The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1867-05-31
FIRST AND LAST LOVE.
CONCLUDED.


Our father and mother had both died
in India, and we were sent home to
the care of our sole relative, my ia
theirs only sister, an elderly maiden
lady, living in kind of lady-like
poverty, ut n dull little village of
Kent. Aunt Dolly died when was
seventeen and AIilly twelve, leaving
to us the little cottage that had been
her home and ours, with everything
1t contained. No very valuable be-
quest, but all the poor soul had to
leave; and here NIilly and I-not
helresses, no, but not destitute,
neither-continued to live with the
dear old servant who had been our
aunt's faithful companion, and our
kind, affectionate nurse ever since,
fatherless and motherless, we had
been semitic England.
Hillstead-the rector, the doctor and
the family at the Hollies comprised
them. [ think we were the most in
innate at the Hollies, for the children
there were NIilly's cotemporaries, and
her sworn admirers and friends. L
first saw Mark Sutherland mt the
Hollies; he was Mr.. Sutherland's
cousin, and [ heard of him often be-
fore [ saw him. He had led q wild,
adventurous kind of life; wandering
all over the world for his simple plea
sure, 1 suppose, since I never heard
that he had any object in doing SO.
L had formed my idea of him; to be
sure, the reality was not in the least
like it. No, quite otherwise, and
yet, after the first five minutes, 1
would not have changed the real man
for the ideal of worlds.
do not suppose that I speculated
much upon Marks character in those
days; such as he was loved him-ah,
he would never know how dearly, for
had L not given him up?
AS one in q dream I went home: as
one in q dream crawled slowly up
the steep winding lawn to our cot
tage; saw Milly ut the garden gate
watching for me, come flying out into
the lawn to meet me, all her golden
hair streaming straight out behind
her, heard her call me, scold me for
being late; my own voice answered,
saw and heard all the familiar sights
and sounds of everyday life, rs we
do sometimes in dreams, all made
strange and perplexing by some dread
ful sense OF pain and trouble
"Het." said Milly, rs we sat at tca
you're not eating anything; you
look pale and glum; you've sat ont
IN those horrid marshes till the sun
has made you sick. I shall not allow
you to go ont there again, mind
that"
1t pleased NIilly to play the elder
sister, and [ was always content that
the little one should do what pleased
her. She was my darling, the one
thing that my solitary life gave me
to love till saw Mark. Ihad set nv
idol long ago, but it cost me dear,
remember that the child was in
more than usually high spirits on
that evening; that she teased me to
talk to her, sing to her, aud finally
flew up to bed in n childish fit of an
ger, because [ could do neither one
nor the other. At any other time. T
should have gone after her, coaxed
and caressed her into good temper.
But now, with feeling of relief that
she was gone, sat mt the window.
staring out into the dark, scented
night, and counted the cost of the
sacrifice. Long, long, L sat there,
long after the moon had risen, had
set, and the stars began to grow dark
before the streak of gray light in the
East. L thought of Mark; Of what
had given up, until I was nearly mad;
for when l stood up and closed the
window, before going up to my room,