Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1847-03-11


was to lose her forever. for her step-father, was
his fathers hilterest enemy that she was the
daughter of Brush officer who resided many
years at Halifax and left at his death, no fortune
to these twin girls and widow, whose weak ma
ture disqualified her to stand alone in the world,
and whose polished manners and great beauty
rendered her still very attractive, who had with
in a few months after her widowhood married
man of wealth and influence but of inferior
rank which so incensed the sister of her late
husband, Col. Ormond, that she refused to have
any Intercourse with her, and even threatened
to besow her little fortune on a charitable instl-
ution instead of giving it to her neioes as she
had often promised The girls too, soon felt
themselves ntruders in their step-father's house,
and their aunt who watched them lealousy see.
ing their unhappness and learning its cause, de-
termlned to take them entirely TO herself and
bring them to New sEngand where they were
to remain, at least till their education was COM
plcted. The weak, gentle mother was too hap
Ipy to have them provided for TO object, and
accordingly when the "Cleopatra" stopped at
Halifax on her way from Liverpool to Boston,
Miss Ormond and her nieces took passage in
her for the latter port and among other fellow
passengers made the acquaintance of Richard
Harding, who was returning from pleasure
Trip II England do not know when the en-
cagement was entered into between the young
people, but suspect not until they met recently
in Boston, where Miss Ormond Las established
herself, after having placed her neces at the
school about six miles from this place. They
have been for more than two years in this couu-
try, most of which time Richard has spent with
bis father in Cuba. believe his recent meeting
with the Ormonds in Boston was purely acciden-
tai, and how he induced Edith to be married to
him this day in Merton church I cannot say,nor
how the fair sisters obtained permission of their
aunt to leave her for the time necessary to ac-
compish it. But now, dear Robert, we must
talk Of other things more nearly concerning our
selves, for have much to say to you before you
leave me next week for College"
Kind and wise was the old mans counsel and
lovingly and reverentIy did the boy receive it,
and often in his lonely after life did Robert re-
member the almost womanly tenderness with
which the old man blessed him as he dismissed
him for the night, putting back the dark ringIets
and laying his thin pale hand caressiugly upon
them. And well might he remember it, for new.
er again was that dear hand laid lovingly upon
him, never again did that sweet calm voice bless
him.
"Isn't the masther down yet, maam', said
Norah, opening the door Of the little parlor, anC
adding in half vexed tone, 81 wondber he
don't come when he knows my cakes will be al
spilled for him?"
"You would not wonder" peevishly repliec
Mrs. St1nton the housekeeper, off you had hearC
him talking in his study with Robert till amos
morning. | suppose they have both overslep
themselves
"Well, and sure it's pleasure to talk to til,
boy any time, and ouId gentleman was Just be
ginning to say his last words aGore he leaves fol
the school, ma'am, and sorry well be whu he
gone"
They were interrupted by the agonized voice
of Robert, crying -
"Mrs. Stanton, Norah come, come quick t.
f the study !" and in an instant both were stand
ing at the study door, appalled, at the seen,
, within. In his high-backed arm chair close b.
the open window, Just where Robert had lief
him the night before, sat the good rector, look
ing 80 calm, SO beautifully quiet, that for on
t moment they almost thought he slept, but The
repose was to deep, too rigid for sleep, and tn,
two women paused and looked at each other will
sad, troubled faces for several minutes, ere Mrs
Stanton pressed cold hand in hers, and muir
muring, "He is dead, poor old getleman," burs
into teas.
, dead dead !" cried Robert, emo, no, he i
not dead let the run for doctor, for the neigh
bors they will not say he is dead, and he AeS
down the stairs all unheeding Norah who, wi
ping her last-streamng tears with her apron, ex
claimed =
"Ah ye've no need of docthur; if h,
could not stay for the love of you, all the doc
thurs in the land can't fetch him back, and in
dade It's unriverent to bother him with trying
dear saint that he is. Och none, och hone"
The death Of their beloved pastor spread St
deep gloom over the whole parish; so man
I hearts were heavy with sorrow, that Robert le
almost ashamed of the utter lonneess and desc
aton he felt while so many sympathized in an
shared his grief; yet he could not help saying t
n himself,
S "Ah they indeed all loved him. but they hav
1t all some one else to love They have all father
mother, or some thing but | am utterly alone
alone for lifetime in this glad social world
Its joy cannot be joy with no one to share it, an
!. its sorrow, oh what human heart can bear
ar alone /"
IS Day after day the simmer sun rose and 81
| and found Robert lingering yet in the lone
r rcctory, pale and hopeless and not until Mr.
Stanton told him that her grandson had come
b. take her to his home in neghborng viIlag
10 did he seem to comprehend that the house whic
S had so long sheltered him was his home no ol
ger. Then he reused himself and with reve
as entla care packed the few books and other art
is Giles which had belonged to his uncIe--the fnru
~ ture ard the house was the property of the pa