The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1858-09-30

sCc'uCu u'oCoHCcTleu, DuI HC Icbuiu'u
his composnre, and with u respectful
salutalion, moved forward without
waiting an invitation to come within.
The lady, too, was embarrassed He
gave no name, offered no card, nor
announced any errand, but he was n
noble, gentlemanly-looking man. and
conjecturing he might have business
he waited to make known, she open
ed the door upon the right of the pas
sage and courteously bade him enter.
lie did so, and seating himself seemed
lost in thought. The lady stood pa
tientlv awaiting the result of the sin
gular interview. She was not timid
woman, and yet she felt nervous, and
uneasy at the strange conduct of the
unknown and unannounced guest; for
she was alone in her dwelling, ser
wants and children having left her
there by herself for "a hunt upon the
hills for summer berries. Still the
stranger moved not, spoke not His
reflections seemed to be painful, and
to have some connection with her, for
his eyes, now and then, sought her
face, with an eager, earnest look.
which was withdrawn as often as
she returned his gaze.
And she was little changed. He would
have known her anywhere. Fifteen
years had turrowed no wrinkle on
that fair, white brow, nor lined a
thread of silver among the locks Of
that soft, wavy, goIdenly brown hair,
nor had the hand Of time removed one
charm from that sweet presence, but
she stood before him more ravshingIy
lovely, more entrancingly beautiful
than when a damsel CT sixteen, he
parted from her in iar.oN land
Time had matured, melIowed and re-
lined-intelectualized, perhaps, is the
word--and as he gazed, she seemed
the perfect embodiment of what his
. fancy, in the love dreams Of all those
several years, had delighted to picture
her.
Yet that dress of mourning, rot
deep, but dark enough to remind him
why it was worn, seemed to place
81 barrier between him and her. And
how becoming was that simple mourn.
ing ncgIigec. A dress of some thin
material, open in front, displaying the
white under-dress. embroidered with
black, the little collar, fastened at the
throat with small, half mourning
pin, and the wreath Of Grape leaves
and buds twining among the rich.
wavy hair and letting its delicate
sprays fall low upon the dropping
shouldcrs-sureIy, nothing could be
prcttier, or in better taste. All these
thoughts had birth and shape in much
less time than it has taken TO write
them, but the silence and cmbarrass.
mrnt were becoming to the lady, un-
cndurablc.
"Ilave you business with me- she
asked in low, clear, but slightly trem
ulous tone, for memory, too, was busy
at her heart, but it was faint aud fee,
bic in its efforts to trace rcsembIanccs
between the occupant of its thoughts
and the living, breathing parsonage
before her.
As she put the question, the stran.
ger looked at her more openly than
he had hitherto done, and answered,
clearly as she asked,
"Ycs." Then rising abruptly. he
moved quickly to where she was still
standing and with respectful motion
took her hand. The movement was
so sudden. she had not time to rcprl
it if she would, and before she could
withdraw it, he had spoken again,
sadly as if mourning the departure o!
some cherished life dream:
"You do not know me, Madeline ~
Something in that voice and tone
reminded her ofearlicr days, and with
tlmid upturned glance, she scanned
the face that looked so eagerly, so be-
seechingIy down upon her.
She did know him then, but only
from the expression that changed
those strangely altered features, and
the name her gilIhood had so often
uttered, trembed once more on her
lips, and the hand that lay before in
his passlvcIy, now grasped it with a
warm pressure, and she suffered him
to lead her to seat and place him
self beside her. Neither spoke for
some moments. The hand OF the la,
dy was gently and slightly withdrawn
Her companion rctaincdit, kindly and
respectfully, yea, even deicrentalIy.
| know not if might not say rcycr-
cniialIy.
"Madeline," said he again, and bis
voice trembled us with the lulIncss Of
his sorrow, ''you have forgotten me-"
NO, o! no" was the only reply ut
tered quietly and mourniulIy, but
with depth Of tenderness that went
to his very soul.
"You do not wish me away them"
and The reply uttered in the same low,
tender, mOurniul tone, was but the |.
an echo Of the previous one-"O no.
Again he asked, bending his eyes
on the countenance of the beautiful
lady.
"You did not quite forget the friend
OF your girlhood, in the long dreary
years we have been parted You
did not let other, and nearer friends, |
entirely elface my memory" and again
the stereotype answer met his ear,
90 no."
As if it had been molten lead, the .
hand of the lady dropped suddenly |
from his grasp, and he paced the