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Show ONLY A FLIRTATION. <br><br> Night had settled on the quiet village of S---. The sun had sunk behind the surrounding hills, and the town clock on the church had struck the hour of ten. Only here and there a pedestrian was seen on his homeward way, or strolling idly along enjoying the cool breeze of an autumn night.<br><br> Somewhat secluded from the more inhabited part of the village stood one of those vine-covered cottages that poets rave about, and the careworn man of business dreams of. The garden which surrounded it was filled with fragrant flowers while summer lasted, but now only a few fall roses graced the deserted beds. The moon shone brightly on a couple who were standing at the gate of this rustic garden. They were apparently lovers; yet the set teeth and determined air of the man, the pale face and shrinking attitude of the maiden, denoted that something more than usual was taking place [unreadable lines] stopped to listen to what they said. The man spoke first. <br><br> "You must forget me. I am not worth remembering, nor the foolish words I may have spoken. It was only a little flirtation, you know - very pleasant while it lasted; but then all such things must come to an end." And he waited, a little impatiently, for her answer, never once thinking how the true heart of the maid beside him was wounded by those cruel words, "a little flirtation." <br><br> The moon rose higher in the starry heavens, and again looked down on the two at the gate. Lo! The timid maid seemed to have been transformed into a woman, cold and haughty. Drawing herself up to her full height, she replied,-- <br><br> "Certainly; I would not consider it in any other light than a flirtation; and as you say all such things must have an end, pleasant though they be." <br><br> "But, Helen," said the man, glancing at his watch, "you must not think me heartless or fickle, for if I had thought you really loved me -" <br><br> "Enough!" she interrupted. "I know what you would say; but it is better unsaid; and I think it would be best to part at once."<br><br> "Perhaps it would," he said, somewhat relieved by her reply. "But," he continued, "if we should meet again, will it be as friends or strangers?" <br><br> "As friends, of course; and why not? For we have been only friends," and a slight bitterness mingled with the calmly spoken words of the girl. <br><br> "So," she added, "I will bid you good by, as it is growing late." <br><br> And thus they parted. He did not take her hand, but only bowed and hurried away, and was soon lost in the darkness. Then, when he was gone, all her calmness, all her forced fortitude, gave way, and, sinking on a rustic bench near the gate, she gave way to a paroxysm of tears which came from wounded pride and love. <br><br>] After a while she turned her gaze to the moon, and, as she gazed, her features expressed a thought so deep that not even the moon could penetrate it. A change seemed have taken place in the character of this village maiden, no longer timid and shy, but a strong woman, with a purpose to live for. <br><br> How often a little accident, happening in the outset of life, changes the whole tenor of one's future! <br><br> The clock was striking eleven as the figure of a girl crept wearily up the garden path and disappeared within the cottage. The moon continued on in its course through the silence of the night, carrying this scene with it. <br><br> The history of these two people is short and simple. Helen Kingsly was the only child of her widowed mother, who resided in the cottage before mentioned. Her father died when she was little more than an infant, leaving a small income by which, with a little economy, they managed to live tolerably well. Helen was the beauty of the village in which she lived, and no wonder Horace Beauchamp, while resting after his college labors at S---, found it very pleasant to amuse himself by winning the heart of the village maiden. <br><br> And she, never dreaming that he was trifling, gave him all her simple, trusting heart. To be sure he had not pleaded his love in words; but did not those fond glances from the darkest and tenderest of eyes, the passionate clasp of his hand, tell her more than mere words could tell? How ready is woman to trust man's fond looks and caressing voice! But his eyes will cease to cast tender love glances, the hand grow cold, and the caressing voice estranged. No warning came to Helen Kingsly during those brief summer days. Oh, where was her guardian angel, that a whisper of the future had not been wafted to her? <br><br> Horace Beauchamp was the only child of a fond mother and a worldly father, who being a millionaire, built many proud hopes in his son. Horace had just finished his college career with brilliant honors, and, longing for a rest before entering upon the busy scenes of business life and the excitement of fashionable society, he sought this rural village for such a retreat; but, as it seemed rather monotonous, he passed the time as best he could by a little flirtation with the prettiest girl in the village. <br><br> But when the time came for his return to the city, he found, to his dismay, that the flirtation had gone a little further than he intended, for he found that Helen loved him; so, not knowing any other way to break the affair off, he resolved to strike the blow at once by telling Helen he must return immediately to his home. At first she did not comprehend his meaning when he made his farewell, which was cold and constrained; but as he talked, the truth slowly dawned upon her; then all her pride came to her aid, and he, thinking her calmly-spoken good-by was from her heart, contented himself with the belief that he was mistaken in thinking this village maiden loved him. <br><br> Meanwhile, Horace Beauchamp had arrived at his home in the busy city, and the weeping girl at the gate was forgotten. <br><br> Five