Kenosha tribune & telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1856-1859, 1856-11-20
And You. NIand2,

70 be, before Heaven. See me as / am.
she added, suddenly taking far differ.
ent tone, standing and speaking with de-
cislon and strength. what amI?-a zip.
sy, deformed, an outeast byrace; believed
to be worse than human, the dwarf-witcl
OF the Hollow; denied the cares given to
other women: denied by some that am
even a woman-for do they not call me
Ignome, witch, elf? And when YOU have
fairly understood what | am, and what
seem, then call me friend if you will, and
hold my hand in yours
But, Maud, you are my friend now,
interrupted Paul.
She put up her hand. DO not deceive
YOURSELF she said. Make no ideal of my
| swarthy face because it has bent over you
! lovingly in your sickness; and believe me
no angel because my foot stole round
your feverish bed tenderly. Do not con-
found gratitude with that spontaneous af.
| lection which calls out a friend from the
large herd of humanity, and singles him
alone Of hundreds. If you do, you will
but prepare your own disenchantment
and discontinue, and my amending sor-
row. Come, let us 90 in; the dews are
falling, and your cheek is pale. You look
tired, and must rest
Paul did not answer; nor that day, nor
the next, nor the next again, did he refer
to the subject. But he was much lost in
tho't, and sat watching Maud stealthily,
when he tho't she did not see him; and
then he would lean back in his chair, and
close his eyes, and remain there, absorb
ed in some deep reflections, perhaps for
many hours.
! Maud, you loved Horace once in your
life?' They were sitting in the doorway,
the feathers Of the clematis round them.
No, nevern There was pause.
But when first came to Oakenden,
YOU seemed to me to love him. returned
Paul, dissatisfied.
Y on mistook, Maud answered simply;
/ and she continued her task, stringing
great gold beads into necklace. After
time, she added, L could never love
what ] did not esteem. Horace is to me
but glorious case enclosing worthless
Jewel. / tho't him beautiful always-as,
indeed, who would not? But loved
| him never, because found no resting
place for my soul III his heart or mind.
They are both too shallow in their own
feelings to deserve the truth Of any ones
affection. ! 20 love Horace would have
been as far misplaced as you, Pauf-and
she laid her hand OF his-'to love Eva.
Tam cured now, Maud, said Paul, and
he tool; her hand in his. A glory shone
in the depths OF Maud's downcast eyes.
y ct. tell me- he added, do You think
you could ever love one who had erred
so far so far as to mistake the false for
the true, and had given to mere physical
| symmetry the worship due to moral vir-
tue? Can you forgive me, and do you
think you could love me?'
Maud did not raise her head; tears hung
on her long black lashes, and she trem-
| bled. Think she answered, almost be-
low her breatl-'a gypsy, Of evil fame in
your society. without one recommended
ton such as English manners require
Think again, Paul. You, an artist, to
marry with physical deformity!
'Ah, Maud, you do not love met
Not love you!' she answered passion
ately, raising her eyes and standing up:
4 loved you from the first day we talked
together in the moonlight Ey the willow
trees. | had my lap filled with herbs,
and you laughed at me first, but you lis
tened af;erward; and then | knew what
great gift Heaven had thrown in my
way; then / acknowledged in you all
my soul had ever longed tor-my reali-
zatiOn of truth and goodness, yet; yet |
never dreamed of your love, for | knew
that you loved Eva. Not love you. Then
| do not love the very well-springs ofmy
lifen
That nightPau closed his journal. He
wrote the last words in it as the night
passed into the morning hours: To-day
| have found my Egerian
And now, Paul, that | know you love
me for myself alone, and have cared more
for my nature, the reality of my charac-
ter, than for conventional appearances, |
willtell you suchparts ofmy history will
interest you, and perhaps please you
And Maud drew her arm thro' her low
er's. clasping her hands together Il am
a gkpy-that is too evident to be de-
MED, She said laughing; "but / am also
| the laughter of q Spanish nobleman.-
Ny mother, who was wonderfully beau
tiful-my dear mother! how well | can
remember her when | was very young,
and she in all the pride of her glorious
loveiness!-well, she ran away from her
tribe, with ayoung Spaniard, wild, warm
and reckless, who married her because
she had fine eyes-they were like stars
silky hair, and a clear voice. L have
all the marriage-papers here" she add
ed, showing an ivory box bound and
barred with gold. ''You know that the
true gipsies are not allowed to marry
out Of their tribe, and you know that the
Spanish grandee must marry also with
his caste, if he wishes to keep its favor
or recognition. On both sides, there
fore, this marriage incurred the indy
ing. reprobation of two most differ
ent words; and both my father and moth
er hid to begin new lives, strange and
irksome-the restraint to her, and the
SIM LEFTY to him, so unlike all they had
| ever been accustomed to, rendering ex-
istence almost intolerable. They came
to England-my father to escape from
the jealous pride of his kinsmen, my
mother from the fury of her people
And here | was born, which is the rea
son Of my Saxon name, given me out OF
gratitude to young nurse, Maud, who
atteIded my mother in her travail. But
after few years, my father died in al
rapid consumption, as rapid almost as
fever. | can just remember the fu-
neral-the hearse and the black feath-
ers, and my mothers veil that shrouded
her entirely. Ny mother had now no tie
to civilization. Though disowned by her
tribe, and certain of being murdered i'll
She sver fell into their hands, she could