If you have time and inclination for such a recital—the curtain rises and the play begins.
OVERSHADOWED.
CHAPTER I.
A GIRL, PERPLEXED.
To-and-fro, to-and-fro, with hurried, restless tread, Erma Wysong walked her parlor floor, forgetful of the young man who sat in a corner and gazed at her, with all of his powers of sight apparently doing double duty. Her hair, slightly coarse of thread, glistening as if in pride of its extreme blackness, was combed away from a brow that was exceedingly pretty and formed a part of a head that forewarned you to expect the possessor thereof to have an intellect of a very high order. A few unruly locks of her glossy hair had escaped from the grasp confining the others backward, and were hanging forward as if to peep into her tender brown eyes so full of soul; or, to tantalize a very prettily formed nose; or, to tempt a bite from a row of pearls even and gleamingly white; or, to nestle upon a cheek the tenderness and ruddiness of which were standing invitations for gentle pressure.
Erma, nearly tall, a happy medium between the plump and the lithe, the perfection of symmetry, her whole frame a series of divinely fashioned curves, paced to and fro, her beautiful face wearing a look of mental perplexity. First her right hand and then her left tossed back with a nervous jerk the straying locks.
Astral Herndon, a tall and exceedingly handsome young man, who was paying her a call, sat in an armchair in a corner of the small room, and, with body bent forward, was looking intently at Erma, as has been stated, his entire soul ablaze with curiosity to know what had so operated upon the mind of the erstwhile winsome, laughing, merry Erma, as to cause her to break off abruptly an ordinary conversation and begin her restless journeyings to-and-fro across her parlor floor, vouchsafing to him not a word of apology or explanation, and apparently oblivious of his presence. The transition from the lively gay to the deathly sad, was so quick, so queer, so utterly inconsistent with all that he had hitherto known of Erma—it was so far from anything warranted by the rather commonplace conversation in which they had been engaged, that he was very naturally in the depths of wonderland, staring with all his might. He saw her thin, red lips quiver, as if with deep emotion. He saw repressed by a would-be secret bite of the lips, an entire flood of tears, save a truant one, that would steal its way down anyhow. He saw a clasping, a griping of the hands as though the fair one was being hurried to the verge of despair. He could, as it were, trace in her actions the progress that her mind was making toward a precipice, reluctant to go and yet impelled by some irresistible force.
Astral Herndon sat watching her, his surprise and curiosity deepening into concern and anxiety. At length, when he could bear it no longer, he arose and said in a low, sweet voice that trembled with emotion, "Erma!" Something in his voice went straight to Erma's wandering soul, and, as though not of herself, she turned slowly around and mechanically lifted her gaze to meet the dark, glowing eyes of Astral Herndon. She felt her soul leave her with a rush and run to embrace a mate that was coming forth from the eyes before her, and she cried, "Oh! I see! Oh! I see! Oh! I see!" and unconsciously stretched out her arms toward Astral as if to receive him. Astral advanced toward Erma, but this movement on his part broke the spell and she shrank away from him and sat down.