The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1867-06-05

had hitherto been unknown to me.
He seemed to be taunting Marie
with something. Suddenly, she
sprang to her feet and cried, cit is
not true, it is not true--I have not
seen him! never went out to meet
him. ! have not exchanged words
with him, except in your presence.
He has kept his promise, and L have
obeyed you"
"What sent you out at night,
then?" hissed my father, between
his teeth.
VENT went," answered Marie,
''to see the house where he lives-to
walk around ito see the light in
his window. could not help it."
"SoH' said my father; and if ever
human accent and features ex essed
contempt, utter contempt, his did.
$50! A love-sick ramble! You could
not help it!''
Marie dropped on the floor again.
My father turned to his wife.
$50, madam, this is the way you
bring up your children"
It was my mothers turn to tremble.
She tried to keep her eyes steady and
her bearing erect, but in vain. NY
father came close to her and added
some words in low tone, of which
1 only caught sufficient to know that
they referred to his early life-to
their early life. They had, then, a
past heart stirring and eventful
enough to be alluded to in n moment
such as this. How L longed to kn ow
it! Even then 1 speculated: ssHad
he ever loved her? Had she ever
loved him?"
The household sank to silence
again. Marie crept to her bed, re-
fused next day to answer nv in
quiries, refused my sympathy; met
her fathers ceremonious courtesy ut
the breakfast table with her usual
dignifi" J, lady-like demeanor. When
all other eyes were cast down, Adele
looked at me and smiled.
Mr.. Eccleston called that week to
pay his respects after the party, and
also to pay his adieux preparatory to
going to America.
"And when do you intend to sail?"
inquired my mother.
''The week after next, in the Per-
sia," he replied. ''I am weary of
this life"
"On Saturday." continued my
"The Persia's day Of sailing is
-" began Marie, but Mr. Eccles-
ton interrupted her with some re-
mark.
"Do you so alone?" asked my mo-
ther.
"I do not yet know" he answered;
"but 1 trust not" with fixed look
at Marie.
Soon Mr.. Eccleston rose to go.
81 will not say goodbye" he con-
tinued. "I shall pass the garden
gate, the morning of my departure,
on my way to the train, and L NAV
run in for flew moments. Till
then -" and he shook hands with
all the ladies'.
Not look of triumph, of compre
hension, did my mother permit her
self~and yet she had understood the
whole. 81 go in the Persia, week
after next-I hope and trust not to
go alone-I shall be at the garden
gate, in the morning, in time to take
the train-I can stop but few mo-
ments then" In her very
house-ay, in conversation with her
self-had he dared to arrange the
scheme-thus not breaking his pro
mise of holding no communication
with Marie, except in her parents
presence.
"Mario," said my mother, as the
former was leaving the room, "take
care"
Marie turned, and gthey faced each
other for few moments, apparently
forgetting they were mother and
daughter, meeting on equal ground.
My mother let the days pass on
with the assurance of one who holds
the cards in her own hand. The fol-
lowing Wednesday, Marie asked mo
to take walk i'll the village with her.
'''Let us go by the back gate," she
said.
AS we approached this gate, which
was shaded by some thick elm trees,
tho latch turned, and Mr.. Eccleston
appeared.
''Mariep'
"Henry!"
Not word more was said, but she
laid her hand in his with an express
sion of melancholy confidence. He
bowed gravely over it, holding it
firmly.