Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1859-04-21

PLANTATION of her marvellous disappearance often
died out for hours together Stlesse persever-
ed in his inquiry.
AT last the young men, in.oneo Of the shops
he was wont to call at, began to spsculate upon
his case. When he entered, they winked and
smiled ,and whispered to one another. They said
they could very accurately perceive what was
what; she had Tilted him but he was too great
BOBBY to believe it. One or o.of them asked
if it would not be true kindness to suggest
this explanation to him.
They agreed that it would and they did SO.
He answered with such scohyssiass sssjle. with
such violent assertion Of his Ame's faithful
ness, with such threats against any one who
should villify her unjustly, that the suggesters
wished they had let the subject alone.
At the end of the week, on the day which
was to have been their wedding day, while An
ne lay tossing over restlessy, and talking wild
nonsense, he came into the town to settle in his
own house and shop. As night after night he
returned alone to the house he had bought and
furnished for another, still without news Of her,
he took forth from his memory the suggestion
of the young shopmen he laid it out, so to
speak, before him he turned it over and over
he looked at it in every light, on every side;
he began to admit its possibility and at last,
in morbid mood, he half believed it.
His shop was still unfurnshed, and he spent
his time mainly in travelling hither and thlther,
seeking stock for it. But he were about all
business poorly, with heavy and Aalfbroken
heart 1t seemed a mockery to him to be max
ing such preparations. lie did not believe he
should live to use them. He did not want to do
50. For the mystery of Anne's departure, her
terrible silence, and this gradual, but surely ex
cusable, admission into his heart of suspicion
of her faith and love towards him, plucked all
the zest and purpose out of his life. 1t was
for her sake he had worked submissively as a
foreman SO many years for her sake he had
stjnted himself in dress, amusement, indulgences
of all kinds, and found delight in such sacri-
fees. Every cut of saw, every blow of
hammer or malet, every coat of paint, every
boot and shoe in his shop, held in lis mind
some relation to her comfort and prosperity, as
a part of that household of which she was
about to be the daily sunshine the source and
centre of all its light, and warmth, and pleas
antness the measure of its work and rest
Thus she kept up fever of counter excite
ment by shutting out Of her thoughta all truth
which migitezeito hcl4.-tte sr'isI ~ her s~ft
loss, the truth of Williams astonish nent and
pain Whenever she found her mind incining
to the realization of his ferngs, she would sigh
and grieve; but the moment the echo of her
sigh struck athwart her consciousness, she ar
rested herself. "This will not do" she would
say " it will be all the better afterwards our
happiness will more than make up for our mis-
cry" She never waited in quietness of spirit,
and calmly analyzed Or probed these ll-digested,
hasty deductions. If shc had done SO, she
would have espied monstrouS residum of
proper pride" underlying all thu other ee-
ments of her reluctance to see William as she
was. If she had done so, she would have seen
what wretchedness, doubt and despair she was
sowing in the true heart of her William. When
that quakerly impulse sprung up in her, she
scrubbed, or walked, or hummed more vigorous
ly; if a tear for William started into her eye,
she used it as mcrcilessly as her sighs, and
brushed it hurriedly away She felt that if she
looked at the present, she should ha weakened
and do nothing 1t was only bxSeeping the
end before her that she could find spirit and
moral sinew for work. And whilst she was at
work, her efforts raised dust round her which
hid everything but those efforts.
But where was the need of all this? what
was the end of her eager and incessant striv-
ings? Would William love her the less for
having suffered and lost all? Would he love
her the less for having but one gown, and that an
old and ragged one? for having shoes with holes
in them for being penniless? She knew him
better she knew that he never suspected she
had farthing of her own, She knew that the
thought was delightful one to bis open, gene
rous nature, as it made him feel himself the
supplier of all her needs. But the little maid
was vain. She had tasted the sweet, pernicious
intoxicating draught of false independence
The draught gave her stimulops Tor her work.
In few weeks she had madsSRoagh to redeem
her best new dresses, her shoes, and other arti.
cles of dress, and to pay her standing debts
William, in the meantime, not having, like
Anne, any insight into the causes of her myste-
rious absence and silence, could not, lis she did,
find solace, excitement and delight in looking
forward. On the contrary, the future was his
most bitter thought. His disappointment lay
there. All the glory of his life was behind
hinl-gone by forever And even that past glo-
ry, since suspicion and the present appearance
of things had begun to cloud it, lost all its
golden worth. 1t bad been no true possession
1t was miserable to think that, even when he
was most happy, he was only so by being gno
rant of the truth, by trusting in heartless and
4 well-acted deceit Before him he could sex
nothing but unacceptable misery; in the present
his thoughts exercised themselves woryingly OF
I the causes of Annes strange departure, until
by slow processes, not without, as he conceived
two ocular proofs, he admitted the awful an(
maddening conclusion that she was dishones
and unlaithful.
The first ocular proof was as follows On'
dark, Gggy night, gong from the station to hi
home, after Il dull day, all through which hi
body had been taken up by business, but hi
himself by the fiery vexation of his thoughts,
shape rushed by him which startled him, it wa
SO like Anne. He would almost have ventureC
nv, IN ha. atnl>sorr Ia So,