The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1866-03-04
THE ICEBERG
!CONCLUDED.


TcoNCLUDED.
"We took this little house near the
old people, and there we lived as
happy as could be. She lid her duty
if ever woman did. lever had to
speak twice about anything the mo-
ment expressed wish for anything,
she seemed to do her best to get it
for me. My way was always best, at
least for her, she said but I don't
know how it was, / wasn't quite salts
fed. Seemed as if there was some
thing more wanted to make me quite
happy. She did all I wanted, and
yet, somehow, it wasn't quite what I
wanted. I'm sure she loved me, but
not, as she told me at first, with the
same love she had felt for Sands.
1--WE used to talk about him, and it
made me nigh mad at times to see her
eyes sparkle and her face glow when
1 praised him. She was always more
fond of me after I'd been talking of
Sands. She couldn't see fault in
him. I've heard good deal in my time
about first love and second love, and
that sort of thing, but my opinion is
this, that woman can only love once
with that kind of love that sees no
faults-that kind of love that takes
up all his opinions, his views-so that
if you know his you know hers.
''Well, if they do get married in
this state of mind, they don't wake
out of it for long time-mostly they
don't, for that kind of love isn't found
much after twenty; it's like a fever,
they have it, and they're safe then.
Other things weigh with them-a
mans position, his means, and so on.
They get more set then, criticise
don't you call it?) man, know his
faults, admit them to others, but then
they do their duty almost better in
one case than the other; still man
feels somehow which kind of love
he's got, and he's never quite salts
fed without the first kind-at least l
think so. I remember one night,
about three months after we were
married, I'd been talking of Sands
good deal to- somebody who'd been
to supper with us, and she was quite
alive [ could see-made me describe
him, and listened as though she'd
never heard 1t all before. We locked
up the >nouse and went to bed-that
l06m, right over your head, was our
bed-room-she fell asleep almost di-
rectly with one hand under my neck. |
and her face to me. L was awake;
for, you see, I'd been talking and got
excited little It was moonlight
night, and the light came in between
the blind and the side of the window
right on her face
II was looking at her, as I said,
half on my back, and half on my side |
presently she put her other hand |
to my face, and stroked it as tender
as If I'd been baby, and murmured |
John, dear John, and then drew my
face to hers, and kissed me. She was
dead asleep, too-but, by Cd, sir,
1T wrs thing [ shall never forget
How l felt then 1t was an awful
thing to hear her say John, dearest
John, and my name Ben. She was
dreaming of him, and he was dead, /
put didn't get over that for some |
tlme; Next morning, she told me
she'd been dreaming of him. and that
she had kissed him. I didn't tell her
L knew 1t before, though, for she was
always as KIND as could be to me.
when awake; still, you know, it GOES
to prove that she hadn't the kind of
love for me that I wanted, and 7 |
couldn't make her feel any different
II L spoke ever SO much, SO I never
told her. After this it happened once
or twice; but [ used to wake her nm
by touching her, or some wav or
another. | couldn't bear it, Won
see. BY Cd, I couldn't, sir! Yon
fancy your wife whispering, John.
dearest John, and your name Ben ali
the while.
$50 we lived on for about ten