The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1867-03-22


mnst do Icannot leave Milly."
q And Mi,ly cannot 60. That decides 1t,
tben We'll. have nothing to say; am
tho last man In the world to try and per-
snade any one against their Judgment"
He rose deliberately, but did not 90, lot
sat still. care you going home r No
asked, after Q minute. Hester d9n .,, Jn
50 sad you are feeling for me-a 40 wh aU
that. ] should like to think Oh you nnIa
am over the seas; as happy as : wou'u
have tried to have made you, ,ninN y. m .e
sometimes as friend - d Snar, sApe'' "
forget YOU, Hester. Good-bye| -,
Ills hand, as he held 1t out, shook ever
so lightly, but It held mine in firm pres
.n IN for an instant. Then he let 1t drop,
stopped and picked up his gun, whistled
his dogs around him, and strobe away again
along the sea wall, without once turning to
look back.
Milly and / were orphans. Our father
and mother had both died in India, and we
were sent home to the care OF our sole re-
lative, my fathers only sister, an elderly
maiden lady, living in kind OF iady-hke
poverty at o dull little village at heht,
Aunt Dolly died when was seventeen ana
| Milly twelve, leaving to us the lttie COT
taoe that had been her home ana ours
with everything II contained; no very va,
liable beauest, but all the poor soul hau
TO leave: and here Milly and mot neir-
esses. no. but not destitute, neither-con.
timed to live with the dear old servant
who had been our aunt's faithful compa-
MON and our kind, affectionate nurse ever
s;ncs fatberless and motherless, we hau
20 Ep0lQnd.
There were not many people to Visit az
U;l,stead-the rector, the doctor, ana the
family at the Hollies comprised them. l
7 think we were the most intimate at inc
uoIl;es for the children there were Miliy 5
oonfemnoraries. and her sworn admirers
and friends. / first saw Mark Sutherland
~ Tho HoIlies: he was Mr.. Sutherlands
cousin. and had heard of him often be-
fore saw him. He had led wild, adven-
turous kind of life, wandering all over the
world for his simple pleasure l suppose,
since never heard that he had any other
object in doing SO. / had formed my idea
Of him: to be sure, the reality was not
in the least like it. No, quite otherwise !;
and vet. after the first FIVE minutes would
not have changed the real man for the
ideal for worlds.
Do not suppose that | speculated much
upon Marks character in those days, sucn
as he was I loved him, dearly ioved-ah
he would never know how dearly, Tor had
l not given him up?
AS one in dream, went home; as one
in dream 1 crawled slowly up the steep
winding lawn to our cottage; saw Mllly on
the garden gate watching for me, come
f1ying out into the lawn to meet me, all her
golden hair streaming straight out behind
her, heard her call me, scold me for being
late, nv own voice answered, saw and
heard all the familiar sights and sounds OF
everyday life as we do sometimes in
dreams, all made strange and perplexing by
some dreadful sense of pain and trouble.
"Het," said Milly as we sat at tea,
"you're not eating anything; you look
pale and grum; you've sat out in those
horrid marshes till the sun has made you
sick. l shall not allow you to 60 out there
again, mind that"
1t pleased Milly to play the elder sist er,
and was always content that the little one
should do what pleased her. She was my
darling, the one thing that my solitary lie
gave me to love till / saw Mark; had set
my idol long ago, but it cost me dear. L
remember that the child was in more than
usually high spirits on that evening; that
she leased me to talk to her, sing to her, and
finally flew up to bed in a childish fit of an
ger because I could do neither one or the
Other. At any other time ! should have
cone after her, coaxed and caressed her
into good temper, but now, with feeling
of relief that she was gone, sat at the
window staring out into the dark-scented
night. and counted the cost Of the sacri-
fee. Long, long / sat there, long after
the moon had risen, had set, and the stars
began to grow dark before the streak of
gray light in the east. Thought OF Mark !;
of what had done, of what had given
up, until / was nearly mad; for when
stood up and closed the window before
going up to my room, ! had said to myself
that / would write to Mark Sutherland
when morning came, and tell him that |
had chosen once more between the two
loved, and chosen differently. Therefore
/ hoped that l was mad but went up
stairs quite resolved and quiet; un-
dressed without ever once glancing to-
ward the bed where my little sister lay
! meant to lie down on my pillow without
doing so: but oh! | could not say my
prayers and leave Milly without the kiss !
always gave her before | slept.
So went up to the bed, and drawing
back the curtain, looked down upon what
had for years been my sole earthly trea-
sure. The child looked pale in the cold
gray dawn, her golden hair was tossed
widely back from her face and covered the
pillow; and while stood and gazed, my
madness dying away, my old self coming
back, she stirred in her sleep, two great
tears welled out from the closed eyes, and
with heavy sob she murmured chester :"
Then knelt down in the gray dawning,
and thanked God that my madness was
passed, and prayed that as He had given
me strength to make the sacrifice, so He
would help me never to regret it.
did not see Mark Sutherland again ;
but the next time that Milly went up to
the Hollies she told me on her return,
that he had left the Hollies, gone away
| to that dreadful India, and was never CON-
ing back again." Ny heart echoed the
words, but / drew Milly to me and kissed
her, and tried to be patient and forget.
| could not forget. Ny nature was te-
nacious of what had once taken hold upon
it, and the course of our lives was too uni
form and monotonous to give change and
variety their usual influence. scarcely
knew, after Mark went away, how the days
and years glided away, their course was SO
marked, and every thing seemed SO un-
changed. At first / used to shrink and
| shiver at the chance mention of Mark
Sutherland's name at the Hollies; that
passed, and / pinned to hear of him with
q weary, anxious longing, seldom satisfied.
They ceased to speak Of him after while,