The Cadiz Democratic sentinel. [volume] (Cadiz, Ohio) 1854-1864, 1854-05-10

I
of his old pursuits resumed,their attractions
for him, she used TO listen for hours as he
played upon the piano. She would sit near
him with her work proposing subject for
his skill, as her old Gu tom had been; or she
would beg him to give her lesson in ex-
ecuiing d6sult passage, and rendering it
with due feeling and expression. In the
same way, in their reading. which were car
Iied on With more regularity and interest,
she appeared to look upon herself as the
person obliged. appealed TO his judgment,
and deferred TO his opinion without any
consciousness of the fatigue she underwent,
or the service she was rendering.
One day, as they were sitting in the IL
brary, after she had been for sometime
pursuing her self imposed task, and Edward,
fearing she would be tired, had repeatedly
entreated her to desst, she answered gai
Ily:-
LET me alone, Edward! 1t is so pleas
ant to 20 through a book with you you
make such nice reflections, and point out all
the finest passages. and explain the difficult
parts so clearly, that it does me more good
than dozen readings by myself. Shall
grow quite clever now that we have begun
literary studies"
Dear Mary, say rather, ended; for you
know this cannot always 80 on so. l must
return to my own house next week; / have
trespassed en- your fathers hospitality, in
dulgence, and forhearance too long"
"Leave US, Edward" and the color deep
ened in her cheeks, and tears stood in her
bright eyes. ''Not yet"
mot yet? The day would stiIl come,
dearest, delay it as l might, andis it man
full thus to shrink from what must and
ought to be? have to begin life in earnest
and if / falter at the onset, what will be
the result! have arranged everything
Mr.. Glen, our clergyman, has a cousin an
usher in school, who wishes for retirement
I and country air. have engaged him to
live with me as companion and reader
Next week ne comes; and then, Mary, fare
well to Woodlands
mo, not farewell, for you must come
here very often; and must read to you
still, and you must teach me still and tell
me in your own noble thoughts and beauti
full language Of better and higher things
than once used to care for. And then
our walks-oh Edward, we must continue
to see the sunset from the cliffs, sometimes
together. You first taught me how beauti-
full it was told you of the lints upon the
sky and upon the boats, with their glisten-
ing sails, and you set the view before me in
ali its harmony and loveliness, brought it
home to my heart, and made me feel how
cold insensibe had been before"
"Ah Mary" said Edward mournfully,
''near you am no longer blina!''
The book she had been reading fell upon
the ground, she trembled, her color went
and came, as she laid her-hand timidly on
on his arm; indescribabe tenderness. rever
ence and compassion were busy within her
soul.
"Sustainer, consoler, guide Sister a.
bove all, oh, yes, my sister! Best and
sweetest title-say it again Mary, say it
gain" And seizieg her hand he kissed it
passionately, and held it for a moment with
in his own. Then as sudde My reliaquish'
ING it he continued in an altered tone, "My
sister and my friend, until another come to
claim higher priviedge, and Mary shall
be forever lost to mel
She drew back, and few inaudible words
died away upon her lips; he could not see
her appeain5 fearful eyes Mstakins the
cause Of her reserve, he made astrong effort
to regain composure.
"Do You remember when you were achld
Mary, how ambitiously romantic You used
to he, and how you were determined to be-
come duchess at least?'
"And how you used to tease me, saying
you would only come to my castle dlsguls-
ed as wandering minstrel, and would nev
er sit between me and the duke, Edward?
Yes remember it all very well, foolish chill
dren that we were! But |, at least, know
better now; am not ambitious in that way
any longer"
I'm that way? In what direction then do
your aspirations tend?'
ITO be loved" said Mary fervently; "to
. be loved, Edward, with all the trustand de-
votedness of which noble nature is suscep-
tible--to know that the heart on which /
lean has no thought save for me--to be
certain that. with all my faults and way
wardness. am loved for myself alone, not
for--for any little charm Of face which peo-
pie NAV attribute TO me-"
Edward arose abruptly, and walked up
and down the room, which, from his long
stay in the house, had become familiar to
him. i"Mary." he resumed, stopping as he
drew near her, "you do yourself injustice
The face you set SO little store by, must be
+ beautiful, as the index of your soul, nave
coveted the blessing Of sight, were it only
: for an instant, that might gaze upon you
The dim form of my mother, as last be-
: held her in my infancy; floats before me
when think OF you, encircled with halo
f of heavenly light which fancy to be your
r attribute, and u radiance hovers round your
golden tresses such as gaddens our heart;
? in sunshine"
"Ah Edward, it is better you cannot see
f! me as am! You would not love--l mean
| YOU would not think of me--so much?'
: "If could but see you for moment as
you will look at the ball to. night, fancy
should never repine again"
"The ball tonight! had quite forgot
. ten it; | wish mamma would not insist upor
2 my going. do not care for those thing
:, any longer;-you will be left alone, Ed
n ward, and that seems so heartless and un
i kind!'
e "Mary," said one Of her sisters opening
the library-door, ''look at these beautitu
: flowers which have arrived here for us
Come Edward, come and see them too
| v....o No aI 70 troat him 81,