The Manchester journal. [volume] (Manchester, Vt.) 1861-current, 1865-08-22

Autu l knew VINO was gnmltkt hhu
! sat still because 20 move would have
been oct q my power. SO. when he
entered the room, ! sat. and though !
held out my hand and tried TO utter .
greeting. | knew that my lips only
murmured iuarticulaiely. lie looked
At me as he held my hand Il a mo.
meniary grasp, and ! thought there
was a shocked pain and a shocked sur.
prise in his face. Then be began
/ ] have not come Unexpectedly, |
hope Z Milly promised TO ask you a
to tell you--
She did tell me expected you,
! slroye to say and ] hope said il
quietly.
Did you not guess why | wanted
10 see you he asked, with that direct
ness Of speech | remembered SO
well.
Yes / even went so far as that,
| answered. and smiled, oh ! what a
wintry smile, if it did not belle my
heart.
OF course, ! could only have one
purpose in asking 10 see you again
he went on quietly but, ali ! Hester,
what will you say to me this time
What does Milly say I?
Milly always Milly still But,
Hester, ii is for you TO answer me
first, he said and abruptly walking
from his position on the hearth, he
came and sat down beside me.
Hester--I must call you so-dd
your sister tell you what ! said to her
yesterday
She lei me infer it,
Infer fiddledee. Nothing like
plain speaking to express a plain
meaning, he spoke out rather impet-
uously. But you are so cold, so un-
like your former self, Hester, that |
could not take it for an answer TO what
came TO ask. Did MilIy tell you
that yesterday, tor have grown to
love the little girl dearly,-Hester
Hester what have | said? What is
the matter?' ?
hated, despised myself for the
weakness, but the mortal struggle Of
yesterday was not done yet. ! could
not hear this man, whom | had loved
so long, so deeply, avow to my face
his transferred affection to my sister,
and be unmoved. Involuntarily
grasped the arm Of my chair for sup
port, for my life saemed fading from
me in the struggle. He bent over
me-, he lifted my faint head on to his
broad breast, but | shrank from him
feebly.
1t is nothing. | am often faint
| am quite well again. You were
saying-yes, 60 on, Mr.. Sutherland
! was saying, ah, Hester, think |
need not 90 on, you are so changed,
my dear he said. looking down at me
with sorrowful perplexity. Well,
well, Milly led me on TO hope but
ought to have known better. You
never cared for me in the beginning
as did for you.
Surely, surely, that bygone ought
to be bygone now, | cried bitterly.
If you say that, it ought, indeed
he answered, turning from me but
] told you then, Hester, that should
never forget you; and from something
Milly said, and your remaining un-
married, | was wild enough to dream
--to hope
Something, light that dazzled my
poor eyes, was breaking in upon me
as he spoke.
Mark, what did you come here
to-day TO ask me ?
The same question that ! asked
eight years ago by the stream in the
marshes, Hester. / have done with
india; ! am no longer a poor man,
and want the woman | have always
loved. Hester, is this true? Is she
mine at last2'
For long, long time, think, after
this, we forgot the existence Of any
one besides ourselves. Then | told
Mark the little game Of cross purpos-
es We had been playing. His incred.
lous wonder that / could imagine that
he had ever thought Of any one but
me, touched me to the heart.
Poor Milly,' he said, $50 you would
have put her off with reyersion Of The
heart. No, when she marries, may
she be what you are, Hester--her
husbands first love and his last