Her Fatla Beauty.

Southland Times, Issue 19471, 26 November 1904, Page 1 (Supplement)

Her Fatla Beauty.

A STons Told by Gknhrai* TiE/ims AtJCnKSTEH. How beautiful she wag in her superb calmness — so graceful, bo mild, and yet so niajes tio! Ah! I was ft younger man then, of course, than I am now, and possibly more impressionable ; but I thought her then the most perfect creature I had ever beheld. - And even now, looking back through tha gathering mists of time and the chilling frosts of advancing age, and recalling what she was, I endorse that earlier sentiment — she lives in my memory now, as she lived in my presence then, as the most perfect creature I ever beheld. I had gone the round of all the best board- • ing-houses in town, when, at last, I went to Mis. Honey wold's, and there, in her small, unpretending establishment, 1,, t-reneral Leslie Auchester, having" been subdued, I trust, to a proper and humble state of mind by my past experiences, agreed to take up" my abode. And it was there I first met her ! Hers was the early maturity of loveliness, perfect in repose, with mild, thoughtful eyes, intelligent and tender, a trifle sad at times, but lighting up with quick brilliancy as some new object met her view, or some vivid thought darted its lightning flash through her brain— for she was wonderfully qixick of preception j — with, an exquisite figure, splendidly sym-j metrical, yet swaying and subtle as a young i willow, and with unstudied grace in every. > quick sinewy motion . ; ' She spent little upon dress (I was sure she i was not wealthy); but though there was; little variety, her dress was exquisitely neat and in perfect good taste, of some soft, glossy fabric, smooth as silk and lustrous as satini and ; of the softest shade of silvery- i grey, that color so beautiful in itself, and so. becoming to beautiful wearers ; simply made, * but fitting with a nicety more like the work of nature than of art to every curve and outline of that full and stately figure, and finished off round her white throat with something scarcely whiter. m . She never wore ornaments of any kind — no chain, no brooch, no ring or pin. She : had twins — two beautiful little blue-eyed j things, wonderfully like herself — little, shy,' graceful creatures, always together, always' playful. She never spoke of her own affairs, : and affable as sbe was, and gentle in manner,' there was something about her which f epel- ; .led intrusion. When, after some weeks' residence there, '1 had gained the good-will of my simpleminded but kindly little landlady, I cautiously ventured to ask her to gratify my not, Ij think, unnatural curiosity ; but I found, to; my surprise, she knew but little more than I did myself. " Sbe came to me," she said, "just at; the edge of the evening, v one cold, rainy! night, and I could not refuse to give her' c shelter, at-Jenst. for, >thfr night, or till shecould do better. I did not think of her re-; maining, but she is so pretty and gentle and innocent-looking, I could not turn her out of '■■ my house— could I, now ? I know lam silly in such ways ; but what could I do ?" " But is it possible," I said, ' that she has remained here ever since, and you know nothing, more about her ? , "No more than you do yourself, general," said Mrs. Honey wold. "I do not even know where she lived before : she came here. T cannot question her, and now, indeed, I have become so fond of her I should not be willing to part with her, and I would not turn' her arid her little ones out of my house for the workl !" Further conversation elicited the fact that , she was not a boarder, but that she and her' little ones were the dependants upon Mrs. Honey wold's charity. >One fine summer day I had made an appointment with a friend to 4rive out to his • place in the suburbs and dine with him, returniug in the evening. When I.came down in the afternoon, dressed for my excursion, I went into the dining-room to tell Mrs. Honeywbld she need not wait for me. As I came back through the parlor " she " was there alone. She was sitting on the sofa. A book lay near her, but I do not think she had been reading. She was sitting perfectly still, as if lost in reverie, and her eyes looked heavy with Bleep OF thought," But as I passed out of the room I looked back; ' I saw she had risen to her feet, and standing with her graceful figure drawn up to its full height; she was looking after me with a look which I flattered myself was a look, of interest.' Ah, how well I remember that look I '. The day had been a beautiful one, though sultry, biifc in the early evening we had a heavy thunder-ehower, the violence of the summer 'rain delaying my return to town for an hour or two, and when the rain- ceased; the evening was still starless, cloudy, and damp, and as I drove back from town I remember that the night air, although somewhat freshened by the rain, was warm, and heavy with the scent of unseen flowers. It was late when I teached the quiet street where I had taken up my abode, and as I mounted the steps I involuntarily felt for my latch-key, but to my surprise I found the hall door not only unfastened, but alittle way opened. ' " Why, how is this, Mrs. Honeywold,?" I said as my landlady met mo in the hall. "Dp you know that your street door was left open?" II Yes," she said quietly, " I lmow it." " But is it safe ?" 'I asked, as I turned to lock the door.; " and so late too." " I do not think there is any^anger," she said. "I was on the watch ; I was in the hall myself waiting." ■ "•Not waiting for me, I hope?" said I. " That was surely unnecessary." "No, not for you," she answered. "1 presume, you can" take care of yourself ; but; she added, in a low voice, " she is out, arid I aria waiting to let her in." "Out at this time of night !■— that seems strange. Where has she gone?" "I do not know." "And bow long has she been gone ?" I askedj as I hung up my hat. "I cannot tell just what time she went out," she said. "She went out before the rain, did she? " "Yes, sir ; some time before the rain." "Oh! Then that explains it: she was probably caught out by the rain, and took Bhelter somewhere, and has been persuaded to stay. There is nothing to be alarmed at ; you had better not wait up another moment." r The next morning at breakfast I noticed that my landlady was looking pale and troubled, and I. felt sure she had spent a sieeplessjiighfc. ■ ' "Well; Mrs. Honeywold," I said, with assumed^ cheerfulness, as she handed* my coffee toTme, "'how long did you have to sit >%p ? What time did she come in ?" • "She Mid not come all night, general," said my landlady, in a troubled voice. "She has, not come home yet, and I am very anxious about it." When I returned at dinner-tune I fount! matters still worse. She had. not returned. My poor landlady was. almost in hysterics, though she tried hard to control herself. "I give her up now," said my weeping landlady; " I shall never see her again. She js lost for ever ; and those two poor pretty little creatures ' — " "By the way," I said t '.' I wanted to speak to you about them. If she never does return, what do you propose to do with them?" "Keep them!" said the generous and impulsive little woman. " I wanted to say, if she does not return, I will, if you like, relieve you of one of them.

The honor of this is claimed by several people It is a fact, though, at the town library of Nuremberg, there is, in the gym- 1 nasium, an old globe made by John Schoner in the year 1580; On this globe the Panama Canal is elewJjmarked,

My sister, who lives with me, and keeps my house, is a very kind, tender-hearted woman. There are no children in the house, and sbe would, I am sure, be very kind to the poor little thing. What do you say ? " ." No, no ! " sobbed the poor woman ; " I cannot part with them. Their poor mother left them here, and if she ever does return she shall find them here. And if she never returns, then " And she never did return/and no tidings of hor fate ever reached us. If she waa enticed away by artful blandiahments, or kidnapped by cruel violence, we knew not. But I honestly believe the latter. Either way.it was her fatal beauty that led to her destruction ; for, as I have said before, she was the most perfect creature, the most, beautiful Maltese cat that I ever beheld in my life 1 I am sure she never deserted her two. pretty: little kittens of her own accord. And if — poor dumb thing I— she was stolen and killed for her beautiful fur, still I say, as I said at first, she was "more sinned against than sinning. "