An Old Man's Darling. Alex. McVeigh Miller

from her aching little heart.

      Bonnibel had never wept so wildly in all her life. It seemed to her that she would die of her grief as she lay panting and weeping in Leslie's tender arms.

      "Do not weep so, my little love," he whispered. "We were too sanguine of success. But try to bear it bravely, my Bonnibel. We both are young. We can bear to wait a few years until my success is assured, and then I will claim you for my own in spite of all the world!"

      Bonnibel did not answer. She continued to sob heart-brokenly, and Leslie could feel her little heart beating wildly against his breast as if it would burst with the strain of her grief.

      So absorbed was he in trying to comfort the agitated girl that he did not hear the sound of an approaching footstep.

      The next moment Wild Madge, the sibyl, stood before them, and the echo of her weird and mocking laugh blent strangely with the hollow beat of the Atlantic waves.

      "Aha," she cried discordantly. "You weep, my bonny maid! Ah! said I not that the clouds of sorrow hung low over that golden head?"

      Bonnibel started and clung closer to her lover, while a tremor shook her frame.

      Leslie turned angrily and rebuked the old woman.

      "Begone!" he said sternly. "How dare you come prowling about this lady with your croakings of evil? Never dare to address her again."

      Wild Madge retreated a few steps and stood looking at him malevolently in the moonlight. Again her laugh rang out mockingly.

      "Never fear, fond lover, Wild Madge would not harm a hair of that bonny head you shelter on your breast. But destiny is stronger than you or I. Her doom is written. Take the little maid in your arms and spring out into the sea there, and save her from the heart-aches that are beginning now!"

      "Begone, I say!" reiterated the young artist threateningly.

      "I obey you," said the sibyl, retreating, with her mocking, discordant laugh still ringing in their ears.

      "Bonnibel," he whispered, "look up, my sweet one. The crazy old creature is gone. You need not fear her predictions—they mean nothing! Try and calm yourself and listen to me. I have much to say to you to-night for it is the last time we shall meet until I come to claim my bride. In a few hours I must leave here. To-morrow I shall be on a steamer bound for Europe."

      "So soon?" she gasped brokenly, stifling her anguished sobs.

      "The sooner the better, darling. I must not dally here when I have so much work to do. Remember I have fame and fortune to conquer before we meet again!"

      "It will be so long," she moaned, slipping out of his arms and sinking down on the pebbly beach with her face hidden in her hands.

      Leslie picked up the shawl which had slipped from her shoulders and wrapped it carefully about her, for the sea-air was chilly and damp.

      "It may seem long to us now, dear," he said, sitting down beside her, "but in reality it will pass very quickly. I shall work very hard with such a prize in view, and I hope the time of our separation will not be long. I shall go at once to Rome and place myself under the best masters. I have genius, for I feel it within me, and the critics already admit it. Never fear, darling, but that my success will be speedy and sure."

      "But away off to Rome," said the girl. "Oh! Leslie, that seems as if you were going out of the world. Why need you go to Italy? Cannot you study here in this country?"

      "Not so well, my little love, as in Italy, where I can have better masters, and better facilities for studying the paintings of the world's greatest artists in the beautiful old churches and cathedrals. I must have the best instruction, for I want to make the name you will bear an honored one."

      She lifted her beautiful, tear-wet face in the moonlight, and said, gently and simply:

      "We need not wait for fame and fortune, Leslie. Take me with you now."

      For a minute Leslie Dane could not speak. She waited, patiently for her, laying her hands in his, and looking up into his face with eyes beautiful enough to lead a man's heart astray and bewilder his reason.

      "My child," he said, presently, "I wish that I might do so, but you know not what you ask. You have been reared in the lap of luxury and pride. You could not live through the deprivation and poverty I must endure before I conquer success."

      "I could bear anything better than the separation from you, Leslie," said the poor child, who had but the faintest idea what those two words, "poverty and privation," meant.

      "You think so, dear," said the artist, "because you do not know the meaning of poverty; but adversity would wither and destroy you as quickly as some hot-house blossom would die when transplanted to regions of ice and snow. No, darling, I am too proud to take you now in my obscurity and poverty. Let us wait until the name I can give you shall be an honor to wear."

      "It must be so if you wish it, Leslie," she answered, sadly; "but, oh, how can I bear the long separation when I love you so devotedly?"

      "It will not be for long, dearest—two or three years at best. The time will pass quickly to you in your happy home, under the devoted care of your Uncle Francis—only you must not permit him to alienate your affections from me, for that I am sure is his present intention."

      She was silent, resting her head against his supporting arm, and passing her small hand wearily over her brow as if to dispel some gathering mist from her sight. The solemn, mystical sound of the foam-capped waves breaking silently on the shore seemed strangely pathetic to her ears. They had never sounded so sad before.

      "Darling, of what are you thinking?" he asked, gently.

      She started and shivered, lifting her white face up to his with a look that nearly broke his heart, it was so pitifully pathetic. He had never seen anything but happiness on that beautiful face. Why had he won her love only to plant the thorns of sorrow in that fond and trusting heart?

      "Leslie, dear," she said, in a strangely altered voice, "do you believe in presentiments?"

      He started at the words.

      "Bonnibel," he answered, "I hardly know whether I do or not. It would be very superstitious to believe in such things, would it not? And yet may not a merciful Providence sometimes vouchsafe us warnings of things, as the Scotch say, 'beyond our ken'? My darling, why did you ask me that strange question?"

      He took her little trembling hand in his and looked searchingly into her face.

      "Leslie," she said, "I have such a strange feeling. Perhaps you will laugh at it. I should have laughed at it myself two hours ago."

      "Tell me, dear," he pleaded; "I will not even smile."

      She looked up with something like awe shining in her large eyes.

      "Leslie, I can hardly find words to put this strong presentiment in; but I feel that if we part now—like this—that before you win the honors you covet, some terrible bar of fate will come between us and sunder us so widely that we shall never meet again."

      The low, impressive words fell heavily on his heart, chilling it like ice. How strangely they sounded from his little Bonnibel, who but an hour ago was as gay as a butterfly in the sunshine. Now the very elements of tragedy were in her voice and face. A jealous pang struck him to the heart.

      "Bonnibel," he said, quietly, "do you mean that your uncle would marry you to someone else before I came back to claim you?"

      "I do not know," she said; "I hardly think my feeling was as clearly defined as that. It was a dim, intangible something I could not fathom, and took no peculiar shape. But he might try to do that, for, oh, Leslie! Uncle Francis is terribly angry with us both."

      "I am quite aware of that, my dearest," he answered, bitterly. "But, Bonnibel, this presentiment of yours troubles me. Perhaps I am foolish, but I have always been a half-way believer in these things."

      "Leslie, I believe it firmly," she said, choking back a sob that rose in her throat; "Uncle Francis will dig some impassable gulf between us. When we part to-night, it will be forever."

      Hiding her face on his shoulder she sobbed aloud. Poor