As his mind grew clearer, his keen observation began
to reveal hopeful indications. She was listening
intently with approval, and something more in her
expression, he dared to fancy. Suddenly he exclaimed,
“How changed you are for the better, Clara!
You are lovelier to-night than ever you were.
What is it in your face that is so sweet and bewildering?
You were a pretty girl before; now you are a beautiful
woman.”
The color came swiftly at his words, and she faltered
as she averted her eyes, “Please go on with
your story, Ralph. You have scarcely begun yet.
I fear you were in danger.”
He came and stood beside her. “Clara,”
he pleaded, “look at me.”
Hesitatingly she raised her eyes to his.
“Shall I tell you what I hope I see?”
The faintest suggestion of a smile hovered about her
trembling lips.
“I hope I see what you surely see in mine.
Come, Clara, you shall choose before you hear my story.
Am I to be your husband or friend? for I’ve
vowed that you shall not be without a loyal protector.”
“Ralph, Ralph,” she cried, springing up
and hiding her face on his shoulder, “I have
no choice at all. You know how I loved papa; but
I’ve learned that there’s another and different
kind of love. I didn’t half understand
you when you first spoke; now I do. You will
always see in my eyes what you’ve seen to-night.”
LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS
Hopeless indeed must that region be which May cannot
clothe with some degree of beauty and embroider with
flowers. On the 5th day of the month the early
dawn revealed much that would charm the eyes of all
true lovers of nature even in that section of Virginia
whose characteristics so grimly correspond with its
name—The Wilderness. The low pines
and cedars, which abound everywhere, had taken a fresh
green; the deciduous trees, the tangled thickets,
impenetrable in many places by horse or man, were putting
forth a new, tender foliage, tinted with a delicate
semblance of autumn hues. Flowers bloomed everywhere,
humbly in the grass close to the soil as well as on
the flaunting sprays of shrubbery and vines, filling
the air with fragrance as the light touched and expanded
the petals. Wood-thrushes and other birds sang
as melodiously and contentedly as if they had selected
some breezy upland forest for their nesting-place
instead of a region which has become a synonym for
gloom, horror, and death.
