Delaware tribune. [volume] (Wilmington, Del.) 1867-1877, 1867-02-14

And when the house was set in order and
| the child dressed she arrayed herself and
braided her long dark locks with unusual
care And when she sat down by the win
dow, with The check in her pocket, to wait
for Nathan. she felt calm, collected, and
equal to her task
| There was little iiutter of the heart, just
little, as hi steps rung on the door-stone,
and looking up, she saw his face so much
brighter AMI younger than she had seen it
till now. The gladness in her own answered
that brightness before she was aware. and
then she lowered her eyes with what she
meant to be very quiet GOODNESS. But Ma
than had caught the first look, and before
the second was got ready for him he was by
her side and had her hand in his.
Matilda, he said, with tender gravity,
"where do you suppose have been these
three hours Z.
Matilda was sure she did not know, and
her manner and tone were designed to con-
vey the idea that she did not care. He did
not heed this, but kept her hand though she
| maue an eHOIl 10 WltnuTuW IL.
81 have been sitting under the peach-tree
by the bee-hives, where we sat so long ago,
and saw the sun 90 down-do you remember
it, Matilda? That sun has never risen for
me-shall it rise now"
Still she was silent her hand fumbling
with the check.
g 1t has been long night, Matilda, TWEEN
ty years: is not that long enough ?"
Still she said nothing; her grand speech
was all gone from her, and she could not re-
call one word of ii.
"Thcre is something for you,' she STAN
mered at last, endeavoring to get the obnox-
ious paper in his hand.
"And here is something for you, he an
swered, unlocking small gold case and pro-
ducing witlered flower You refused it
when offered it last will you have it now ?
1t was fresh and young then like my life !;
and it is like my life now--faded, faint, not
worth your acceptance | know
She did not lift her hand to take it. ''Let
us adjust this matter first" she said at
length, really making him see this time what
it was she offered
s'On one condition, Matilda" still speak
, ing in the same tone of tender gravity.
"What is thati'
t .'Tllat You give me the hand as well.
, ''And can You think you deserve it, Sir?'
"No, Matilda, make no pretense of that
) sort. deserve nothing nothing at youi
hands, God knows. But whatever MY faul
: has been, whatever my faults are now, lool
: at my gray hairs, look through my eye
j, down to my soul that is empty of all delight
7. and tell me if you do not think Lshave suf
It fered enough. Ii not, it is in your power
" Matilda, to add what more you will"
) There was deep silence-the twiligh
J was gone, and the gray evening settln
It down with clouds and signing winds.
'sAnd so you refuse my flower p he said
> at last. "Then there will be no more morn
&c ing, no more light for me-"
t. "Oh, papa, papa! did you say ther
Is would never be any more light = calle
II little Eunice from where she sat among he
d heap of toys on the snow-white counterpant
II ''And will it always be night then, dea
papa?' And she began to cry.
/" al don't know, my darling. Perhaps yo
IS can yet make little light for me in TIL
J world, but it is very, very dark now"
e He had gone to the bedside in answer /
y her crying, and he had her in his arms now
'e carressing and trying to soothe, though hi
st voice as he did so was faltering and choke
le with tears. She had her two little hands i
i her eyes, and kept moaning and maxim
,r piteous ado; all at once she looked up an
ID said, with eager gladness.
Y at will be light by-and-by, won't it b'
Aunt lilly? Come and tell papa it will b
ID light, and make him glad won't you. des
'r Aunt Tilly 2"
le But Matilda only turned away her tac'
ls and drew a long, long sigh.
20 'She is crying, papa" whispered til
'd child, 'sand know what it is about: it
at all about her finger-ring, because it is such
a little slender one. Oh, papa, it cost $
III much she told me so, and She said musn
+, tell you. But will tell you: and you wi
lg give her beautiful new one-wont yol
e. papa ?--and then she won't cry.
I'd Matilda had hidden her face in her hand
and was crying in earnest now. Then Il
th child would be carried 10 her, and place
I'd on her knees. Don't cry, Aunt Tilly, 81
IN pleaded, twining her arms abont her nee
and kissing her. s'Papa will give you ne
st ring, and then he will stay here, and v
m will all live together, and be so happy, tt
ed her you WILL papa-tell her yourself, al
he then she won't cry.
he And keeping one arm around Matilds
it neck, she drew his face down quite again
hers with the other, and so claspng the tw
y waited
10 "Shall ii he as our child says whisper
all Nathan.
81 can moi answer, she said ! can II
N. speak now." But somehow the hand wi
VI the dreadful paper in il had got into his han
all and was being held there with close al
It'll tender pressure. There was no need III
es. she should speak-he was answered.
Ike And Nathan came back TO live on the {
it'll place, and fine new house was built in t
maple grove at the end of the lane, and N
er, and Mrs. Armstrong were the great peoI
ck Of the neighborhood be sure.
to And from the day of her marriage nobo
nd ever thought of saying Aunt Matilda, mu
lld less Old Aunt Matida and when the go
hat mother unlocked the press, and broue
his forth the long-preserveu linen for the W,
ding present, there was not happier won
md in the whole county than she. unless indc
the we must except the daughter. now tlaus
he'd ter-in-law as well as in fact.
'elf THE END.
md "A New Yorker failed three times
To twenty years, and is now worth half a n
al lion.
hat "A sign of anim, spirits s-A 'ho