A DECLARATION OF LOVE.

Mount Ida Chronicle, Volume X, Issue 571, 21 August 1880, Page 2 (Supplement)

A DECLARATION OF LOVE.

The dusk was gathering, and the room was dim. . The lamps were not yet lighted ; she could scarcely discern objects around. As she approached the chimneypiece she could eee that the picture "of" Albert Vanthorpe was in its placa. It looked now a mere dark slab against the dusk. Her ey-s were attracted by it and were fixed upon it; there was somethhing ominous and reproachful about its presence, about the manner in which it had fixed her attention the moment she entered the room. ' Gibrielle!' The word came in a low, thrilling tone from somewhere between her and the picture. She stood still, but she did not scream. ' Gabrielle !' And then she saw a figure rise from the ground —it almost seemed as if it might have come out of the ground before her—and she was aware of the presence of Ciarkson Fielding. 'Oh, how did you come here?' she asked breathlessly. ' I came to see you ; I knew yon would return soon. I stole in here like a thief in the night, and lay on the hearth until I heard you come in. I wanted to see yen alone, Gabrielle;' 'But if any one had came in and seen you !' she said, hardly knowing what ahe was saying, and only feeling sare that her heart was beating loudly. 'I didn't- care; I must see? yrm ; arid "I lay on the hearth in token of hmtalisti&n ; for-I- must, have- offended yon ia-sease way to.day., .There, yon are tired,-©r-I havefrishtened you. Sit here ; on the sofa, and I will lie at jemz feet,'' His manner of submissive dofHioattaa over-mastered.her. She sac on the *>£» as he bade her ; and he actually threw himself on the ground at her feet. He took her hand and she did not resist. There was a moment of silence. ' You have forgiven me?.' he said turning his head round towards her ; 'aridyou will tell me why you were angry with me to-day, Gabrielle?' ,■• Because 1 humbled myself "as no woman ought to do, arid you seemed ashamed to meet your brother's eyes. What wrons- had I done to your brother 1 what had Ito be ashamed of ?' 'Oh; no, not you, but I; at least. I felt so for the moment. L iok here, Gabrielle, listen. He told mo again and again how fond he was of you ; he told me he was going to aslcyou to marry him. You know how good, and kind, and brotherly—more than brotherly—he has been to me. How could I help feeling, afraid to look him in the face, and confess that I had come between hitr. and his hopes? If I had ever known, or ever thought or suspected, or anything—huthow could I suspect ? How could I think a woman like you could care about a ne'er-do-well like me ] Why, I remember once saying that if you would only have j the goodness to trample on me, I should be only too happy. Good heavens! how could I fancy that you would care about me 1 I should never have believed it, if you had not told me yourself/ 'I don't know why I told you,' Gibrielle said ; 'but I could, not help it then, and I felt that it was right at the time. Why; should I allow you to go away from England, if—if that was all V 'Ay, why indeed? But I never dreamed of such a thing, Gabrielle. I , thought you would very likely marry my brother ; and, much as I love Wilberforce now, I could not stay and see that. Can you wonder if I was afraid to meet him ? he may even think I was treacherous to him, and deceived him. You can understand this. Gabrielle, Gabrielle !' He seemed to take a delight in the mere repeating of her name. * Tou forgive me, Gabrielle ?' ' Yes,'she said. 'I felt bitter at the moment. I think I was angry with myself more than with you ; but I understand now better, and I know it must be a trying thing to you to have to meet your brother. But you will tell him all the truth, just as it is ; and he will believe you. He is so loyal andiuio himself.' -^^»\ 'And you do care for tvje, Gabrielle? He sank his voice into a wonderful softness of tone. 'You lbveme ?' 'Oh yes, T said that before. Nothing can change that.' She felt him press her hand to his lips. There was a moment's silence. She was glad that the dusk was deepening, so that even her lover could not see her face. 'Now,'she "said, 'you must go. Yon mnst leave me, for this time. We can see each' other soon again ; very soon, t will write. Is not that the be3t way? But this" is all so strange now, everything in the world seems changed. You must give me time to oolleot my senses. You will go—my friend .' She did not know yet by what name to call him. It was all too new and sudden for her to venture on a tenderer word. But her tremulous voice gave an unspeakable tenderness to the word; and he was satisfied. . ' Yos ; I will go,' he said. ' I will steal out as J stole in. I should not like this first time to leave you as a common visitor does. l«ame like a lover, and I will go like a lover; and so good-bye, Gabrielle.' ' He drew her down towards him, as lie still reclined on the fl >or at her feet; and she felt his lips press hers. Add then he leaped lightly to his feet, and vanished, as it were, in the dusk. He had come as a lover in a sort of romantic secrecy ; rnd he had gone as a lover should go, Gabrielle sat in the soft gloom - of the evening, and felt that if 'twera now to die 'twere now to be most happy. From ' Donna Quixote,' by • JusTisr M'Caiithy.