A Bloodsmoor Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

and one might safely escape, than the father of the prospective bride: Mr. Zinn’s revulsion being so extreme, he declared he must leave at once, on foot, and would not be able to wait to accompany his family, in the accursèd brougham. “And I shall go with you,” Samantha declared, “for I am heartily sick of the Kidde­masters, and cannot wait to unpin my hat.”
    Whereupon Mrs. Zinn objected, for Samantha was wearing a many-skirted, heavy dress, in cotton and poplin, with a substantial fishtail train; and, if she had any pretension of being a lady, she would never wish to go tramping through the woods, but wait with her sisters, and sit quietly, and make no further fuss.
    â€œMother, I assure you, I have no pretensions,” the haughty miss said, her pale, freckled face coloring warmly, “and, in any case, who would be watching? Father and I would take the river path; and I would carry my skirts all the way; and I could remain with him at the workshop, until it was time for supper.”
    Mrs. Zinn heard her out, and then said: “It is quite impossible, and you know it; you are not, after all, a child any longer. You might be seen from the river, if anyone chances to be boating—you might be seen by any of the servants—you would be seen by your father, and the sight would not be attractive. So you will remain here, and do your fancywork.”
    Thus it was that the Zinn girls remained behind, and Mr. Zinn impatiently departed, and the situation, at the time, appeared to be altogether natural.
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    (“OF COURSE YOU could not have known, my dear, you could not possibly have known,” Mrs. Zinn was to say, afterward, when her shock at the disappearance of her youngest daughter had somewhat lightened, and both grief, and rage, contended for her heart, “but the shame of it!—the shame!—the humiliation! The papers have spread the story up and down the coast. Cousin Rowena assures me they talk of nothing else in Washington, there is a rumor the Baron will reconsider his alliance, and I cannot think—I cannot bear to think—of what is being said in Philadelphia. The wretched child! Kidnapped! Despoiled! And she was not even our own! ”)

THREE
    Who is He, so swiftly flying?
    His career no eye can see?
    Who are They, in secret dying,
    From their birth they cease to be?
    TIME: Behold his pictur’d face!
    MOMENTS: Can you count their race?
    â€”MRS. F. L. SMITH
    T he outlaw balloon, manned by a pilot never to be identified, much less apprehended by the authorities and brought to justice, is all the while swiftly approaching historic Kidde­master Hall: black, and silken, and conical of shape, of majestic tho’ sinister proportions, and silent, save for the throaty hissing of its flame!—the while the five innocent Zinn daughters, prettily seated in the gazebo above the river, busy themselves with their divers fancywork.
    Here is Constance Philippa in her handsome mauve-and-ivory dress, of stiff starched piqué; here is Octavia, in many hues of pink, her square-cut neckline covered in tulle, with yet more tulle at her elbows; and Malvinia, a vision, in white mousseline-de-laine, and ruffles of silky blonde lace, and pink velvet ribbons. (The innumerable layers of frothy white of Malvinia’s dress seem hardly substance, they float so airily about her!) And Samantha somewhat plainer, in pale green; and Deirdre, in a dress of yellow satin-and-poplin, made over from a costume of Malvinia’s, and very charming indeed. Ah, if only the mellifluous afternoon would not so swiftly ebb, shading into dusk! If only the catastrophe might be prevented!
    Alas, there will be no warning—and no evasion—of Fate.
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    â€œA MELANCHOLY SORT of happiness,” Malvinia observed with a sigh, and a dreamy smile, “the aftermath of a particularly gladsome occasion.”
    â€œA happy sort of melancholy,” Constance Philippa said,