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Article BOOKSTORE PRIORY. ← Page 2 of 4 →
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Bookstore Priory.
comers in the glades and fern-tangled hollows of Rookstone Park , where , except in the days of his younger manhood , his feet had never trod . Slowly walking by the willing girl ' s side , trampling and crushing the mossbedded violets under footand breathing
, the light summer air , laden with the perfume of " sweet wild hyacinths , " Lowndes Forrester could not help thinking how blessed it would be to have her
always by his side ; to have her always as his companion ; to have her for his very own : to live for her , and her only ; to call her by the sacred and holy name of wife . His wife ! Ah , Heaven , he could not ask her ! What would she say to him were he to pray her to tie herself to his sidefor
, better , for worse ; to swear to love , honour , and obey a' sightless , useless piece of humanity , whose helplessness was as that of a little child ! 'What ivould she say oven to the idea of so terrible a sacrifice ?
Then , too , how dangerously happy lo poor blind Lowndes and to Alice were the peaceful , blue-misled golden summer evenings , when , after dinner , aunt Jem dozing as usual over the intricacies of the waves and struggling Egyptians , Alice would read to Lowndes Forrester the books that as a
younger man he had delighted in most ! All through his years of awful darkness those boolcs had never been opened . AVho was there at Rookstone to appreciate his favourite authors ; to read aloud and go over with him the beautiful passages
which ho had marked in their pages ? JN ' o one but aunt Jem ; . and she—well , she would doubtless have done her best . But then aunt Jem , poor soul , was not over fond of what she termed " deep reading , you know ; " and , moreover , she possessed
an extraordinary knack of confusing Tennyson hopelessly with Macaulay , Shelly with Shakspeare , Byrou with Bishop Hebor , and would ever persist in declaring that "Ingoldsby" was the author of Paradise Lost , and that the Loves of the Anrjek was a production of poor " L . E . L . ' s . "
But how different with Alice ! AVith her to read to him in her low , plaintive voice , while the sun died grandly in the golden AVest , and aunt Jem dozed placidly over the discomfited Egyptians , the drawing room windows open , the cool fra « raut air blowing ill upon them , Lowndes
Forrester lived his youth over again , and his heart "was full of an untold joy ; he on one . side of the low , deep-seated open window , and Alice AVest on the other , her book supported by the sill of the window , the dying splendour of tho sotting sun
lighting up the glory of her nut-brown hair . From the loves of Dante and Beatrice to the loves of Gabriel and Evangeline ; from the musical soul-stirring " Lays of Ancient Rome" to the tendertouching
, beauty of "Dora" and "Enoch Arden , " all were gone over . Oh , lialcj ^ on summer evenings , full of the soft sweet musical cadence of a beautiful woman ' s voice !
Yes , it was a golden time , and it fostered and made more strong the love which had taken root in the master of liookstonc ' s heart . " Oh , if I could only make her love me ?" he would cry sadly to himself , "Might
not the world bo all gladness then !" At last Lowndes Forrester could bear it no longer . He determined to tell Alice West that he loved her with all his heart . It all happened one day towards the end of July . The afternoon was cloudless
, and not a breath of wind was stirring . The birds were singing languidly in the leafy boughs , and the flowers drooping beneath the heat of the sun . Mrs . Lorriniore , upstairs in her dressing-room , was fast asleep , lulled into a dreamless slumber
by the humming of the insects outside her window . Miss AVest , armed with a huge sunshade , a broad-brimmed hat , and a volume of George Eliot's Mill of the Floss , was ready for her accustomed stroll . She was just
in the act of taking the camp-stool from a corner of the hall , when the library door opened , and Lowndes Forrester appeared on the threshold . "Is that you , Miss AVest ? Are you going out 1 " he asked . " Not if you -wish me to stay in , " she
answered . " On the contrary ; I should like to come with you . May IV " Yes , " she answered . That was all ; yet if he could have seen tho liquid lig ht which filled her violet eyes ! She was always happier when he was by her side , and was thankful sometimes that Lowndes could not see the
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Bookstore Priory.
