Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXVII, No. 1 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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64 Mrs. Dalrymple’s Diplomacy. upon the seat, before he was aware of her presence. Although Miss Aubrey’s heart beat with sudden vehemence, she quietly drew aside her white drapery of flounced skirt, and said, calmly: “So you have come to enjoy the moonlight also, Mr. Berne ?” He started nervously, and rose quickly from the seat, throwing away the cigar. “T beg your pardon, Miss Sibyl; I had no idea the arbor had an occupant.” “Don’t throw away your cigar. Out in this pure air, it could not offend the most fastidious. This moon is superb. I could not resist stealing away to enjoy it.” Wharton Berne sighed again, and then sald, abruptly: - “T suppose you came to dream over sweet and delicious realities; but I hurried away to escape goading thoughts, dreary ghosts. This is indeed a lover’s evening. From what Frank so incoherently muttered, as I inter- cepted him at his mother’s door, I judge that we shall soon have cause to offer congratula- tions. Dear child, Heaven knows, I wish you all happiness!” “Me? I scarcely understand you,” said Miss Aubrey; and her voice took a little huskiness. “Are we all mistaken? Do you not requite the young man’s evidently sincere attach- ment?” A silvery ripple of laughter broke up the hoarseness of her voice. ““Now, indeed, you have made a capital blunder. Poor, dear Lucia! how her blue eyes would pale with tears, if your suspicion were true! Butitisnot. Frank loves Lucia. He made a confidant of me long ago.” Her companion drew one long, gasping breath. She could feel how it shook lim, for he was leaning against the lattice on which her hand rested. “©, 1am so glad!” “What delicate lines of shadowing there are yonder,” observed Miss Aubrey. ‘“ There is truly a wondrous witchery in moonlight; but I am not sure it is wise to indulge in it. Now I think I will return to the house.” “ Not quite yet—wait a moment,” pleaded he. “As you say, the moonlight has a witch- ery of its own, and it will last for but so few nights, why not enjoy it? It is strange, after all, that it is not you.” She stood leaning against the arbor, not yet returning to her seat, nor rudely persist- ing in retreat. “Tt is strange enough Frank could see beauty in any other where you were present,” continued he, dreamily. “It is all strange.” “Many men, many minds,” answered she, lightly. “And then most girls would be impressed with his gay manners, his ready grace, and fresh, young beauty.” “T never fancied young men,” retorted Miss Aubrey, half resentfully, and then stopped short, as if conscious of some tacit confession. “Sibyl Aubrey, you admitted that the moonlight had its spell. Call it that, if you think me mad, presumptuous, audacious; but tell me, could you fancy a man forever past the buoyancy of boyhood, a man grave, retir- ing, pain-worn, but whose whole heart goes out to you with a passionate devotion he believed lost to him forever ?” Her stately head was drooping to the clasp- ing hands, he caught her agitated sob. “Sibyl, sweet Sibyl, you have come to me like an angel, waking from the black ashes of desolation a resurrected love. From the first moment I heard your voice, my heart stirred as beneath a potent spell. When you came, flame-wrapped, into my arms, it seemed my lost darling restored to me by Heaven’s beneficent hand. O Sibyl, if I dared be so selfish as to ask you to brighten and bless my life—to give me the blessed privilege of watching over you, of smoothing all possible troubles from your pathway—of loving you— O, if I dared!” She drew away her hands, a glad smile flashing through the tears. “And if you dare not ask me, sir, you will never receive yaur reply.” He caught the two white hands in his strong clasp, and his deep voice shook with the vibrating chords of hope and fear. “Sibyl Aubrey, will you give to me the priceless gift [beg of you? Will you love me? Will you be my wife ?” “Mr. Berne, I will; and I never answered yes before with half the gladness, and trust, and deep content, with which I speak it now.” The moon alone should tell what followed as he drew her to him, exclaiming in the very words with which he had first addressed her: “O my darling! O my saint!” Mrs. Dalrymple was able to walk without aid the next day, and she made her appear- ance in the parlor, to which the quartet had retreated after Gunner -Smuing. and mi gracious.