Bradford reporter. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, 1866-10-11

: surrounded by elegant grounds, and fur
, nished with every thing that taste could
suggest or luxury demand, was like rev.
elation to me. | thought kneY then what
: had been wanting--what suited me. |
felt at home id these elegant rooms. This,
indeed, was something better than the ca
reer of merchants clerk and his wife,
even in the city. | felt a vague thrill Of
ambition. | thought that il might not have
been bad thing for me, at least, that Joe
had been prevented from carrying out his
first plans that | was free.
| could see from the first that Colonel
Cushing liked me, though he had too much
tact and taste to startle me by any prema-
ture declarations of it. He contented him
self with making life pleasant for me--let-
ting me see how pleasant he had it in his
power to make it. When the time came
for | boarded round"--for me to be
member of his household, which a widowed
sister superintended, he spared no pains to
make the days white letter ones in my cal
endar. AT other times he would come for
the little girls in his elegant barouche, and
take me with them for a drive among the
the splendid hill scenery, or along the
pleasant, low-lying river. Or he would
send me strawberries, red glowing with
the life of summer--or cherries, bedded in
cool green leaves--or flowers such as grew
in no other garden in Montcair Remem-
ber that was only eighteen, that l knew
myself to be handsome, and discovered my
self to be ambitious
| can claim credit for one thing-I never
forgot my own dignity or made one un-
maidenly effort to attract Colonel Cushing
Indeed there was no need. His attentions
grew constantly more and more marked. |
was fattered by them, certainly 1t gave
me new idea Of my own power to have
such man SO entirely devoted to me. l
thought of Mother Scarborough and Hills
bury butter with smile of superiority
Clearly my destiny did not lie there fan
cied myself, in my little day dreams of girl
ish vanity, walking through those spIen-
did rooms as misunderstanding jewels land
laces, and soft, rich silks--my girlish pret-
tiness set off by such adornments until
could hardly recognize Hillsbury Helen in
the bright vision. | think these dreams
came to me with more charm and potency
every day. They were beginning to fill my
imagination full, and | lost sight in them
of everything lying beyond forgot that to
such brilliant lot could come, as we'll as
lowlier ones, days of pain and WEAKNESS,
sore troubles and heartaches, by and-by
death itself that here, as well as else
where, | should need the support and
strength of tenderest mutual love. For |
did not love Colonel Cushing he could
never be to me what Joe had been. In my
brightest visions he figured as an accesso-
ry--a courtly, gracious gentleman, whose
homage did me honor, to bear whose name
would make me power in the world !; but
did not love him. And as yet he had nev.
er asked for my love, though felt with
woman's intuition that the hour was draw
ing nigh.
| sat one afternoon, late in July, on
low ottoman in his drawing room, looking
out toward the west where crimson sun
set flushed the sky, and singing fitfully
snatches of old ballads which the Colonel
loved to hear. We were all alone, he and
I--alone with the gathering twilight, the
soft summer wind which came through the
wide-opened window, the stars that began
to shine solemnly in the far heavens. |
saw that, despite the Colonel's love for bal
lads, he was getting impatient. His sis
ter had gone up stairs with the children
She would be through with prayers and
good-nights soon We should not be long
alone, and | knew--how do women know
such things THAT he wanted to make the
most of his opportunity Still | sang on.
1t was perversity partly-partly vague,
vexing dread of the future which lay SO
near If he asked me to be his wife | knew
that | should say yes, but some dumb, blind
instinct within me clung still to freedom.
While sang a servant came in with
letters and papers-the evening mail. Colo
mel Cushing just glanced at them, and put
ting the rest in his pocket, handed one to
me.
"A letter. Miss Helen, but don't read it
now-let me talk to you instead"
{" In a moment. 1t is grandmother's
handwriting. If you don't let me look and
see whether any thing is the matter | shall
not be a good listener"
He was too true gentleman to insist on
having his own way, nd | held my letter
close to the window. 1t was the first one
grandmother hau written me that summer
quaint, old-fashioned tender-how like
herself glanced over it by the linger-
ing sunset light until | came to these
words
"You will want, think, to hear about
Joe. His horses took fright yesterday, as
he was moving. He was thrown from his
mowing-machine, and severely hurt Your
father doubts if he will ever + cover"
| strained my dim eyes over the paper to
see if had made any mistake. No, it was
all plain--too plain Joe, my Joe, might
be dying. We have heard stories, all of
us, about the sudden intuitions of drowning
men, in which they live over and understand
lifetime in few seconds. | think it was
something like that which came to me--li-
ker, perhaps, to the awakening thrill with
which, after death, our sous will rise to
the new life. l think we shall know then,
in one electric FASH just how much and
how little this world has been worth. For
the first time in my life | understood my
own soul-its needs, wants. Iongings-but
was conscious of only two ideas. One,
that was intensely thankful that | had not
bound myself to Colonel Cushing the 9th
er, that must go to Joe. Only one course
of action occurred to me, and that was to
tell the Colonel the entire truth | did not
trust in vain to his generosity When l
had told him all he said to me with a strange,
, grave tenderness ..a ... .......
Helen, did you know that loved you
t You had grown to be the hope and the OBJ
iect of my life / think if it had not been