The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1867-03-23
sun has made you sick. 1 shall not aiio" W

the one thing my SOLITARY ie gave lue W rove
till | saw Mark; L had SeI uis iuoi long ago,
cbi'dwas in more than usual high spirits that
evenIno that she leased me to talk to her
sing to her, and finally flew up to bed in
| childish fit of anger, because could do Meth
er one or the other. At any other time |
should nave gone after her, coaxed and ca
ress"d her INTO good temper, but now with
leell,is VI Iehet that she was gone, l SAT at the
| WINDOW staring out into the dark. scented
I'Sht, ana counting the cost OF the sacrifice
Long, long SAT- there, long after the moon
n'u risen and set, and the stars began to grow
uarh before the streak OF gray light in the
east. L Thought of Mark; of what had done,
vi what L had given up, until was nearly
| Ilad, Tor when1 stood up and closed the win
uow before going up to my room, l said to my
sci thiit would write to Mark Sutherland
wheh morning came, and tell him that i had
onosen once more between the two l loved,
ana Oh osen differently. Therefore hoped
thal was IN d; but went w stairs quite Ie-
soNea and quiet; / undressed without even
oice looklig toward the bed where nv little
SISTER lay meant to lie down on nv pillow
WITHOUT dong SO; but oh / could not saw nv
| prayers ana leave Milv without the kiss al
ways gave her before l slept
=, POI went up to the bed, and drawing back
the curtain, looked down upon what had for
years been my sole earthly treasure The
| chiia looked pale III the cold, gray dawn, her
GOLDEN mar was tossed widely back from her
race ana covered the pillow; and while stood
anu sitZeu, my madness dying away, my old
sen coming, she stirred in her sleep, two great
lears welled out from the closed eyes and with
neaVy SOD she murmured "Hesterw
linen knelt down in the gray dawning,
ana thanked God that my madness was pass
ed, and prayed that as He had given me
strength to make the sacrifice, SO he would
help me ne er TO regret it, I.
| did not see Mark Sutherland again; but
the next time that Milly went up to the Hol-
lies, she told me on her return, shat he had
lea the HOLES, gone away TO that dreadful
India. ard was never coming again back" Ny
heart echoeL. the words, hut drew Milly to
me and kissed her. and tried to be patient and
forget.
l could not forget; my nature was tena-
cious of what had once taken hold upon 1t,
and the course of our lives was too uniform
and monotonous to give change ana VARIETY
their usual influence. l scarcely knew after
Mark went away, how the days and gears
oided awav their course was so unmarked,
and every thing seemed so unchanged. AL
first used to shrink and SILVER at the men
ton of Mark Suthefands name at the Homes;
that passed. and pined to hear OF h'm win
a weary anxious longing, seldom satisfied
They ceased to speak oh after a while, as
people do after a long absent frend and by
degrees it seemed as if he was only remember
ed in one poor woman's heart, VINO almost
came to think of him as il he had been Ie-
moved bv death. So that one day when Mlly
came back from the Holes. and said as she UNI
tied her hat and threw it down. "Hester,
guess; who in the world do you think came
to the Holes last night" Not even my
thoughts suggested the right person.
"No, no." said Milly, as ! named one or
two: 10: who but Cousin Mark who went
away to India years ago! | was mere child
at that time. but remembered him Instantly
"a compliment he did not return, by the by:
| though, when he found who was he asked
| after you.", ..I s ..r .r--a. - f.... =
Years ago, was it, since Mark went away?
| All! as My spoke it seemed only Yesterday;
the joy. the sorrow, the old plans, so fresh
now, were throbbing SO wildly once more in
| my heart. He had not quite forgotten me,
| then? but did he remember me as | remem-
| bered him? ...st ..-nrre.l .lg
81 do believe you have forgotten all about
| him." Mlly went on; land, let me tell you L
| wonder at that for / remember he used to he
| so fond of talking to you, Hetty, and he is the
| kind of man that women may be proud OF
| attracting, none the less because he cares
very little, should say, for women in gene
ral"
| Really Milly, you seem to have studied
| Mr.. Sutherland very closely considering this
| NAV be called your first acquaintance with
him."
