Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1867-10-11

| liant chime OF LHaiIlaSO poho '1 IA IAo
first Joy of her betrothal, there stole across
wronged. or the heart that her carelessness
and vanity had broken. But that night in
her dreams, the pale agonlsed face of John
Rurfield. appeared before her; and with
start She woke up; and, in the darkness,
her r,illow was wet with tears Of sorrow
and self-reproach.
Two DAYS later the young merchant call
on Helen again. 1t was an afternoon
N the early June, full of fragrance, of
Ionening blossoms, and of all the joy of
1.-THE years awakening.
A THE young man looked worn and pale,
| as though he had gone through some sharp
/ conflict during tho last two days; but he
/ said. with his old Manner have come
to take you to picnic, arranged by my
sister. and this time l can have no excuse,
Helen"
Meeting company"
Helen said this very reluctantly but
there was no help for ii land Dir, Pauld
| ing had assured her he shanld be with her
before two o'clock. e. ~. ,s,.sg
'cHelen, are you expecting Mr, Pauding
this afternoon p
Her face made answer before her lips
! did" Inlnk HG may U6 HtEt,
| "And are you going to marry that man? 2"
at Is too bad to question me In this way
Mr. Burfield," said Helen, hiding her face,
burning with bushes.
John Burfield did not heed Der words {;
he seized both her hands, and fairly crush
! ed them in his own. 4#
/ Fl "Oh Helen Allen u he groaned, in a
voice that would have melted to pity a
heart far harder than his listeners"
had not suspected this,-I cannot believe
"Why, John, you distress me- she said.
Don't act so. Hou know | told You long
ago that there was no hope" e. t+ nAa
:" But did hope, Helen Allen" said Mr.
Burfeld. How could it, with your sweet
face, that | was ready to fall down and
worship, before me every few days, and
your lips full of smiles, as your voice was
| full of welcomes. was fool, perhaps
but couldn't help 1t, so long as you al
lowed me the blessed sight of you; and
now--oh Helen Pm proud man, and tbs
hard that on should see me like this; but
it would have been better If / had died
better if had died"
With those words he gave her one wild
look, threw his arms about her, and kissed
| her forehead over and over, and then he
was gone, and Helen sat all alone, weeping
the bitterest tears of her life.
John Burfield mounted his horse and
dashed swiftly homeward. Alas in that
/, bitterest agony Of his life he had no faith
in the great love that would have healed
| his broken spirit; he had made to himself
an earthly idol, and when 1t was broken
he felt that in all the world there was no
rest for his, soul
| Madness had fired his heart and brain,
and on his way home his glance just graz
ed the still deep river, its bright waters
asleep between the fringes of swamp will
lows and with that glance his purpose
was taken! He hurried to his Office, wrote
brief note to his widowed mother, and
rode back to the banks of the river. There
was heavy plunge, and may Heaven have
mercy upon the soul of John Burfeld
The news came to Helen Allen as she sat
with her lover that night in the same room
where she and John Burfield had passed
so many pleasant hours together.
1t was terrible blow to her; still, the
circumstances were not very accurately re-
ported, and Helen believed that the young
man had accidentally fallen into the river,
aid been drowned; but she passed sleep
less night thinking of their last interview
on earth. The next day she received q
message from Mrs. Burfield, the mother of
the dead man, requesting that she would
call on her before night. sH
Helen had only met the lady once, but
she knew that John had often spoken of
her TO his mother, and she supposed that
| 1t was ON this account that the afflicted
woman desired to see her, and receive her
sympathy; and, with q sad heart, the
young girl rode over TO the house of mourn
ing.
"COme with ma,' said the stricken moth
er, after she had looked sternly moment
in Helens face; and she led her into the
next room, where he lay, as if in slumber,
the dark locks clustering about his fore
head, and the features settled into such
pale peacefulness, that it did not seem his
young manhood had been thus suddenly
stricken out of him.
He was all that had in the world
my precious boy, and l loved him better
than my own life; and you have laid him
there, Miss Allen" continued Mrs. Bur
field. There, don't start and look at me
80, now; you can't give me back my son,
for It's too late, but If it hadn't been for
you, his poor mother wouldn't be looking
this day upon his dead countenance. You
broke his heart with your pretty face and
| your bright winning way. | was afraid of
it for whole year. for cav that he Wor-
| shipped you, though he never said much
/ about it, and / used to hint 1t sometimes
| but there would always come look into
his face that couldn't bear to see, and he
/ would say, Don't say that, mother Hell
en- Allen would never let me visit her so,
and treat me as she does, it she did not
care for me, nc matter what she may say.
4 But there he lies now, and / want you to
| feel that you've killed my son, and broken
i his mothers heart"
Mrs. Burfeld was an old woman, and
i John was the youngest of the four bows
over whom her mother heart had poured
the old cry of Rachel, of Ramah. Helen
i Allen uttered no word while standing be-
fore the dead man; but her face was pale
| as his She went silently out of the house,
but before she reached the carriage where
her father waited for her, she fell in swoon
on the pavement
For days afterwards they trembled for
her reason. Her aunt was sent for, and
day and night she comforted the remorse-
selfupbraidings.
"You told me what to do, aunt" she
said; but loved his admiration, and /
knew it was this all the time, although
wouldn't admit it to myself, which made
me keep him at my side; and now must
carry through life the thought that am
his murderer !" --
Mrs. Stanley did all that it was in her
power to do. She went to Mrs. Burfield,
and painted her niece's agony in such
words, that the mourning mothers heart
was melted, and she went to Helen, and