Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXVII, No. 1 — page 56: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

60 where the river ran wanton, curving itself into a dozen fantastic scallops. “Tt isso peaceful—so deliciously natural !” she added, leaning out, and quite forgetting the demands of toilet; ““O Mrs. Dalrymple, I foresee that I am going to enjoy the most delightful visit of my life.” “T hope so, dear child.’ answered Mrs. Hortense, well pleased at the girl’s enthusi- asm; “though I wont answer for the disap- pointment and cbagrin of the gay friends and sighing lovers left behind. Are you quite sure you can do without them, Queen Sibyl ?” “Quite sure, indeed! I have been in a per- fect fever of delighted anticipation ever since I received your letter. Such a letter as that was! Why, it almost took away my breath to read. You could not have guessed out, had you been with me all the time, half so well just what was the longing of my whole heart. Yes indeed, it will be refreshing to slip away for a little while out of our bustling, frivolous, deceitful world of fashion, to be romping children again, free from formality, laughing at etiquette. We haven't a silk dress with us, nor any of the fancy fixings. Only think how delicious, Lucia, to spring up to- morrow morning, knot up your hair carelessly. slip into a common morning dress without any fussings, and run down stairs secure from any impertinent masculine observation. Dear Mrs. Dalrymple! I’ve been puzzling whatever it was that made you offer me the kindness; that you should have selected me from all your acquaintances.” “ Because I like you, first, and then, because I know you are just the girl to help me enjoy it. Come now, just brush off the dust, and come down to luncheon. There are straw- berries, with the dew still on them, waiting.” A few hasty touches and the girls, arm in arm, tripped down the stairs following Mrs. Dalrymple’s gliding step. The three ladies gathered around the oval table, spread out with such d: licacies as can only come from a farm close at hand, and a merry, sparkling conversation ensued. Then they all went out to the grassy bank under the great locust trees, and spent the rest of the day in careless, indolent ease. Mrs. Hortense caught sight of a figure stalk- ing across the distant valley, and discreetly proposed an adjournment to the parlor. “That’s my Cousin Wharton coming. I wrote you how he wasn’t in the least in any- body’s way, and is always content, if only ladies are kept away from him. He'll have Mrs. Dalrymple’s Diplomacy. his dinner and supper in one, and you needn’t see him to-night.” The young ladies made no comment, but went off to the parlor to try a duet on the piano. And all through the pleasant twilight hour they sent their bird-like voices trilling forth in song after song, at first in madcap glee; but, as the shadows deepened, the strains of harmony grew slow and rich with tender melancholy. They won Wharton Berne away from his solitary arbor, out to the rustic seat in front of the parlor window, and even compelled him to throw away his half-smoked cigar. What would Mrs. Hortense have said, had she seen? But all was dark in the parlor, the instrument, it was evident, touched by fingers familiar enough to find their way without the help of sight. Presently the last strain died out, and some one came to the window and sat down. “Now, Sibyl, play us a farewell, and let us hie away to slumber at this immaculate hour,” said the voice of the lady at the window. And willing fingers again touched the keys, and after the low, dreamy prelude, a clear, full, wondrously sweet voice sang the ballad: “O, I have had sweet dreams! I have had sweet dreams!” Tt was an old song now, but Wharton Berne re'nembered when it was new; when some one had sung it over and over again, at his fond request. That voice was silenced for- ever for earth, years gone! Those lips he knew had returned to dust, and yet, as he sat there, it seemed to him as if it must be she who was singing to him. He sat ina sort of trance, the tears slipping slowly down his cheeks. A gathering glow from the window behind him showed that lights had been introduced. He heard a sudden bustle, loud voices, and a shriek in a woman’s voice. These roused him effectually. He sprang to the window, seeing at once in the brilliant illumination what had happened. One of the fluid lamps, brought for the chambers, had been upset and broken. The flames had spread, and in endeavoring to extinguish them, one of the ladies had caught her white cambric dress in the flames. She rushed across the room, and as Mr. Berne’s swift hand flung open the French window, she sprang out. He caught her in his arms, wrapped her quickly in the broadcloth coat he flung off from his own form, and crushed out the blaze. comicboolks.com