Worcester daily spy., 1859-04-07
dAOrfestrr Daily spp,
A LITTLE HARMLESS FILTRATION.
tConclndeh.1

For three days fled from thought as from
demon. Of Mary, and Mary faithless,
dared not think. The fourth day l blamed
myself as fool for caring about one so false
aud coquettish. The fifth day fancied had
beel too hasty; if l had spoken it might have
been xplaned-perhaps it was a mistake;
there might be no love between them, after all.
The sixth day brought with it letter from
Mary herself Such letter / never read be-
fore nor since; fairly wept over it. l had
been an ass, an ignoramus, a scoundrel, TO sus-
pect her for one moment; it was clearly an op-
tlcal deluson. So | took my place in the
train that very night, and went down to Wal
ington.
Mary met me at the gate, all smiles and
tears, and looking more beautiful than ever
"It was strange behavior" she said, "to come
and look in upon her, and then go away with
out one word. She would have thought it
was ghost, if Mr. Harbury, who happened to
be in the room, had not seen me too. She had
not slept since, for thinking and wondering,
and she was, o, so glad to see me again"
Of course l was very sorry and penitent,
and Mary behaved beautifully, and forgave me
like an angel, as she was. "She never
thought" she said, anything of Walter, he
was just like brother they had known each
other from childhood. AS for sitting beside
her, he never should do so again if / objected
better friends and lovers than before. | was
very anxious to be married now, and resolved
to allow as little time as possible to elapse be-
fore l took my jewel out of Mr. Walters
reach. All went on smoothly, and Mary pro-
missed me one Sunday evening to talk the mat
ter over with her mother, and fix the day for
our wedding the next time | came
was to have gone down on the Sunday
but from some cause l now forget, had the
Cot,
spend it with Mary. All that day felt an
unusual oppression of something upon my
mind could not shake off. As neared the
cottage my presentiment of coming dread in
creased. The door was open; as | crossed
the vesibule, | trembled so violently that |
could hardly open the parlor door, but did
open it, and there on the sofa again sat my
Mary, not this time, however, with one of
Walters arms round her, but both, and hers
hung round his neck with such an embrace
as had never been bestowed upon me. l was
resolved it should be no optical delusion this
time, so | walked quietly up, and laid my
hand upon his arm. AT my touch, they started,
colored violently, and separated. "Mr. Har-
bury" said /, ''you are welcome"
"Thank you, said he.
"1 shall not interfere; and have nothing
further TO say"
Then turning to Mary, said, "Miss Collins,
where is your mother y AS she did not move
or attempt to call her, rang the bell, and de-
sired the servant girl to request her mistress
to come Mrs Collins entered
Madam, said l. you and your daughter
have played a double game with me. 1t goes
no further. renounce all my pretensions to
her in favor of this gentleman-her more.
will send you all the letters written by your
daughter to me- and request that those she
has of mine may be returned. Ladies, | wish
you, and you, Mr.. Harbury, very good even
ing" | turned and left Rose Cottage for ever.
For years after that evening, terrible load
lay at my heart-a load of love despised, hopes
bGghted, and energies wasted-that seemed
sometimes greater than l could bear Wher-
ever went, thoughts of Mary followed, she
seemed ever present, so beautiful so treacher-
ous-her very faithlessness helped to render
her more dear. Ipitied her much-so young,
so false with her wondrous beauty, thou
sand dangers threatened her
1t was five years after | had lost my Mary
five prosperous years for me- that one night
woman was brought into the hospital, ofwhich
had then become principal physician Here
was very bad case of consumption, prostra-
ton, and weakness, arising from destituton
and starvation. The poor creature was so
emaciated and swollen, that the moment | saw
her perceived there was no hope of recovery,
and directed all the attention of the nurse to
the tiny, shivering infant in her arms. The
poor mother lay all night as though quite un-
conscious of what was passing around. In the
morning, when / came to her bed in the course
of my rounds, there struck me as being in her
face something familiar. | must have seen it
long, long ago, when and where could not re-
collect
AS took her hand she opened her eyes, and
looked long and fixedly upon me; then she
exclaimed, with awful emphasis, "Charles
Bouldng, go away away Are you going to
haunt me? You torture me. Oh, go away p
But l could not go.
MARY, is it? Can it possibly be Mary
Collins %
"No," she shrieked, 'I am Mr.. Harbury's
wife. How dare you come to my bedside
Away-away p
She would not be soothed, but talked wildly
wildly and loudly until they brought her child
Then, when she looked into its little helpless
face, and watched its feeble efforts to come to
her, she sottened, and, with all the mother in
her eyes, held out her arms and pressed it to
her heart. Perhaps the futtering irregular
pulsations of that heart, warned her how soon
its beatngs would cease forever, for she turned
to me, and, with a look SO full of humility, of
grief, and love, said, "Ah, Charles, forgive me.
Iwronged you cruelty; but have been cruelty
punished. | married him, and my life has
been-oh! what life but it is over-I am
dying now-he knows not cares not-deserted
we might both die. for him; but my child
my little girl! You will not let her starve?
Promise me, Charles"
promised-I swore / would be father to
the helpless infant lying by her side. She
seemed easy and happy after that; and lay so
still and passive, that when she sank away
from her calm, earthly sleep, into the sleep of
death, the change was so peaceful, so gentle
that we who stood watching round her bed
perceived it not
took the little girl home, and tried to do
my best to supply her dear lost mothers place.
Tell me, Louisa, have done SO %
ooh, uncle!' cried Louisa, starting up and
throwing her arms around the doctors neck;
"Inever dreamed you was notmy uncle. You
have, indeed, been father, mother, uncle-all,
to me-
"And you, my darling-Mary's child-have
come with your winning, childish love, and
saved me from despair, Or living that worst of
all lives-a life of selfishness Yes, Louisa if
your mothers coquetry lacerated and bighted
my heart, it was you, her daughter, who, by
your love and obedience, restored and healed
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