The Senator's Favorite

He drew the trembling little hand fondly within his arm, and they walked along several minutes in that silence so dear to lovers, each heart thrilling with the nearness of the beloved one. The moon silvered the graveled path they were walking, and the soft breeze blew to his senses the fragrance of the knot of violets Precious wore at her white throat.

The walk to the river seemed very short and perilously sweet. They paused in the shadow of a tree and suddenly, ere Precious realized his intention, Lord Chester clasped her in his arms, and kissed her lips.

"My own Precious, my beautiful darling!" he murmured, holding her close, and kissing again and again the lovely face, not realizing at first that she was shrinking from him, trying to struggle out of his arms.

He was not a vain man, but somehow he had been very sure that Precious returned his love; it had seemed to him that they were made for each other.

"God made two souls in Paradise
Of air and fire and dew,
Then oped the morning's crystal gates,
And let them wander through."

It seemed to the young lover that God had created himself and Precious twin souls. They belonged to each other, and neither could desire to escape so sweet a fate.

He had quite forgotten the beautiful belle for whom he had cherished a fleeting fancy. The passion of a lifetime had swept across his soul like a wave upon the shore, obliterating all other things, and as he clasped and kissed the girl beneath the watching stars it seemed to him that the whole universe contained only God, Precious, and himself.

It was a moment of the purest rapture, the most ecstatic bliss; it was so exquisite it touched the border line of pain.

That girlish, budding form in the circle of his tender arms, that golden head on his shoulder, that lovely face beneath his lips, her warm breath and the odor of the violets at her throat blending together, it was intoxicating, divine.

"My little bride that is to be," he whispered; but a frightened sob replied to him; she writhed herself out of his clasping arms.

"Have I startled you, my Precious? Ah, forgive me, little angel," he cried eagerly, and added: "You received my letter, Precious? You know how much I love you! Do you love me a little in return? May I speak to your father to-morrow, and tell him that it is Precious, not Ethel, who is to be my bonny bride?"

Ah, Heaven, the sweetness of that wooing voice, the glorious beauty of that face smiling down on her, the heaven of love in those eager, extended arms! Her tender heart went out to him with passionate yearning to grant his prayer:

"To grow, live, die, looking on his face,
Die, dying, clasped in his embrace!"

For a moment she could not speak. She leaned back dizzily against the tree with her half-shut eyes upon his face—leaned there silently, and heard the night breeze sighing over her head, the river lapsing at her feet, whispering over and over to her heart, "Regret! Regret! Regret!"

He would have taken her hand, but she waved him back.

"Precious, speak to me," he urged. "Why are you so strange? Has my impulsiveness offended you? I pray you forgive me."

She answered, in a low and hollow voice:

"Listen to the river. It is saying again and again those words you heard that day, 'Too late! Too late!'"

"Ah, no, my love, they are different now. Listen how clear and distinct the words, 'Love! Love! Love!'"

But she did not smile; he saw her shudder and draw back as he advanced to her side.

A sudden dreadful thought came over him like an icy chill. He faltered:

"Can it be I have been over-confident? Am I mistaken in believing–"

"Yes, oh, yes—a great mistake!" she breathed faintly, just loud enough for him to catch the words.

He stood like one stunned, the hope and joy fading from his eyes, his heart sinking with despair.

Then he found his voice, and cried hoarsely:

"I must be going mad. I was as sure of your love, as sure of my happiness, as I am that God reigns in heaven. Do you mean that you do not love me, that you cannot marry me?"

"Never! never!"

"Child, child, you cannot be so cruel! Ah, give me a little hope to live on! Say you will try to love me. Let me teach you love's sweet lesson. Let me plead to you!"

"Ah, no, no, no! Let me plead to you, Arthur—nay, Lord Chester!" and suddenly she was on her knees, at his feet, her white face uplifted in the moonlight, the burning tears upon her cheeks. Wild words came from the pale, writhing lips—startling words full of Ethel's repentance and Ethel's prayer for pardon.

"You are not free, you dare not love another lest Ethel's despair blight your happiness. Go back to her, forgive her, and the old love will return," she sobbed.

He had listened in terrified silence to every word. Now he took her hands and lifted her gently to her feet.

"Do not kneel to me, little saint," he said sadly, and looked into her eyes.

They could not meet his. The long lashes drooped and shadowed her cheek. Then he asked gently:

"Would you build Ethel's happiness on the wreck of yours and mine, my darling?"

"You must not call me your darling, you must not think of me. I am only a child, she says, too young to know what love is like. So," wearily, "you see there is no question of me. It is only you and Ethel—two lovers who have quarreled, and must make it up again."

"Never! never!" he cried angrily. "She released me of her own free will—flung me off in scorn."

"She repents! She prays you to return! Oh, Arthur, go!"

"You can send me back to her! Ah, then, indeed, I dreamed a vain dream. You never loved me, never!"

"Go then, for pity's sake, return to unhappy Ethel, and save her heart from breaking!" she sobbed miserably.

"And sacrifice my own!" he muttered, in the hoarse tones of despair.

She saw him stoop down a moment. A sob shook her frame as he gathered the violets that had fallen from her throat, and placed them in his breast. Then he looked at her, saying:

"You can do this horrible thing—send me from you with this tortured heart to another? Then, indeed, you must be a child as she says. You cannot know the strength and the madness of love!"

"Go back to Ethel! It is my one prayer to you, Lord Chester," she faltered imploringly.

"Then I will go. May God forgive you, Precious," and he hurried away.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A PROUD GIRL'S HUMILITY

"The roses that his hands have plucked
Are sweet to me, are death to me;
Between them, as through living flowers,