go when your | picture is finished ?” “T am sure I shall not. I do not care whether the picture is ever finished or quite not. J care for nothing—do vou not see? I eare tor nothing in the wild world but you. . would rather lie dead here at your PHILADELPHIA, SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 1884. feet than leave you. Do you understand, my beautiful, fair-haired darling? Is it mnadness to say Tlove you? Then I am of all men the most mad.’’ “You love me?” she repeated gravely. “Why,vou have only seen me three or four times !’’ “Tt needed only for me to see you once to know that I had met my fate,’’ he cried. “Love comes to usin varied guise, I saw you, and my heart went out to you at once, Something that had never lived in my soul before awoke into vigoroi™ life. If 1 had known you fifty years I could not love you becter. tiful woman that ever gladdened a man’s | eyes,that ever wiled a inan’s heart froin his | breast; and I love you. If I had a thous- and tongues they would all cry out, ‘I love you, I love you!’ ” “Hush!” she said, holding up one little | hand. ‘You—you frighten me!” “T frighten you!” exclaimed Lord Ry- | “Ah, how unfit I ain even to talk to | one 80 beautiful, so gentle as you! Forgive | yers. me, and I will be gentle as yourself, I only want to impress on you the fact that I love you,that while I live I can never again be happy away from you, that I would give my life and all it holds for vou. Oh, sweet, | if you could know how beautiful you look standing there, you would not wonder that T love you so! You have admirer, have you ?’”’ *“An admirer!’ she repeated, half treim- bling, half delighted. “T hardly know what you mean.” “Took at me,”’ he cried—“l am your adinirer—your lover. It meansaiman inad for the time, who sees, hears, knows, thinks of nothing but the one beloved.”’ “That must be tiresome,” she answered naively. “I should not like to have all my thoughts and ideas concentrated on one person.” “You would, if you inakes all the diflerence, you see, “Tove and adiniration have been a sealed book to me,” she said. “Indeed, I have never thought of them.’ “Yet love is the very life of a woman,’’he cried incredulously. “Tt bas not been mine,’’shesaid. ‘Hark! W hat is that ?’’—for was a sudden him; that loved there | commotion in one of the tall lime-trees near them. “Probably a little bird has fallen from its nest,” Jord Ryvers answered, smiling, for ' she was alarined, and clung to hii. Hle ecaughtthe little white hands in his own, and held thern fast. “7 thought it was iny aunt,’ ’ she said half | Jaughing, half trembling. I would go to would tell “Never mind if it were. her, if you would let me, and her that her niece was the loveliest creature I had ever seen, that I loved her with my whole heart and longed to make her my wife.”’ “T should be locked up in the darkest | eellar the house boasts, and never allowed to come out again,’’ Violet declared a little hysterically. ‘“] wonder,” he said gently, still holding the two little white hands in his own—‘'I] wonder if you would be very angry if | called you Violet ™ “Tt would not be of inuch useto be anyury ’ she said. beautiful Violet, about anything now, “Then I may. Ob, listen to me! I love you with all ty heart; will you try to love ine a little in rv turn 7?” Siig You are the fairest and most beau- | | good-bye, would you have eared, never had an | | answered them, ' will teach you the rest; that is the Entered at the Philadelphia Post-Office as Second-Class Matier. 62.00 A VEAR IN ADVANCE FIVE CENTS 4 COPY , No, 27. | different from every one else here in being of my owpr age.” Ile was silent for a few minutes; then he said, with athrill of passion in his clear voice— “You must do more than that now, Vio- let. I must be more than the pleasant friend whom you like because he is of your own age. Think of ine, sweet as the lover who loves you with such passionate devo- tion that he would die for you, the lover who has no joy, no happiness, but with you,” “Tt sounds quite poetical,”’ she said. “Itistrue!’’ he cried vehemently. “Oh, Violet, how hard it isto inake you under- stand! My darling, I knew when you spoke tome in the woods that day that you were as simple asa child. You reminded me of a beautiful wild bird so bright and free; and now I want to catch the wild bird and keep it as iny own forever.” “1 suppose that really, if the truth were told, I did wrong in answering your ques- tions,’’ she said half ruefully. “You could not do anything wrong, I “Tell ine,”"he con- gone away saying would you have am sure,’’ he declared, tinued, after a pause, “it T had without seeing you again, without you have been unhappy, would remembered me?" She thought over his words before she “T should have been very sorry, but noc unhappy,” she repled. “I should not have forgotten you; and I am glad, honest ly glad, to see you again.” His face brightened as he fair shy, loveliness, “Thank you for s0 much,’ he said. “1 begin- ning; the rest will come. You are glad to seeing. Tleaven bless you!’ Ile bent down and kissed the fair hands that lay so chill and quiet in his own, And that first caress ever given to her gazed on her stirred the maiden depths of her heart and soul asa pebble thrown intoadeep lake disturbs its surface, If aunt Alice could but have seen that! Violet shuddered as the thought passed through her mind, and he thought that she was vexed at his caress, “Oh, Violet, if you would, if but learn to love me a little!’ he “Love wins love, Will vou try?” you could maid. “Tomight try,” she whispered ; “but Tan not at all sure that I should sueceed.”’ “T shall be quite contentat present if you willtry. You have no other adiuirer, and you love no one else, J soe no re ison, Iny darling, why I should not win you in time. IT will live for you; I will love you so well, so dearly, that you shall not be able to help loving ine. [atm happier than I dared to hope; | am tight away; you have listened, and you will love happier than I de- serve to be, You have sent ime omeintime. T have been talking to you Violet, I have not seen your eyes. Raise them to imine, sweetheart, all this time, and, that | tiav see what they say. Slowly enough the white Is moved, the ’ vibe frinyed lashes wer fark violet eyes louked sad “What beautiful ey st Set a ee “Lae othe