CHAPTER XXVII ENGAGED 'Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it. - Shakespeare. To heirs unknown descends the unguarded store, -Pope. T was the twenty-third of December, and again, after continuous days of hovering, vaporous gloom, the earth lay glittering resplendent in a shroud of spotless white. Valois Elwood had been shopping all the afternoon, and when she returned home the hall lights were burning in the Florentine sconces. She looked exceedingly pretty in her sealskins, with the crisp, dark curls fringing her forehead under the jaunty turban, and her eyes and cheeks glowing with animation, which the sharp, bloodstirring air had lent. As she paused at the stand to examine some cards and letters, her mother came out from the reception room and, kissing her with lingering fondness, commenced to remove her boa and mantle. This accomplished, she bestowed another fervent caress, then whispered: "My dear, your father bade me send you to him immediately upon your return. He is awaiting you in the library." "Is he alone?" asked Valois with eyes suddenly down-cast, and heart beating a wild tattoo. "Yes, he is quite alone," said Mrs. Elwood; whereupon there was a little impetuous cry of “Oh, mamma!" then for an instant a pair of soft, warm arms clung tenaciously about Mrs. Elwood's neck, and vanished Valois swiftly down the margin of dark red tapestries toward the apartment where her fate awaited her. Valois had never but once, to her recollection, seen her father in tears; that was upon the death of an old army comrade, but now, as she entered the library, he looked up, and she divined that he had been weeping. "Come here, little girl," he said gravely, and with an expression about the lips that bespoke an inner tumult. After an instant's hesitation, Valois approached and stood before him flushed and embarrassed. He did not take the petite creature upon his knee as had been his wont to do since her babyhood, but placing one arm about her waist he drew her close to him, and after a moment asked her that one of all questions in the catechism which is hardest to answer. "Valois, my daughter, what is Love?" The young girl stood for a moment striving to summon up words in which to couch an intelligent reply. The effort was the most trying one of her life's experience. Mr. Elwood felt her tremble and saw her sweet lips grow pale as he waited for her answer which came at length. With enforced composure, she said: 66 Love, papa, is an inspiration of the heart which when once awakened causes one to realize all that is most beautiful in existence and fills the soul with contentment and happiness unutterable." "Are you certain, my dear, that you have not memorized that pretty little definition from some novel? Is it the analysis of your own heart?" "It is, papa," answered Valois fervently. "Then," said her father as he laid his hand. reverently upon her head, "let us concede that the world holds no holier, no sweeter sentiment, than reciprocal love-a spontaneous and equally measured degree of passion existing between two human souls, what is required to make that passion enduring?" "To render love perfect through life one must. be true and devoted and tender and thoughtful; every thing constant and abiding toward the object loved," answered his daughter. Yes, yes! and, hem-you think that in your love for Lieutenant Carruthers and his love for you, all such qualities will exist ?" "Yes, papa, I--we have become all the world to each other-Gershon and I." There ensued a brief pause, after which Colonel Elwood went on in the same serious tone. "He has been here this afternoon-your Gershon; and he has asked me for your hand in marriage," he paused again and Valois waited with suspended breath for him to pursue. Oh, the dread uncertainty of his next words! "My daughter, it is hardly the future we had mapped out for you. Aside from Lieutenant Carruthers' pay he has but three thousand dollars a year." "I know papa, but is-is not that a considerable sum ?" asked the young girl. Colonel Elwood smiled and shook his head seriously. "It would perhaps keep you in pin money, my dear," he said, "but would scarcely support an establishment such as would befit an Elwood." Valois was certain that she detected a depreciation in his words which threatened annihilation to all her fondest dreams; and involuntarily her arms tightened about his neck in mute appeal, "But," went on her father presently, "your ma and I have been talking the matter over, and, seeing that the Lieutenant has a pedigree-that he is of good blood, a true gentleman and a soldier, we have concluded - hem !- we have — that is we have conceded to him as a future sonin-law. At the event of your union, I will settle upon you the estate of Ivendene, a good townhouse and a decent allowance. There! yes, of course, kiss me now now run away to your lover; I think he is with your ma in the reception room." The sun never shone upon a fairer day than that which ushered in Christmas-eve in the great New England metropolis. Counter-hurrying throngs, eagerly intent on holiday purchases, massed the narrow thoroughfares. Carriages flanked the curbs, and ill-clad, bare-footed urchins pressed their little frozen noses against the confectioner's windows where were temptingly displayed bon-bons and cornucopias and old women in shoes, whose legion of children wore blue and red and yellow petticoats, all glimmering with frost. It was from one of these bon-bon shops that Valois Elwood had just stepped, and was about to enter her carriage when she was arrested by a voice of childish distress. Looking around she saw a boy of about eight years crouching almost under the very feet of her horses. He was sobbing piteously, and grovelling in the dirty snow and slush which had been swept from the pavement. "Get up from there, you blubbering vagabond! |