Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1856-06-26

light burned bright on cheek and eye.
"Farewell, Miss Leslie And in another
minute the jingling sleigh-bells made music
which Margaret did not hear, for her bright
head was buried in the cushions of the couch,
and the voice of her own weeping filed he1
ears.
"What! Ralph gone without bidding us
good-by?" said CHEEKY voice, as the door
opened ten minutes after, and face beam,
ing with love and geniality looked into the
room; but when Mrs Murry saw the 1.-the
figure lying so crushed and forlorn upon the
couch, and heard the stifed sobs, she came
quickly in, and, shutting the door, approach
ed her niece with face so full of sympathy
and grief, that one could we'll see that "she,
too, had wept."
"lIargie, darling, what is the matter?-
These are not the light tears which Ralph's
departure might cause Is it anything which
you may tell me, dear?'
20, aunt! !" sobbed Margie, without lift,
ing her head cit was hateful letter, and
and he called ME Miss Leslie, and said
farewell and so-"
"AIargie, Margie, you have not parted in
anger Do not tell me that
The low voice, usually so calm and sweet,
had in it such tremor of apprehension and
agitation that the girl involuntarily looked
up and saw with alarm that every vestiege Of
color had faded from her aunt's face, and
that her eyes were full of anguish and alarm.
"Aunty, darling, what is it? Why do
you look at me so? You do not think he
will never" A fresh burst of sobs chok-
ed Margic's voice, and her head went down
again upon the cushicns
"Child, if You knew what I know, if you
felt what I have and do, you would not ask
why it fills my heart with sorrow and dis
may to know that you and your noble lover
have parted in anger. Listen, my darling,
and I will tell you what I had thought never
could pass my lips; but believe there is
no sacrifice, dear child, dear daughter, that I
would not make to save you from trcading
the dark and bitter path through which my
steps lay for SO many years.
"You, dear aunt? I thought you had
always been as happy as you have made every
one about you ever since can remember" ;"
"When you were born, my darling, my
sorrow was many years old, as men count,
though new and ever young to me.
"Time was, Margaret, when too was
young and gay and fair, and I too loved and
was beloved. Livery one that knew him
praised and admired Henry Murray, and
those whom he loved loved back again with
a passion that was almost alteration. My
efather and mother gave me to him more
willingly than they had thought they could
yield their only child to any one, for they
felt sure I should be happy. And so we
were married, and went to Henry's mother 5
for our bridal tour O, those few weeks !!
what promise Of a long life Of Lappiness Vas
bound up i'll them and then we came home,
to our own welded home. That fairy cot
tage-I see it now, nesting among the trees
and shrubs which quite hid it from the road.
Often, between sleeping and waking, 1 dis
tinctly perceive that delicious aromatic per-
fume which constantly filed the air around
it, from the millions of flowers that were in
their glory that balmy month of June.
"It was the second month--O, my God
only the second month of our marriage, when
one delicious morning Henry came to give
me the kiss aud embrace without which he
had never yet left me, even for few minutes.
His horse stood saddled at the gate, his hat
and gloves were in his hand as he entered
the room 0, how handsome, how beaming
he looked q. how my whole heart went out to
him, and thanked God for making me his
wife
"'My darling he said, i must entreat
your pardon for my forgetfulness here is a
note which was left by footman at my count
ing-room yesterday for you, and which inmy
Joy at coming home and seeing you again l
quite forgot
"He handed Inc the note, which | took
with Il look assuring him Of pardon I found
it was from an intimate friend Of mine, who
had been married upon the same day that we
were, and whose husband was dear to both
Henry and me. 1t announced their inten-
tion of coming Gut to due aud spend the day
and told me to beg Henry to come home ear
ly, as James had something in particular to
say to him.
"'You will come home to dinner, love,
won't you ? said I, after reading the note to
him.
al don't know, petite, said he: 4 would
like it, of course, but have an engagement
for three o'clock, which I am afraid cannot
be postponed
"sBut it must be postponed" said l, with
the wilfulness of petted child, who has
never been denied anything. 1t is the first
time Emma and James have been to see US,
and you must give me positive promise that
you will be home to dinner at two
"sDon't ask me to do that, Mary dear, fol
perhaps I shall find it impossible. You know
it won't answer for young merchant like
ME, just starting in business, to be negligent
and unless Mr. Monroe can see me this NOR
ming, must wait in town till afternoon"
"'And SO this Mr.. Monroe is more impor
tant to you than the wishes Of your vile !!
said I, pouting.
"'Don't talk so, Mary, for you know it i:
.oIlo1