Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1866-02-13

from her lover. She grew pale and thin; her
movements were languid and her former light
step grew slow and heavy. She no longer sang
at her work. but would let her hands fall list
lessly into her lap and heave deep sighs, some
times the great tears rolled unheeded down her
cheeks
At length there came the news of the battle
of Waterloo; Napoleon had been defeated, and
all Europe was ringing with the tidings Ma
rams suspense now amounted to perfect agony.
Henry" she would cry. Is he killed? 0,
when will he come?'
One morning when she was seated with her
mother, sewing, she was told that Prussian
officer wanted to see her. With her heart
trembling between fear and hope she obeyed
the summons, As she slowly entered the room,
stranger rose, and advanced to meet her.
ssMademoiselleB Brentano?" be inquired, bow
THE same. Will you be seated, sir ?"
II am Frederick Liston; served in the bat
tie Of Waterloo in the same regiment with
Newton Werder, and he requested me to deliv-
er this to YOU And as he finished he placed
small package in her hands.
''Why don't he come himself? He is not
dead? Oh, say he is not dead' she said in
voice of such imploring agony that the young
soldier felt the tears rise in his eyes:
Gladly" he said, in a sad tone, Newton fell
at Waterloo,
She did not scream nor faint, but sank into
the chair near her, with only moan of agony.
He mistook her silent, fearless agony for calm
ness, and began to relate the particulars Of his
comrade's death, and delivered his dying mes
sage to his betrothed. Marian heard every
word, but neither spoke nor stirred, but with
her eyes fixed ON the little package he had CIV
en- her. He left her, and her mother found
her, half an hour after, still in the same posi-
ton.
Marian she said, ''who was your visitor?'
There was no answer.
'sMarian!' she said again, ''are you ill?'
and she laid her hand gently upon her arm.
dead, mother, dead!' she said, now rails
ing her eyes:
7eWho is dead, darling?'' asked her mother,
frightened at her strange tone.
Marian slowly opened her package, and drew
out the ring and hair it contained, murmuring
"Newton! Oh, mother, he is dead u she fell
sobbing in her mother arms.
We change the scene now to Waterloo in the
latter part of the battle between the armies Of
Napoleon and Wellington. The morning we
choose was the one in which the Imperial Guard
of the Emperor threw themselves between the
advancing Prussian forces and the English ar
my to prevent their joining their forces. New
ton Werder. at the head of his regiment, felt
his heart throb with intense excitement as the
two immediate columns the flower Of the French
army, advanced upon the English troops. They
came on in silence, until within range Of the
batteries prepared to receive them; then ter
rible discharge, seeming to rend heaven and
earth, scattering death among their ranks
Still these veterans advanced. The honor of
their nation was in peril; they could die, but
not turn before the enemy; another discharge
of the Prussian troops, who had been rapidly
nearing the scenes of action, then dashed among
them The Garde Imperiale de Napoleon was
utterly annihilated. One exultant shout was
raised by the allied armies as this fearful crisis
was decided in their favor.
But where, in the moment of victory, was
Newton? Stretched upon the field, his head
supported by his fellow officer, Frederick lis
his breast.
'Frederok," {" he murmured in dying voice,
"you will see Marian"
eff live" answered his comrade with deep
emotion.
ssYou will give her this ring, and cut some of
my hair off for her. Tell her my dying thoughts
were all of her-Heaven bless you, my comrade.
Farewell !" and his head fell heavily back.
"Dead p said Frederick, "and l must leave
him here.
Frederick was mistaken. Newton was not
ward he was lying On hospital bed In ravlng
delirium.
For weeks his life hung upon thread, then
young constitution triumphed, and he began
to mend. His physician positively forbade his
returning to Prussia and warning him that his
lungs were much affected, recommended win
ter IN Italy. Writing long letter to Marian to
explain his long absence, Newton made his
preparations, and, after an illness Of over three
months, started in the early part of October tor
Naples. He remaining there, gaining strength
and health, until the next June, and then
started for home. During his residence in It
ally, he had written again and again to both
Marian and Frederick, and wondered why he
had received no letter in answer. His epistles
never reached them.
We now return to Marian Contrary to the
fears of friends, she seemed to bear her loss
with calmness. She had been so long In state
of agonizing suspense, that any certainty, even
this direful one was relief Still her step did
not regain elasticity and her grief, if not loud,
was deep. Her friends mistook despair for
calmness, She grew paler and thinner, and
now frequently kept her room for days together.
Her lover had been gone some eight months,
when her hand was again sought III marriage.
George Weimar was gentle, mild old man, Of
about seventy years of age, wealthy, and OF
large influence in his native town. He was an
old friend of Marian's father, and had long
thought of seeking Marian for lis bride, When,
however, he had seen the place coveted about
to be worthily filed, he had become silent on
the subject Of his desires, and cultivated the ac-
quaintance of his lady loves betrothed. Now,
deceived as others were by Marian's quiet de-
meanor, he advanced his suit. Her parents
knowing that he would spare no pains or ex-
nense tn make her happy, urged their child to
accept his offer, and she consented to see him.
"Mr. Weimar," she said, II wish to tell you
how grateful feel for your kind and fattering
offer, and SO place my situation fully before you.
Since heard of MY ilreparable loss, I have
felt that should soon join him. still | have
endeavored faithfully to perform the duties left
to me, I do not think shall live long But
another, God has granted me, the will to do So
If you will accept my hand, knowing that my
heart is in Newton's grave, it is yours, and !
will epdeayor to fulfill my duties as wife, trust