LOVE FOR AN HOUR IS LOVE FOREVER. CHAPTER I. "" 'WHO RIDES BY WITH ROYAL AIR?" "Who rides by with royal air?" "Though fate may frown, and death may sever, BETWEEN ETWEEN the leaves of an old romance I found one day the shadow of a lily and a song. The lily grew forty years ago, the song was sung as it was gathered. The flower is nearly dust, the words have nearly faded away, but the story they keep is unforgotten. For in becoming "Life" it made itself eternal. Before the flower bloomed, before the song had found a voice, Francesca Atherton had dreamed of love, as saints dream of heaven-wonderful, mystical, far off— an object both of fervent desire and of wistful fear and uncertainty. For her young life had been peopled from noble books, and it was in their pages she had met her friends and companions-men, romantically honorable and loyal; women, faithful in love, even unto death— both alike doing nobly with this life, because they held it as the gage for life eternal. And Francesca believed these shadowy forms to be portraits of the people whom she would one day meet in the world. No one told her differently. Her aunt—the still beautiful Loida Vyner-held the same opinion; for she had only made little holiday visits into the world, and she was quite ignorant of all that was mean or selfish in the pomps and vanities she took no part in. Gentle and romantic, carrying in her heart the "hush" of a great sorrow, Miss Vyner had brought up her motherless niece in that sweet, pious simplicity which makes a woman not only charming in good fortune but patient and strong in the days of calamity. In this exquisite schooling of a young soul Squire Atherton had little part. He distrusted himself entirely where Francesca was concerned. He would have taken a son to the kennels and the ferret hutches, made him wise in stable lore, and taught him all the mysteries of woodcraft. The little maid, even at nine years old, puzzled him. Her eyes, full of solemn wonder, gave him an uncomfortable sense of incompetency. Her hand had but to clasp his finger, and he felt under an irresistible authority. And when her small face lay against his large, sunbrowned cheek, he had neither wish nor will of his own, to speak of. "She is just a little lady! God love her!" he said to his sister-in-law, "and she must have a lady to guide her. As for me, Loida, thou knows, I would lay my hands under her feet." And Loida, looking up at the man standing firm as an oak before her-massive, tall, tough, fearless-felt all the wonderful surrender in this free expression of love, and of love's service-"I would lay my hands under her feet." If this was the squire's feeling when Francesca was nine years old, when she was nineteen it was ten years stronger. For he had then begun to realize that his child had become a woman, and that the high park walls of Atherton Court would not much longer keep away from her whatever Fate was waiting. “And I'll tell thee what, Loida,” he said one day, as they sat talking, "if anything goes wrong with Francesca, the world will be just four bare walls to me." ter. As he spoke he rose and went to the window. The leaded sashes were open, and a robin-redbreast, singing on an ivy branch, was almost in the room. The squire chirruped to the bird, but kept his eyes upon his daughShe was coming slowly up the low stone steps of the terrace, lifting slightly her long white dress with one hand, and scattering wheat with the other to the many colored pigeons, who paced and plumed and bridled their opal necks, and "coo, coo, coo'd" around her feet. He called to her, because he wished to hear her voice; and she let the wheat fall from her hand and lifted her hat with a joyous upward movement. "Where have you been, Francesca?" he asked. "I went to the south walls, to ask the apricots if they were ripe. And one-like roses and amber-told me to try it." "Was it good, dearie?” "It was like sunshine and wine and musk-roses and -one of your kisses, dear father." She was by this time at the open window, and she sent the compliment straight to his heart, with a smile as ravishing as love and beauty could make it. "Eh! but thy words are like music. I don't wonder the very birds love to hear them. Robin was singing till you came; now, like a wise bird, he is listening to thee." "I have just been listening to the starlings. They have been holding a large public meeting. Do you think, father, that they are addicted to politics? No, it must have been a religious meeting. It was extremely orderly. There is a starling who lives in the east gable; he is quite a religious bird. I have often seen him on the topmost stone of the highest chimney gaze on the green earth and up at the blue sky, and then clap his wings softly, to the most joyful song you can imagine. He was singing to God, I am sure he was.” "I wouldn't wonder, dearie." "Father, I walked through the park to the great gates. And I saw two gentlemen go past them. One was old, and one was young; that is, one was much older than the other; and they looked so happy, out there, in the world. I wished I was a man-even an old man- -if I could only go riding up and down, as my fancy led me.” "I'll warrant it was their business, and not their fancy, that led them into this bit of country, Francesca. Why-a! They be coming here, my little lady. Go tell your Aunt Loida. They will need a bite and sup, whoever they be." And she heard, as she went away, the trample of horses' feet, and the sound of men's voices, and that little flurry of formal welcome that marks the unexpected yet not unwelcome visitor. For visitors were |