The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1863-11-25

And [ will come up again this even
ing.
"No, sir, not again. Do not take the
trouble to come again. l could not think
| OF 1t. L shall do well now"
"We will see" he answered, leaving it
an open question, as he shook her hand
to depart.
The sun had sunk beneath the horizon
when he quilted the house, but clouds of
purple and crimson fingered in the sky
1t was fine, clear evening, at the end of
October: clearer and finer than they had
had it latterly. Before him, at short
distance, lay the village Of Hilton Coombe
and Mr.. Oliver hesitated which way he
should return to it. By the roadway,
bearing to the right, it would take him
about twenty minutes to get to his own
residence in it; if he cut across the fields
Iopposite to him, and crossed the stream,
he might gain it in little more than ten.
But it was the crossing of this mill stream
which caused him to hesitate, for the
floods had been out lately-as the phrase
ology ran in the neighborhood-and the
path might be dangerous.
Being pressed for time, he turned to it.
A stream, narrow in that part, and only
to be crossed by an unprotected wooden
bridge 1t was little more, in fact, than
a plank, and two persons could not stand
abreast on it. Mr. Oliver found the water
very high, nearly reaching to it; but he
had a steady eye and step, and traversed
it in safety. Immediately before him, at
only fields distance. was the church of
HiIton-Coombe, its large grave yard sur
rounding it, and its spire stretching up
against the sky, As he gazed at it, soft
color flushed his face, akin to that in the
crimson sky; quicker motion arose in
his beating heart, for in that church on
the morrow, the last day of October, he
would receive the hand of one who was
dearert to him than his own life 1t would
be his wedding day
The field path took him direct to the
little gate of the churchyard Passing
through it, he crossed the path which
wound round by the church door, and
emerged on the high road. The village
| lay on his right, and he turned to it. 1t
was large village, containing a great
many gentlemen's houses, and but small
portion of poor.
The first hoYse he came to was the rec
tory. 1t was not close to the church; one
side of the churchyard and field in which
the rector kept his cows, intcrvened. A
low house it was, old-fashioned and COM
modious, built of greystone, lying back
from the road, and half hidden from the
gaze Of passers by, by the trees erowding
its garden. Mr.. Oliver cast an eager
! glance to it in spite of the trees it might
be, that he should catch a glimpse of a
beloved face at one of its windows, many
OF which were bright with freight. The
only daughter of that rectory, Annis
Dudley, was she who would become on
! the morrow Anpis oliver
He did not see her, and he walked on
with feet foot. Under an engagement
to dine there that evening, he was has
tening home first to dispatch medicines to
Mrs. Key, and to make some slight alter
stiou in his dress. A carriage passed
him and drew up to the rectory gate.-
! He turned and looked after it, for he had
no doubt it contained Miss Bellassys.
1t did contain Miss Bellassys, little
lady with gray hair, who walked lame as
she traversed the winding path through
the garden to the rectory door. A fair
girl came Fastening into the hall to meet
her; one with gentle face and a soft
dark eye. She wore a shaded silk dress
of delicate color, quiet and lady-like as
she was
"Can this be Annis ?" asked the visi-
tor. 'My dear child, you have grown
into a woman
Annis blushed and smiled at is six
!, years since you saw me, Aunt Ruth, anc
am twenty-one."
cay, time flies. wish could come
to you less rarely, but you know hsw
am chained to home. put off comins
now until the last moment My dea
Katharine ~
The servant had thrown open the doc
of a drawing-room on the right of the hall
and the last words were addressed to
; lady who was sitting by its fire. Sh
was middle-aged now, but must hav
, been handsome in her day; she would hav
? been more so now but for the coldnes
i of her blue eyes, and the naughty cast o
her acquiline features She wore ricl
+ dress OF blue watered silk, aud gold orna
4 ments.
@ "Mamma, it is Aunt Ruth"
o. The two ladies met and clasped hands
3 They were first cousins The rector
d wife was the first to speak. "Never t
: come to us until this evening, Ruth Yo
+ might almost as we'll have not have com
- atalk Jacob where is your master ?
= The servant, who had been closing tn
h door. opened it again. Il think he is i
e his room, my lady"
o. Uniform him that Miss Bellassys
I here.'e.l -
gut before Jacob could depart,
y found himself put aside by hismaster, th
Il Reverend William Dudley, man of sin
% pie manners, and a calm, good face. !
stranger need not have been told that b
IS and Annis were father and daughter; th
% likeness between them would have prt
D claimed it.
t. "And so you are going to lose Annis
d exclaimed Miss Bellassys, sadness ming
1t ling with her tone.
s. A strangely frigid expression settle
a on the face of Lady Katharine Dudle.
l. She made no rejoinder; it appeared thi
). she would not r.ake one.
"Not quite to lose her, " said the rect'