and water.

One day he found me in a distant city, and begged for my love again, and
for mercy and pity. Blanche was only a mistake, he said, and he loved me
alone, and so on. I remembered all his thrilling tones and tender
glances, but they might have moved granite now sooner than me. He knelt
at my feet and pleaded like a criminal suing for life. I laughed at him
and sneered at his misery, and told him what he had done for my
happiness, and what I in turn had done for his.

Eleanor, to my dying day, I shall never forget his face as he rose from
his knees, and with one awful, indescribable look of hate, anguish and
scorn, walked from the room. As he neared the door, all the old love
rose in me like a flood, drowning the sorrows of past years, and
overwhelming me in a deluge of pity. Strive as I did, I could not
repress it; a woman's love is too mighty to be put down with little
reasonings. I called to him in terror, "Bernard, Bernard!" He did not
turn; gave no sign of having heard.

"Bernard, come back; I didn't mean it!"

He passed slowly away with bent head, out of the house and out of my
life. I've never seen him since, never heard of him. Somewhere, perhaps
on God's earth he wanders outcast, forsaken, loveless. I have my
vengeance, but it is like Dead Sea fruit, all bitter ashes to the taste.
I am a miserable, heart-weary wreck,--a woman with fame, without love.

"Vengeance is an arrow that often falleth and smiteth the hand of him
that sent it."

AT BAY ST. LOUIS.

Soft breezes blow and swiftly show
Through fragrant orange branches parted,
A maiden fair, with sun-flecked hair,
Caressed by arrows, golden darted.
The vine-clad tree holds forth to me
A promise sweet of purple blooms,
And chirping bird, scarce seen but heard
Sings dreamily, and sweetly croons
At Bay St. Louis.

The hammock swinging, idly singing,
Lissome nut-brown maid
Swings gaily, freely, to-and-fro;
The curling, green-white waters casting cool, clear shade,
Rock small, shell boats that go
In circles wide, or tug at anchor's chain,
As though to skim the sea with cargo vain,
At Bay St. Louis.

The maid swings slower, slower to-and-fro,
And sunbeams kiss gray, dreamy half-closed eyes;
Fond lover creeping on with foot steps slow,
Gives gentle kiss, and smiles at sweet surprise.

* * * * *

The lengthening s