Weekly Calaveras chronicle., 1868-08-08

people do when they earn their own
living p
We'll, to be sure ? CALCULATED the
old woman. why, honey, they goes
out to service, sometimes.
/ And what else p
We'll, they work in factories, some.
times, and sometimes the book-learned
ones teach school, and sometimes they
take in sewing
Amabel mused deeply, as she played
with Mrs Jessup's German silver
spoon. The old woman looked with a
face of curiosity
DO you know what time the cars
stop at Chelmsburg, Mrs. Jessup?'
Sometime arter six, dear; but
"Tbank you, Mrs. Jessup; 1 must go
now aaa
'Wait till Luke comes back, honey,
and be will go with you, coaxed the
old lady.
Amabel Tresley shook her head reso-
Iutely. ~
mo, l must go alone You have
been very kind to me, Goody; l have
no money to give, nor even ring, but
this handkerchief is very valuable;
please keep it for my sake!'
! Aud before Goody Jessup could open
her mouth to demonstrate, Mrs. Tresley
was gone, leaving the India handker-
chief lying like a snowy cobweb on the
old woman's horny palm.
And some months afterward, when
news came that the stately Australian
ship had been wrecked off cruel coast
and not a passenger saved alive, the
cobweb handkerchief floating to the
shore, formed ghastly link between
the living and the dead.
Detective BarEum brought it to
Maurice Tresley one night, silent and
self possessed as ever.
From the wreck of the Cytherea,
sir 7
Maurice started at the delicate en-
broidery, with Amabei Tresley's name
in the wrought shield, as if he had seen
u ghost
The Cytherea Good God and
there was not a soul saved p
No, sir
but, the list of passengers-'
Her name was not there, sir. But,
of course she would change it if she
desired to avoid notice or recognition.
| think, sir. that handkerchief is ev-
idence enough.
From that night Maurice wore Grape
on his bat, and genuine mourning in
his heart, for the child wife whom he
had lost. Whatever remorse gnawed at
his vitals he kept to himself. The brief
chapter Of AmaDel's life was finished
and her husband closed the pages of
the sorrowful past
Ten years have passed by-teu long
eventful years-ere we again take up
the thread Of our story.
The young moon was just beginning
to glimmer through the purple blue Of
the mid summer twilight, and the spice
hearted honey suckles filed the atmos-
phere with sudden rippling currents of
fragrance as Maurice Tresley and Sid.
uey Wi!ford paced up and down the
marble paved terrace, their twin cigars
cleaning through the dusk like spots of
fire.
SO you like Mrs. Cameron p said the
latter indiferently.
She is the most beautiful woman l ever
looked upon = returned Tresley, stopping
short in his enthusiasm. Like the grand
old European pictures of the Madonna, with
her hazel brown eyes, and auburn hair knot
ted low in the neck. Wilford you know
the sad history of my first marriage; my
second. trust, will bring the happiness 1
have so long sighed after in vain.'
And you are determined to marry my
aunt's nursery governess
If she will trust the precious jewel of her
life to my care.'
Why, Tresley, I think the brown
eyed widow has fairly bewitched you.
You, the lofty aristocrat-the passion
less statue of ice-you, finally to sue
cuDb to the pale face and solemn eyes
of nursery governess!' exclaimed
Wilford, 10 genuine establishment.
Il tell you, Milford, said Tresley, in
low vehement accents, that woman has
stolen my heart away-ny whole being.
| love her more than eastern devotee
ever loved the idol of his worship-and
if she rejects my suit, life's sunshine
will be gone forever, as far as am con-
cerned.'
lie turned away and went into the
house, leaving Sydney MILFORD to mar
vel at his leisure:
Mrs. Cameron was sitting by the
shaded light of a softly burning lamp,
with volume open on the table before
her, but she was not reading. Very
tall, but perfectly moulded. with su-
perb dark eyes aud hair, whose natural
wave caught ripples of light at every
motion of the beautiful head, there was
almost royal in the stamp of
her great beauty, before which Maurice
Tresley's whole nature bowed down.
She looked up as Mr.. Tresley entered,
and in spite of resolute self control, a
scarlet tide suffused her pale, lovely
face.
The moment had come, to which she
had looked forward for SO many years
She read it in his face as plainly as
though be spoke the words, I love youy
Well, it was over Maurice Tresleyl
had asked her to be his wife, and she
had said Yes And still, she shrank
away from the fond clasp of his hand