Delaware gazette. [volume] (Delaware, Ohio) 1855-1886, 1867-03-15

noaung down the long piazza, attlred
IN some diaphanous gray that stream
ed around her like mist, / knew how
it would be- Imarked, with one great
! heart thrOb, the perfect delight that
flashed IN his dark eyes as they rested
] upon her face and form.
After that they were always togeth-
er. In the mornings he was reading
TO her as she worked; on afternoons,
! rocking together in the little boat on
the lake: and then, In the purple twi-
light. singing dreamy German music,
Of which they we're both passionately
fond
Il soon knew that James Alexander
loved her. read it in every glance,
1 in every tone. But Eleanor? I was
not sure Watch her as narrowly as l
would. I could not see that the rose IN
her cheek became q deeper pink when
he approached, or that her eyes were
raised more tenderly to him than to
/ dozen others who sought her smiles.
/ There had been TumoTs Of Elean-
/ or's engagement and approaching mar
i riage, which had drifted to me from
her city home; but, when I saw her
/ day by day allowing him to become
more attached to her-for she could
could not fail to perceive it ALL re-
iected the rumOr, and with 1t the ina
pulse which had prompted me to re-
peat it to James, that he might, If not
already too late. be upon his guard.
At last the end came. dozed one
/ day on sofa In an inner room, and
/ watched with delicious delight my
dream of fair woman that dark-vel-
vet tlouDging-chair brought out in clear
relief. Eleanor sat there, with down
cast eyes and elasped hands. Sudden
4 IL a step, hurried and Joyous in its
/ very lightness, sounded IN the hall
! the door opened and closed again, and
| Alexander stood before her with an
/ open letter in his hand.
See, he said, speaking rapidly, 1t
/ has come at last, aud I may speak. 1t
/ is a call to one of the largest parishes
in your own city, and l may say, what
you must have known for weeks past,
that I love you, Eleanor, deeply, de-
votedly; that I wantyOU. My darling,
| tell me that you are not Indifferent to
me-that you will be my wife
1T was too late for me to move; and
something-perhaps it was a kind Of
dull despiar-kept me mOtionless, with
eyes riveted upon the group.
Speak to me, Eleanor, he said,
more eagerly, bending over her as he
spoke,
4 saw her face flush, and an almost
imperceptible shrinking from him,
that made him quickly draw back
Speak, Miss Orne,-Eleanor, / Inn
fOh, why have you said this to ne?'
she answered, family. Il cannot hear
you, Mr.. Alexander. I am to be mar
ried next month.
II saw him reel for an instant as
one would under a heavy blow, and
heard deep sigh-almOst a groan-
burst from him; then a silence so long
and so profound that / could hear my
heart beat. At last he spoke, in a
voice husky and changed
Forgive me. did not mean to
offend but God knows what a mercy
it would have been if could have
known this before. | may touch your
hand unce.-may / not? And you will
look up into my face? No, not that
Graut me this, at least then, before
our long parting. And he bent and
kissed one Of the sunny eurls that
streamed over the chair. Then / saw
him raise one hand over her as IN ben
diction, and, in another moment, he
was gone. I looked at Eleanor. She
had risen from her seat, and moved a
step or two towards the door.
20 James, James. 1 love you she
said, piteOusly; and then / had just
time to break her fall.
AN hour later, [ met him on the
door-gtep I am glad to have seen
you, he said slowly, and to thank you
for your kindness for l am going
away. You will be good to her, Anne,
for my sake,-Will you notY
He turned from me. and passed
down the walk | watched him until
sharp turn hid him from my sight
I never saw him afterwards alive.
The next day it rained, and the
next; and It. was not until the third
day that Eleanor and [ took our usual
walk As we left the house, she suR-
Rested that we shape our way towards
the lake. Agreeing, we walked on
slowly, and l tried to make James
Alexauucr the subject Of our talk. !
At first she evaded me and, when at
last she found my persistence was not
in any other way TO be turned aside, !
said
A. Tt is an unpleasant subject to me,
dear Anne. fear [ have much to /
blame myself for. 1 suffer enough +;
for, in rejecting his love, shut my
eyes on a life that would have been a /
continual delight, to open them on one
from which my very soul shFIRks abb
horrently, and yet to which l am sol
EMMY pledged.
But it may not yet be too late, 1
said, eagerly; for God knows I loved
j ames Alexander with no selfish love.
. Yes, 1t is too late, she replied
LII III j.. -.
it again, Anne but i tell you now,
that do not and never can love Mr..
( Radnor but there are family reasons
that make the sacrifice of my hand
| necessity. | never realized, until
! within the last few weeks, that it 11ds
such Il sacrifice. I have been so hap
py, that [ dared not break the spell by
| telling him the truth And somehow
| the future seemed very far; and did
| not dream thatthis summer would ever
end.
"Then there was silence between US
/ for a space. At last she spoke again
hope he will not suffer long,
Tell him some time, Anne, what [
/ have told you. He will not quite hate
me, perhaps, then, If he knows that I
was not drawing him on to crafty a
foolish coquetrY, but loved and suffer
ed like himself
Il was about to reply, but she laid
her hand on my mouth.
s. No she said. Let the subject
20 now forever. And no one will
/ dream by-and- by how fair love lies
buried beneath my Iaces and jewels
or that, in the life of a noted man that
he viii one day become romance that
belongs to a dead past. It win all be
the same a century hence. What does
it matter after all
s. But her words ended with a sigh
/ that o0htrasted strangely with the
forced ightness of her tone.
I" just then we came out Of the grove
and could see far off the little waves
of the lake dancing in the morning
Isunligbt. I paused a moment to pick
some late wild flowers, while Eleanor
| walked on quickly aud disappeared
among the alders that frinRed the lake.
I was following her slowly, when sud