True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1855-06-20
geleet Ia4e,
From Graham's MagaEine.
THE EBONY CAsKET.
A LEGEND OF HUTCHINSON HOUSE.
BY ELLEN LOUISE CHANDLER,
Author of "This, that, and the other"
CONTINUED

CONTINUED.
When it was all quiet again, he still
spent part of every day at Hutchinson
house. loved him more intensely than
ever, and now that | had no other earthly
hope to cling to; and he had never been
iiaif SO constant and devoted in his atten-
ti0as to the beautiful, gay hearted girl, as
tothe sad, pale figure, in her deep mourn
ing robes, whom sorrow had transformed
into woman. One evening | sat beside
him in my usual position, my head resting
upon his breast, and my eyes turned toward
the window, whose curtains had put We
ry far back, looking out and up to the dis
tant sky. AS sat there half-reclining,
a sudden thought came tome. I turned
my eyes inquiringly on hisface.
'Reginald," l said, "why was not your
father here when -"
CAT the funeral? Is that what you
mean, and have not strength to say, my
Isa?"
eyes, at the funeral" continued with
an effort "Why was not he here? He
married Margaret Hutchinson, did he
mott"
eyes, dear, or I should not be your cou-
sin. He was across the channel when
your father died, and only returned three
days ago."
Passing my arm around his neck, I drew
his head down closer to me, and whisper
ed, timidly, "Does he know, Reginald
Does he know how well you love me, how
often you are here?" .....
mo, dearest; when l first loved you we
both were so young, I did not like to
speak, and for sometime he has been
away. But it lis right that he should know.
will tell him the first thing tomorrow.
Why, what was il darling? Do you not
wish it? Why do you trcmble so?'
"Oh yes, Reginald, I wish it. I feel
that it is right, but there is a great weight
on my heart. If you are taken from ME
shall die. You are all | have left now.
Oh, do not leave me. am so young, and
the grave is so very cold and dark, and !
cannot lius without you."
"Hush, hush, my poor little frightened
bird of Paradise" and he drew me Sc
close to him that | could feel his heart
beat against my side--"hush, do not talk
of death. You are too young, too beau,
tiful. Do you think could give my dar.
ling up, leave her to grief alone? Shall ]
call lisa cruel?'
And so he soothed me, telling me ovel
and over again that he could never love
another that |, and | only, should bt
bis own forever, and believed him, anG
was so suprehely happy. I forgot thu
grave and the tombstone, and thought on
ly how bridal roses should make sunshine
in my hair. When he left me, I cluns
passionately to his heck, until he unwount
my arm, saying gayly-
~ must not keep you up now any Ion
ger. I want you to wear your swcetes
smile tomorrow morning at ten o'clock
when leone to tell you that you have
gained another father. Goodnight, Isa
He went down the steps, hdrriedly, ant
then he came back again to take me ono
more in his arms.
"Isa," he said, solemnly, "as God hear
me, come whatever fate, you are my life
own love. never did love another;
never shall. My hearts bride, my soul
evangelical" The last word was spc
ken with an accent, hurried, passionate
and yet caressing- spoken, as iftohis min
1t was the embodiment Of all, and the
spang upon his horse ,and waved his hand
l stood there in tho door, and watche
him ride away, in the full moonlight
could see him so plainly; his graceful, atl
letie figure, his proud head, ard its fore'
Of goldeS curls. / watched until hi
white horse had passed from my sight, an
then came into the house and sat down
The weight came back tony heart heayit
than ever. ..... ...
CHAPTER II.
The next morning I wandered though
fully through the house, dreaming of Il
past 1t was just year ago that vel
day, that had first seen Reginald. Ju
year ago, my father had gayly entere,
introducing him to his pettedchild. Nov
the sunshine fell through the stained gla
windows of the chapel, upon marb
GROSS, on which was scnlptured "Grenvil
Hutehinson-etat thirtyseven." Reg
nAld, the proad, handsome boy, the stral
ger, was all ] had left; dearet than all Il
memories Of the past, all the promises
the future. He was twenty, now, In Il
short months would come his tweHty-fr
birthday, and then he had said | shoEld
bis bride, Oh, rouM the shadow f
where the sunshine ought to lie? eayiI
over bis name, could ! nOtstill tho wretc
cd pain at my heart!