United States or Costa Rica ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Silas Fordam, at his beautiful winter home, "Orange Hall," situated in the heart of St. Mary's, a note, signed by the Hon. J. M. Arnow, mayor of the city, was handed me. Mr. Arnow, in the name of the city government, invited my presence at the Spencer House. Upon arriving at the hotel, a surprise awaited me.
"Wait; I have some adhesive plaster." Even then she didn't guess. "How did you do it?" she asked. "Oh, I don't know " Mary's glance suddenly deepened into tenderness, and when Archey left a few minutes later, he walked as one who trod the clouds, his head among the stars. An hour passed, and Mary looked in Uncle Stanley's office. Burdon's desk was closed as though for the day.
"Isn't that the telephone ringing downstairs?" Peter listened; then nodded. "I'll answer it!" exclaimed Douglas. He dashed downstairs and jerked the receiver off the hook. "I want Doug! I gotta depone to Doug," came a breathless old voice over the wire. "Yes, Johnny, here I am! Where are you?" "At Mary's. They got the preacher, Doug!" "Who? Be cool now, Johnny, and help me. Who did it?" "Two men.
"I'm making cookies for Johnny," Miss Lydia said, briskly, and Mary's soft hands clenched. Why shouldn't she be making cookies for Johnny! "I've got a pan in the oven," said Miss Lydia, "and I've got to watch 'em." Mary was silent; she sat down by the table, her breath catching in her throat.
Lydia Lord came down to get Mary's dinner, and again Susan helped the watery vegetable into a pyramid of saucers, and passed the green glass dish of pickles, and the pink china sugar-bowl. But she was happy to-night, and it seemed good to be home, where she could be her natural self, and put her elbows on the table, and be listened to and laughed at, instead of playing a role.
This change is greatly to Mary's credit. As, in his Introduction to "St. Leon" he made his public recantation of faith, so in the course of the story he elaborated his new doctrines, and, by so doing, paid tribute to the woman who had wrought the wonder. His hero's description of married pleasures being based on his own knowledge of them, he writes:
Mary's church glimmered like fire in the last beams of the sun, and the moon ascended like a pale but gentle countenance over the roof of their house. There was a something in this appearance which made a sorrowful impression on Gabriele.
Mary's courtesy was unfailing, and though she felt all a Frenchwoman's disgust at the roast-beef of old England, she said, "We are too close companions not to eat together, and I fear she will be the best trencher comrade, for, sir, I am a woman sick and sorrowful, and have little stomach for meat."
To compare this barn of a house to your lovely home is enough to make me long to be there with all my heart. Instead of my beautiful rooms, and Mary's constant attendance, imagine your mother writing in a room whose windows have no shades, so that one has the uncomfortable sensation that any one outside may be looking in.
There is a place along the way in the pilgrimage to the altar of Love, when the god takes on an awe-inspiring phase which makes a man hide his eyes in his hands with fear of the most abject. At such times with her lamp of faith a woman goes on ahead and lights the way for both, but while Rose Mary's flame burned strongly, her unconsciousness was profound.
Word Of The Day