Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/142

 CHRISTIAN FORD'S TROUBLES.

BY FRANK LEE BENEDICT.

CHAPTER I.

The sun had gone down behind a mass of dark clouds, and the twilight cast deep shadows over the lake, which an hour before had been golden with the sunset.

Christian Ford stood by the water’s edge, looking dreamily upon the distant hills where a clearer light still lingered, though the shadows were slowly creeping up almost to their summits.

It was a pretty scene by daylight, that quiet lake, with the rocky hills crowding down on one side almost to the margin of the waters; on the others a broad sweep of level plain, with a little village sleeping in the distance, so completely embowered in trees that only the church spire was visible from the spot where Christian stood.

The road passed close to the lake, winding in and out the picturesque curves, with-several dwellings scattered along, from whence lights began to gleam forth as the evening drew on.

But Christian Ford was not thinking of the beauty and quiet which had so often charmed and soothed her. Very grave and pale she looked standing there in the gloom, and one familiar with her face would have seen the changes of a great sorrow in her misty eyes, and the patient sadness of her mouth.

Suddenly the stillness was broken by quick, impatient footsteps on the turf, and at the sound Christian’s features contracted with suffering, then by an effort of her strong will settled into a pallid calm, which gave little evidence of the emotion so sternly repressed.

“Why, Christian, one would think you had been trying to run away from me. I waited for you at the house till I was tired, and at length it occurred to me that I might find you down here.”

Christian turned toward the speaker, quiet and self-possessed.

“I had forgotten that it was so late; shall we walk back to the house?”

“Oh, no, stay here, I beg; I don’t feel tonight like being shut up indoors.”

“As you like,” Christian replied, in the same changeless tone, turning her face a little away a if she were still gazing far over the hills from whence the light had wholly faded.

The young man was moving restlessly to and fro, his breath coming quickly like one agitated by strong excitement, and his eyes fastened upon Christian, as if they would have asked some question which his lips refused to utter.

“Why do you stand there so cold and silent?” he said, hastily. “One would think it displeased you to have me near you.”

There was a slight quiver about Christian’s mouth, but she mastered the agitation bravely, and looked at him with a smile.

“You are a little unjust to me, as is often the case, Mr. Gray.”

“Why do you speak to me in that way?— can’t you call me Robert? Forgive me if I have been abrupt and rude; I am troubled and anxious. Listen to me, Christian! You know very well why I have come here tonight. I leave this place tomorrow, and I could not go without some certainty, some understanding.”

She stood there so motionless, one might have thought she heard no syllable that he had spoken, and he went on in his quick, earnest voice,

“You asked for time to reflect, Christian—I have given you three days! Now answer, do you love me?—will you be my wife?”

His wife! How Christian’s womanly heart throbbed at the words, then grew sick with the thought that the sweet name might never be hers.

“You know how I love you, Christian—I can-

mand—but you feel it, do you not?”

She struggled a little with herself, and then said, with the same forced composure,

“I believe that you think so now, Robert.”

“Do not treat real affection with insult, Christian,” he exclaimed, angrily, “even if you do not care for me; no woman has a right to return true love with scorn.”

“Nor had I that intention, Robert; you know me too well to think me capable of it. Yes, I believe that you love me, but whether that love is the one which is to last through life, or only a youthful passion, neither you nor I can tell.” He made an impatient gesture, but she forced him to silence with the soft pressure of her hand upon his arm.

“Hear me out, Robert; I am not saying this to wound you, but because it is true. You

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