comers in the glades and fern-tangled hollows of Rookstone Park , where , except in the days of his younger manhood , his feet had never trod . Slowly walking by the willing girl ' s side , trampling and crushing the mossbedded violets under footand breathing
, the light summer air , laden with the perfume of " sweet wild hyacinths , " Lowndes Forrester could not help thinking how blessed it would be to have her
always by his side ; to have her always as his companion ; to have her for his very own : to live for her , and her only ; to call her by the sacred and holy name of wife . His wife ! Ah , Heaven , he could not ask her ! What would she say to him were he to pray her to tie herself to his sidefor
, better , for worse ; to swear to love , honour , and obey a' sightless , useless piece of humanity , whose helplessness was as that of a little child ! 'What ivould she say oven to the idea of so terrible a sacrifice ?
Then , too , how dangerously happy lo poor blind Lowndes and to Alice were the peaceful , blue-misled golden summer evenings , when , after dinner , aunt Jem dozing as usual over the intricacies of the waves and struggling Egyptians , Alice would read to Lowndes Forrester the books that as a
younger man he had delighted in most ! All through his years of awful darkness those boolcs had never been opened . AVho was there at Rookstone to appreciate his favourite authors ; to read aloud and go over with him the beautiful passages
which ho had marked in their pages ? JN ' o one but aunt Jem ; . and she—well , she would doubtless have done her best . But then aunt Jem , poor soul , was not over fond of what she termed " deep reading , you know ; " and , moreover , she possessed
an extraordinary knack of confusing Tennyson hopelessly with Macaulay , Shelly with Shakspeare , Byrou with Bishop Hebor , and would ever persist in declaring that "Ingoldsby" was the author of Paradise Lost , and that the Loves of the Anrjek was a production of poor " L . E . L . ' s . "
But how different with Alice ! AVith her to read to him in her low , plaintive voice , while the sun died grandly in the golden AVest , and aunt Jem dozed placidly over the discomfited Egyptians , the drawing room windows open , the cool fra « raut air blowing ill upon them , Lowndes
Forrester lived his youth over again , and his heart "was full of an untold joy ; he on one . side of the low , deep-seated open window , and Alice AVest on the other , her book supported by the sill of the window , the dying splendour of tho sotting sun
lighting up the glory of her nut-brown hair . From the loves of Dante and Beatrice to the loves of Gabriel and Evangeline ; from the musical soul-stirring " Lays of Ancient Rome" to the tendertouching
, beauty of "Dora" and "Enoch Arden , " all were gone over . Oh , lialcj ^ on summer evenings , full of the soft sweet musical cadence of a beautiful woman ' s voice !
Yes , it was a golden time , and it fostered and made more strong the love which had taken root in the master of liookstonc ' s heart . " Oh , if I could only make her love me ?" he would cry sadly to himself , "Might
not the world bo all gladness then !" At last Lowndes Forrester could bear it no longer . He determined to tell Alice West that he loved her with all his heart . It all happened one day towards the end of July . The afternoon was cloudless
, and not a breath of wind was stirring . The birds were singing languidly in the leafy boughs , and the flowers drooping beneath the heat of the sun . Mrs . Lorriniore , upstairs in her dressing-room , was fast asleep , lulled into a dreamless slumber
by the humming of the insects outside her window . Miss AVest , armed with a huge sunshade , a broad-brimmed hat , and a volume of George Eliot's Mill of the Floss , was ready for her accustomed stroll . She was just
in the act of taking the camp-stool from a corner of the hall , when the library door opened , and Lowndes Forrester appeared on the threshold . "Is that you , Miss AVest ? Are you going out 1 " he asked . " Not if you -wish me to stay in , " she
answered . " On the contrary ; I should like to come with you . May IV " Yes , " she answered . That was all ; yet if he could have seen tho liquid lig ht which filled her violet eyes ! She was always happier when he was by her side , and was thankful sometimes that Lowndes could not see the