The Argosy — page 243: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

226 Among Untrodden Ways. said. Her education went no further than reading her fairy-tales, and her writing was but a sorry performance. One evening, after sunset, she and I paced the valley together, whilst she begged for stories of the great world, which was to her what the moon and stars are to other children. I thought and thought, but there was so little that had not the trail of the serpent upon it. Nothing seemed fit for her pure ears. My silence caused her to find a new object of interest. ‘Your hair is short,” she said, ‘‘and you have no beard like my father.” I told her I had shaved at the stream that morning. She then gleefully announced her intention of seeing me perform that novel operation on the morrow. ‘Then, with a critical look at my hair, she pronounced me, ‘‘Bien comme ¢a !” and meditatively taking one of her own bright tresses in her hand, seemed considering an imitation. “No,” said I, answering her thought, “you must not cut it, except” —and I was cruel enough to try a worldly artifice— except you cut a tress for me to remember you by when I go back to the world.” She instantly freed herself from my side, and standing erect and palpitating before me, seemed to wait for her grief to gather strength. Then flinging herself into my arms she sobbed upon my breast, and shed such passionate tears as I had never witnessed. ‘ Ah,” cried she, raising her pathetic, tear-stained face to gaze at me, “the prince, the true prince, never leaves his princess ; then you can be no prince. But”—and her manner grew proud and determined, and love and de- votion lit her too-glorious eyes—“‘if you go, then I shall follow you, as Jacobin would follow me.” She laid her head once more upon my breast, weeping. It was delicious to be so cared for, and I let her weep for some moments before I kissed away her tears and told her that only death should part us. After this, several days passed—such days that even the gloom which followed was brightened by their memory. I was lying in my hammock one night when a colder breeze sprang up, and the trees bent and swayed and moaned. I thought I heard the sound of thunder. A vivid flush of lightning nearly blinded me. I rose up in my hammock and listened. A terrible peal rang through the wood. Another and another peal, and the birds began to twitter, and the echoes repeated themselves in the hills ; and now there was a crashing sound of heavy rain upon the leaves. Down it came in torrents, and the lightning played almost continuously and the thunder kept up an incessant roar. I have never in my life seen such a storm. ‘The wind tore down the valley, and the trees on which my hammock hung bent nearly to the ground. My bed was now as watery as the lark’s proverbially is. I descended the valley, the little stream was flowing noisily, and the driving wind in this narrow gulley flung me hither and thither like a reed. I made my CORNICE OOOKS (EC)