She laughed blushed and threw back her
beautiful golden hair.
'No, don't know as have: he devoted
himself to me good deal this evening. and I
| couldn't help forming my opinion, you know.
| There is to be croquet party tomorrow at
the Hollies, and Mr. Sutherland made me
promise to come up and bring you, if you
| would come, but told him beforehand that
you would not. knowing your dislike to that
| delectable means for the promotion of f1irt-
ing.'
And after this it happened that Milly either
went or was sent for nearly every day up to
| the Holles--where. indeed she was very
much in the habit of going; while |, who had
long since ceased to care for any companon-
ship beside my sisters, sat at home, longing
with feverish longing to see Mark Suther-
LAID once more, and yet dreading with a
| sickening dread to meet the careless, estrang-
ed glance of the the dark eyes that had look
ed once into mine, full of love.
II seemed that Mark not unfrequently ac-
companied Milly part of the way bone; but
| he never came near enough TO our cottage for
me to catch even the most distant glimpse of
him, ard my little sister had somehow ceased
to talk of him after the first. &c. although i
| still knew he staid at the Hollies, he might
almost as well have been across the vide ocean
| as far as was concerned And yet-oh, no!
| the sense of his presence seemed borne to me
upon every breath of the sweet summer air
| that fOated into my room. L could not sleep
| at night, nor rest calmly by day; and often,
| while Millv sat with her friends, used to
wander out, scarce needing where 1 went,
| impatient only of rest. . -e.ef. -r.t 3. r5s.
| One day, when this terrible yearning was
strong upon me. | took nv sketching mater-
| ais, from force of habit, and set out to walk
| to a wood at some distance. The COOL green
fragrance of the leafy shadows was grateful az
ter the glaring sunshine, and | sat down to
| rest where they felt coolest. But sudden
! sound of laughter and merry voices close at
hand startled me- and, not willing to see who
the speakers were, L got up and fled swiftly
down the darkest and most tangled of the
paths that branched away into the heart OF
the wood. / soon lett tire merry voices far be-
hind me, and, slackening my walk, l wander
ed on, dreamy and absorbed as ever, till sud
| denly turning into another path, | saw what
caused me to stand still and forget everything
| but what my eyes looked upon. Mark Sutl-
erland! Yes, Mark, older darker, thinner,
but Mark himself. All, how the green marsh
es and the winding sea-wall and the lark sing
| ing far up in the sky, all floated before my
eyes, as Isaw the downward bend of his state
| ly head to look into the face beside him-the
face that looked up into his, with those Can
did blue eyes, ana smile upon the SOFT part
| ed lips. The smile seemed to reflect itself
| upon Marks grave face for an instant, and
| then he took up little hand lying OH his arm
| and kissed it tenderly. | looked no longer; /
| crept away; stricken with dumb anguish q
dreadful, sullen despair, L crept away and
went home. For knew the candid blue eyes,
the sweet smile and the floating golden hair:
they were my sister Milly's. Oh, had not
done enough? Had 1 not sacrificed enough?
| Was my cup not yet SO full but that this Bit
ter drop must be added to its overflow?
So i cried in my anguish, and 1t was long
| before better thoughts came to me, or that
coming, ] could hold them firmly and take
comfort. But by-and-by rose from where
had flung myself down, and sat by the win
dow to watch for Milly. She came along
presently in the quiet evening light, and
| looked at her with my eyes freshly opened. 1
| had never yet ceased to think of her as a
| child; | realized in one moment how that
child was woman. 1 looked at the fresh
young face, and Involuntary glanced at the
reflection of my own in the mirror opposite.
never could have been in my best DAYS what
Milly was and nOw-I turLed away with a
sigh from the image of that faded woman,
with pale lips and weary dark eyes.
Miy came in the next instant, threw off
her hat, and coming up beside me, took my
face between her two soft hands, looked into
it tenderly for a moment, then kissed me,
and sat down with her arm around me.
But my dear, L have something to tell,'
she began, with q strange trembe in her