The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1852-07-14

my child. our mother has Will OF her
own, but fear am dying, and | will |
not leave the world in peace with lie
az my right hand Susan, dear, even
though / have striven to be q father to
you, you are no Child Of mine. Forgive
me, Susan, for ever deceiving you thus. !
| say, Susan; gou are not my daughter"
repeated he anxiously, as she answered
not at first. Oh, do not talk so,-fatl
er--father--He is raving" hurriedly
exclaimed the terrified girl.
"Nay, hear me am in my senses,
and speak the truth. When l am gone,
tell your mother what have told you,
and that [ conjure her to confide in you,
and make provision for you out of what
is Justly yours, not hers" But at this
instant the sound of Mrs. Oliphant's
return met his ear, and he stopped sud
denly, apparently leaving his well inten
toned but injudicious communication in
complete. Shrinking from the idea of
his wife's reproach, aud trembling under
her asccndancy, he left one exposed to
the storm which he avoided, the person
of one whom he ought rather to have
sheltered if he could SO thoughtlessly
selfish are many even whom the world
calls worthy characters. Darting pen
etrating glance at the uncertain troubled
looks of her husband and daughter, Mrs
Oliphant hustled to his side He had
tainted, and now his end approached rap
idly Susan whispered to her mother
that he believed himself dying, which
explained, or which appeared to do so,
the agitation she had witnessed on her
entrance, though Susan said it not with
that intention indeed, she knew not
what to think nor how to act, so strange
ly had her fathers words bewldercd her
Remaining with the dying man till her
husband came to fetch her, they togeth-
er watched the close of the scene, then
leaving neighbor with the new made
widow. they returned to their home, thus
early visited with sorrow. William ten
derly soothed his weeping wife, but when
she reached her dwelling, she shut her.
self in her room to ask her sorely agita-
ted heart what she ought to do. "Can
it be so ? Am l, indeed, not his child ~
A thousand corroborative circumstances
flashed on her recollection. q Whose,
: then, am I2--The concealment tells me-
Having made the communication to her
f husband without supprcssing word, the
poor girl clung to his breast with pas
sionatc favor, as if fearful he would
drive her thence but pressing her affec-
, tionately closer, he said, "Wcll, my dear /;
l compose yourself What is that to us,
that it should disturb our happiness for
5 a moment Are you not my vife-my
own Susan still ?" tiqr
These few words lightcned the load
: of poor Susan's sorrows of more than
t half its weight but she knew not that
1 William cherished in his bosom an ad-
der which was to poison his peace and
a wreck her happiness What did it sig
| Nifty to him wto was her father, provided
5 he could get possession of the ample pro
!, vision Oliphant's last words pointed at
The poor gardener laid in the grave
his widows grief was decent yet compos-
: ed-Susan put off her bridal attire fol
: appropriate mourning and her husband
: suppressed, with effort, the impatience o.
d the demon-disturbcr of his repose Af
l. ter questioning his poor wife, who now
S began to be aware of the passion which
n possessed him, Macdonald at length in
a sisted that Susan should deliver james
Oliphant's instructions to the widow
r 1t had been Mrs Oliphant's habit, as was
} natural, never to pass her daughters
o door without calling and each evening
when they had not so met during Tho
C day, and now, especially, in the retire
ment of her new made widowhood, Su
IS sans walk with William was to her cot
n tage But again and again the sensi
Y. tive daughter shrunk from her hateful
it task, till Macdonald threatened to under
/ take it himself therefore, knowing h'
Y, was irritable, and her mother resolute
It for fear of an outbreak of temper be
tween the only two beings in the worlC
she had to love, the devoted young wifi,
II set out alone to perform her mission
D. Her mothers cottage was trim and snu:
< as usual the widows grief had not hin
l. dered her accustomed cares. Susal
f. trembled violently, but at last faltereC
II out the substance of her last converse
g ton with him she had ever called hel
1 father The widow heard her out will
e marvellous little change of countenanct
3 and manner. At the conclusion sh'
n wept. Yes, my poor girl, there is {
Is mystery about your birth that had bet
n ter be left as it is, for it has already cos
much sorrow. i beg you will, at least
d ask no more ON the subject at present
e A time may come when you will know
y all"
d Macdonald was not at all satisfied
=; with his wife's report Of this interview
u Bent on bettering his condition, til,
!. goodwill Of school in the next tow
y was to be sold, and he coveted the posses
/" sion but his wife's mother approved
d not of the plan, and refused the means
n Several violent alterations consequent
n ly took place between him and the wild
S ow on the subject of what he insisted wa,
t Susan's portion and no asseverations o
d the widow, that she possessed only hel
Is own--and that, except by her choice, hi
is wife was entitled to no part of thor
It yet the sorrowful plendings of the dis
tressed Susan, could stop the unseeml,
and unwonted strife At length Mac
: donald, hoping to force his mother-in-lav
It to meet his views, positively forbade any
G intercourse between her and his wife
n and became harsh and unkind to th,
, young and lovely being who had SO late
n ly surrendered her happiness to his keep
ing. The struggle between ayarice and
{, his better nature now became deadly il
il his breast and one bitter autumn day
4