The Richmond palladium. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1855-1875, 1862-07-18
July 18th, 1862.

thy doing. Friend Eli'' he continued, turn
ing TO the old man. with sneering emphasi.
on the 'tAy." Il hope thee's satisfied with
thy work."
Here lie burst into a bitter, mocking
laugh, which it chilled Asenalh's blood ,o
hear.
The old man turned pale. "Come away.
Ichild!'' said he. tugging at her arm But
she stood firm, strengthen for the moment
BY solemn feeling of duty which trampled
down her pain.
"Richard.' she said, with the music oil
an immeasurable sorrow in her voice, "oh
Richard. wha, has thee done? Where the
Lord commands resignation, thee has been
rebellious; where He chas,eneth to purify,
thee turns blindly to sin. l hsdno. expec.
ted this of thee. Richard; thought thy re
gard for me was of the kind which woul |.
have helped and uplifted thee,--not through
me, as an unworthy object. but through the
hopes and pure desires of thy own heart. |
expected that thee would so act as to justify
what l felt towards thee, not to make my
affection a reproach,-oh. Richard. not to
cast over my heart the shadow Of thy sin!'
The wretched young man supported him
self against the post Of an awning, buried
his face in his hands. and wept passionatsly.
Once or twice he esSayed to speak, but his
voice was choked by sobs. and, after a look
from the streaming eyes which Asenatb
could scarcely bear to meet, he again cover
ed his face. A stranger. coming down the
street. paused OUT of curiosity. "Come.
come!" cried Eli once more, eager to es-
cape fir m the scene. His daughter stood
STILL and the man slowly passed on.
Asensth could not thus leave her lost lover
ia her despairing grief. She again turned
to him, her own tears flowing fast and Free
II do not Judge thee. Richard, but the
words that passed between us give me right
to speak to thee. 1t was hard to lose sight
of thee then, but it is still harder for me to
see thee now. Ii the sorrow and pity feel
could save thee, would be willing never TO
know any other feelings. | would still do
anything for thee except that which thee
cnnot ask, as thee now is, and could not
give. Thee has made the gulf between us
50 wide that it cannot be crossed. But |
can now weep for thee and pray for thee
a fellow creature whose soul is still precious
in the sight of the Lord. Fare thee wellf'
He seized the hand she extended, bowed
town, and showered mingled tears and kiss
es upon it. Then, with Wild sob in his
throat, he started up and rushed down the
street, through the fast falling rain. The
father aud daughter walked home in silence.
Eli had heard every word that was spoken.
and elt that spirit whose utterances he
dare not question had visited Asenath's
tongue.
She. as year after year went by. regained
the peace and patience which gave a sober
cheerfulness to life. The pangs of her heart
grew dull and transient; but there were two
,iS.tu n bor WI Ichr = cd
in outline or faded in color: one, the brake
of autumn flowers, under the bright au-
tumnal sky, with bird and stream making
accordant music to the new voice of love;
the o,her, rainy street, with a lost, reckless
man leaning against an awning post. and
staring in her face with eyes whose unuter-
able woe, when she dared to recall it, dark
ened the beauty of the earth, and almost
her trust in the providence of God.
V.
Year after year passed by, but not with
out bringing change to the Mitchenor fami-
ly. Moses had moved to Chester county
soon after his marriage, and had a good
farm of his own. AT the end of ten years
Abigail died; and the old man, who had
not only lost his savings by an unlucky in
vestment, but was obliged to mortgage his
farm, finally determined to sell i. and join
his son. He was getting too old to manage
it properly. impatient under the unaccus-
toned pressure Of debt, and depressed by
the loss Of the wife to whoa, without any
outward show of tenderness, he was, in
truth. tenderly attached. He missed her
more keenly in the places where she lived
and moved than in neighborhood without
the memory of her presence. The pang
with which he parted from his home was
weakened by the greater pang which had
preceded it.
1t was a harder trial to Asenath. She
shrank from the encounter with new faces,
and the necessity of creating new associa-
tions. There was quiet satisfaction in the
ordered, monotonous round of her life.
which might be the same else where, but
here alone was the nook which h Id all the
morning sunshine she had ever known
Here still fingered the halo of the sweet de
parted summer,-here still grew the famil-
lar wild how ers which the first Richard Hill
ton had gathered. This was the Paradise
in which the Adam of her heart had dwelt,
before his fall. Her resignation and sub.
mission entitled her TO keep those pure and
perfect memories, though she was scarcely
conscious of the ir true charm. She did no.
dare to express to herself In words, that one
everlasting joy OF woman's heart, through
all trials and sorrows,-"I have loved, l
have been loved
o. the las, "Firs. day" before their de-
parture, she walked down the meadows to
the lonely brake between the bills. It was
the early spring, aud the black buds of the
ash had jus, began to swell. The naples
were busted with crimson bloom. and the
downy catkins of the swamp willow drop
ped upon the stream and fioated past her.
as once the autumn leaves. In the edges
Of the thckets peeped forth the blue, scent
less violet. the fairy cups of the anemone.
aud the pink-veined bells of the mi.kodesd.
The tall blooms through which the lovers
walked still slept in the chilly earth; but the
sky above her wa. mild and blue, and the
remem brance of the day came back to her
with delicate, pungeut sweetness. like the
perfume Of the trailing arbuius IN the air
around her. In a sheltered, sunny nook,
.f-e f,u,d a single err tbfoniurn IIred forth