years passed away, bringing many changes. Death had visited the cottage of the Kingslys, and carried away the mother, leaving Helen to the care of an aunt, who was a wealthy widow living in the city. She hastened to the village, and, as soon as the funeral was over, took Helen to her own home, and tried by every means to make the lonely orphan forget the great loss which she had suffered. <br><br> For four years Helen studied hard at French, music and instructive literature. Painting and dancing were added to the fashionable accomplishments in which she tried hard to succeed. <br><br> At the age of twenty-one her aunt introduced her into fashionable society, in which Helen shone as a star; and, although a year had passed since [unreadable line] as an acknowledged belle. During her first season she met Horace Beauchamp quite often. They greeted one another as friends, and for some time past he had become her attendant to almost all the places of amusement that she attended. At the opera or in the ball-room he was always at her side. Her rare beauty, now fully developed made a deep impression on the thoughtless young man, and he tried by every attention to erase from her memory the recollection of their meeting that summer five years ago. <br><br> She gave him every reason to think that she preferred his company to that of all the gentlemen who followed in her train; for beauty always has many admirers. They were pointed out by the world as engaged and Helen's friends congratulated her on the conquest; but she only smiled, a little bitterly, perhaps. They knew not that Helen Kingsly, so amiable and sweet-tempered, was working out a plan of revenge to punish the man who had so cruelly trifled with her. She led him on, knowing that he truly loved her now, forgetting all else but this one purpose. But the end was drawing nigh; her task was almost finished.<br><br> September had come again, and the leaves presented a fine collection of autumn beauties. Evening shades were fast gathering over the busy city, the moon had already begun its course in the heavens. <br><br> Helen Kingsly was standing on the veranda of her aunt's elegant residence. She was waiting for someone, and her restless manner revealed her impatience at the delay. <br><br> Suddenly a footstep sounded near her, and turning around, she beheld Horace Beauchamp. With a bright smile she welcomed him, saying, -- <br><br> "I expected you before, Mr. Beauchamp. Your note asked me to be home at eight, and now it is nearly nine." <br><br> A slight reproach could be detected in her tone, and he hastened to apologize. <br><br> "A thousand pardons for thus keeping you waiting; but I was detained by an urgent business call. As soon as I was free I came immediately to see you, as much depends on your answer to a question that I am about to ask." <br><br> She bowed, and he went on.<br><br> "An old friend of my father's from California offered me the position of junior partner in his extensive business. I am to give him my answer tomorrow, but it remains with you, Helen, whether I shall go or stay. Which shall it be?" <br><br> After a moment's silence he led her to a seat on the veranda, and there pleaded his love in words of deep affection, with all the ardor of one who worshiped at love's shrine. When he had expressed each burning thought, Helen's silence filled him with hope, and he again urged his suit, ending by saying, --<br><br> "You must love me, Helen, for your actions tell me so." <br><br> Then she knew that the moment of her triumph had arrived, and in a cold, scornful tone she replied,-- <br><br> "You certainly are mistaken in my actions, whatever they may have been. I was only enjoying a little flirtation - nothing else, but very pleasant while it lasted." <br><br> "Oh, Helen," he groaned, as he heard his own words repeated, "am I not forgiven? I know that I deserve it. I will try and bear this punishment. Farewell; I shall accept the offer of my father's friend. I will go to California." And with one last look at the woman he loved so well, he turned and left her to her own reflections. <br>br> Helen sat very still. She heard his farewell words but could not reply. His footsteps, echoing along the pavement, sent back a wail to her broken heart. Gone! And when she had gained the revenge she so craved - when she had brought him to lay his heart at her feet - when she had sent him away with bitter reproach to himself, she found only too late how passionately she still loved him. But it was all over now. <br><br> Thus they parted the second time, and how like, yet so different, was the parting five years ago at the garden gate! The moon looked down in pity on the woman who, in taking revenge on one whom she really loved, had thrown away her own happiness. But the moon could do naught but pity so passed on in silence. <br><br> Three days after the parting scene with Helen, Horace Beauchamp left for the far West, and his father, after settling his affairs, soon followed. Horace did not see Helen again, and how he lived she never knew. He seemed to have passed out of her life, taking with his departure all her brightness and peace. <br><br> Helen bore her sorrow bravely. The following winter was gayer than ever, but when spring came she drooped. "A cold she had caught during the winter," they said; but it grew worse rapidly, and when June roses were all abloom Helen Kingsly passed from this world to the one above. Her tired spirit had burst its bonds, and was now at rest. They buried her in the village church yard, beside her parents; and planted a white rose-bush on her grave; she had requested that. <br><br> Her aunt, broken-hearted by her loss, left the city, and took up her abode in the cottage in her niece's native village, and there she lived until she died. Now the cottage has gone to ruin, the roses and vines are dead, the gate is broken down, and all around is deserted. - Waverly. |
