Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1856-03-20

handkerchief waved from cottage on the hi
when he set his red sails or furled them and
took him, in the latter case but q short hal
hour to come from the pier to the porch of roses
1t must have been a great convenience, after all
that the old gentleman, who made the third O
that little company, was blind; and / thinl
Aprhys would have preferred ~, at one time
himself, under like, circumstances. Mr.. Davie
soon saw. Or beard enough, at all events, to tel
him thee two wese lovers, and he hardened hi
Ihce against them from that time 4 belieys
that ne wis jealous of Richard Owen because
he could see, because he was young, and because
he was generous; and that he hated him because
he had divided, or stole portion of his daugh
ter's heart, which he wanted wholly for him
self
The old mans ear was keener than that o.
love itself, to catch young Richards football, as
he came over the hill ; and then upon his sight
less face a shadow would fall, which Ellen could
not but see He would never speak out about
it, but would mutter, They are waiting fol
my death-they wish me dead , And she
heard him, and wept bitterly This went or
for long time, and the poor thing hoped and
hoped but never | think, had any intention Of
leaving her old father. Richard was no tardy
or backward wooer, and had not much patience
to be 50 sorely tried; and one day he spoke tc
her boldly in the old mans presence, telling her
how she was sacrificing herself when there was
no cause. For he can live with u.s. he said
and be tended by you, even as now but it is
twelve long months that have waited for you
Ellen dear, and you are no nearer to me now
than at first. shall come up tonight for your
final answer, and pray that your father heart
may be turned toward US; but else leave the
town to morrow for good and all and it may
be, you will be sorry never to see the bonnie
white flag again
The old man said not word all that time,
and never let 60 nor ceased stroking his daugh-
ter's hand but, when Richard was gone, he so
worked upon her feelings with his piteous selfish
talk, that she told him to have no further
trouble for her sake Il will never leave thee
alone and blind, my father, she said, although
my own Richard loves me so WE'LL And what
bitter struggle that must have been for her,
we now know.
When her lover came up, then for that last
time, she gave him Ia steadfast answer, although
it nigh broke her heart, and it stirred his man 4
pride within him so, that he strobe away through
4 W. -:-dy nsgrrc,r witpose ~ i6aet as 4 good
bye
well remember that same evening; for he
came into the Leck to bid adieu to his old
friends, whom he was about to leave; and my
uncle, who then kept the inn, but had been a
sailor in his youth, besought him not to think
of putting to sea in such tempestuous weather
for the October gales had set in, and the waves
swept right over the pier-head, and made the
very harbor unsafe. What fine, brave young
fellow thought him. when he replied that he
would sail on the morrow morning, although
there was no hand to be got to help him WORK
mo ohi ~ 4hHA hC uiu DOLL 10 ouoit 40 ehO ut
dawned and, for all it was so early, the who'll
town was as near the beach as they burst go, tt
see him, and his little crew off and there wa
one, we may be sure, in the house on the hill
whose fearful sleepless eyes were fastened upo
the bonnie boat more than all.
She watched it for hours, as it now lay upo
its side in the heaving bay, and now sank out c
sight except for the white ponnant (Which h
had nailed to the mast) that shonc out agains
the black water, and now rose high, as if upo
mountain. She saw it grow DINNER and din
mer, in spite of the gale, and the points rour
ded one after the other, and nearly into tn
open sea; so far had the good ship got at las
though it scarcely seemed to move but Will
it was beating up opposite Hell's Mouth, an
near to Bardsey Island, she lost all sight of
for that time. She saw it again the sam
evening, also for the wind and the tide brougt
J it back to harbor, keel uppermost She was ne
more than twenty or so, poor girl but her ha
Q turned from that hour as white as it looks nov
. She grew thin and pale, but never let word
e complaint escape her, nor her father know no
her heart had lost its hope, or her form its bea,
r ty; only once, when he attempted to condo
p with her, and thank her for what she had dor
n for him, and suffered for his sake, she stoppC
g him with word or two in such u tone as
p never dared to draw forth from her again. 81
q tended him hour by hour, while his feet we
@ trcading the downward way, for years, and tt
: flowers upon his grave are kept alive tillnow
s her loving hands; but her heart is not bure
~ think, with him at all, but somewhere und
:. the deep sea with her drowned lovers
- The old man left her very wealthy (for the
l. parts) which dare say he thought would ma
l. up to her for all the rest. Our town is ou
v another place in consequence and, as tC
,r you at first, the poor folk whose trade is on
le great waters, she seems to consider as if til
to were her own children; them that are lad
le with the like trouble as herself especially, W
n have lost husband Or kngsman at sea, and
he whom her alms-house were built, she visits q
ir cares for continually; and on this day, abe
as all-this day, thirty years ago, upon which pC
nd Richard Owen persisted, she comes to them
ut the morning as suresa the sun itself, and ke
n his memory green amongst them by good dee
he And" observed Mrs. Aprhys, in conclusi
re as she wiped her eyesespd rose from her Sc
er 60 tits the best way of keeping dcath-day I'll
ST know, sir"
er 1T is, indeed my dear madam, said, g,
nd thank you very much for your affecting ste
ay And do you think the dear old lady, poor \
Ter Ellen, is happy now 2"
"Not like she might have been with her
N er, perhaps. have no right to say that mu