Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1868-12-31

had left aef durf0g the voyage winch ha(
lended SO fatally; there she had contin
lued to res ide, first with her grandmother
and alone after the old lady's death
there she was seated now, on !. low cllail
Ecloee 10 the, CHEEKY fire, which lighfeC
up the little square parlor with a com.
Portable red brightness. SIZE looked very
very young to have passed through ths
lgreatet Joy nd sorrow of woman's life
Younger ey en- than her twenty year.
warranted. Hers was the soft, fair, flow
er-like beauty which seems to belong tC
childhood. 1t was difficult to believe
4 that the thin black dress which set of
her dazzling fairness was worn for hus'
band, or that the bright locks, which
curled down ON her shoulders, were toe
short to plat or twist because they had
so, lately been cut, and tucked away
under Widows cap No doubt she had
known anxious days and watchful
nights, but they had left no traces on the
fair young face; there was sweet pen
lsive gravity on the dropping eyelids,
with their heavy fringe, and on the quiet
mouth but the delicate tint on her
cheek was fresh and healthful, and there
was not furrow on her brow to tell OF
the heart-sickness of hope deferred. Her
lover sat close beside her, on seat lower
than her own, so that he was almest at
her feet. The contrast was striking, be-
tween her peculiarly fragile youthful
/ beauty and the dark middIe-aged gravity
which made him seem much older than
he really was. ft
let it be the fifteenth, Elsie" he was
saying; !" life is very short, and my last
four years have been almost more than
a man can bear. / shall never rest till
you are quite my own
What are you afraid Off" asked
Elsie. =
Anything, everything "a ghost from
the grave, / think. When 1 was boy
as school, Elsie, fused to think, as the
holidays drew near, that L never should
live till the day came. think / feel the
same now about our wedding-day.n
2" Let it be just as you wish, Philip"
said Elsie, with little sigh. ''I shall
! be very, very thankful. You do not
know the rest and comfort it will be to
me to begin my new. life, with you to
care for me, and with duties to do. 1
have been SO very unhappy for such a
long time" .zet..s t.-p.,
The tears filled her eyes, and rolled
down her cheeks; but he caught her in
his arms and kissed them away; he call
ed God to witness that not cloud should
come across her sky when she was his
wife; he vowed that when her life was
4 in his keeping, it should be one long
summers day of brightness. His We
hemence seemed to scare her; she drew
back, shrinking, from the clasp of his
arms. - u frz.ss
"Do not talk SOL she said "you
frightened me. Who can tell what Heav-
en- has in store for US ? Ihaye learnt not
to build too much on happiness, and,
above all, not 20 think much about the
future it is not in our own power.n
1t is more in our own power than you
think,n Phillip Denbigh answered.
believe that to wish thing intensely,
tperseveringly, to the exclusion of every
other thought and feeling, brings it to
pass oftener than people suppose"
He checked himself, for pang of self
freproach struck on his heart as he asked
himself, had not his love for Elsie taken
the form. of just such longing, and had
not his passionate wish been fulfilled at
a fearful cost? He spoke smilingly, and
in lighter tone, as he said
We see when mans fate is too much
for him; but who can tell how many
times mans intense will conquers his
fate?'f
Perhaps it was reliefto both of them,
that their tete-a-tete was interrupted by
the entrance of kind little old maiden
lady who lived some miles off, and who
had lately come, at Mrs. Clavering's re-
leuest, to remain with her till her mar
riage. Elsiewas never SO happy as when
herloyer was with her, but she wassome-
times scared by the vehement express
ions which she could not echo and could
hardly understand. In the presence of
Others he was wholly undemonstrative,
and his eoliversation-which was of
books, and all the literary and scientific |
subjects of the day-far above the usual
Sedgbrcok level, was delightful to Elsie; |
who, though. not clever herself, was very |
appeciative, and of the sweet teachable |
nature which mankind most values in a
wife or sister. To Philip Denbigh her
very presence brought an indescribable
charm and delight. She suited him
exactly, to use the commonplace phrase;
in grander language, she satisfied every
craving of his nature. Her sweet beauty,
her gentle yielding temper, her soft re-
pose, so unlike his own vehement con-
centrated nature, were all delightful to
him. s,fg
The old uncle who had left him his
practice, together with house, a garden,
and field, all known by the name of
The Abbot's Portion, had also given him
an education rather beyond the require
ments of a village surgeon. His skilful
treatment of a very difficult surgical case
had since brought him under the notice |
of some high medical authorities in Lon
don and Paris; he had been repeatedly |
urged not to waste his talents in that re-
mote country region, but to avail HIM
self of more than one opening which had
come in his way. Hitherto he had in
variably refused some thought from
feeling of loyalty towards old..Sedgbrook, /
where Denbigh had been the village
doctor ever since the year one; others
thought land with more reason) because |
he could not endure to leave the place
where Elsie Clavering was bearing her
| long trial.
When he wished her good night on
this evening, hesaid, Il shall hrye more
spirit now, Elsie, and more ambition
Shall you break your heart if carry you
| eff from old Sedgbrook some day ?"
"No, L shall carry my home with me" +"
she answered, looking up in his face with
her pretty smile.
ss"I should like to give you SUMMER
home than dingy old Abbot's Portion -
he said. ~ should like my Elsie to take
her place some day among the ladies of
+ the land"
With fond good night he left her,
and was soen in the churchyard, which
led on the other side, through turnstile |
and narrow lane, into the main street
of the village. Following this for some
way, he then turned up another narrow
lane, and in a few minutes found himself
tthe little whitegate which led, through
narrow strip of garden, to his house.
Il was a quaint building of a dull red col |
or, with heavy old-fashioned windows in
settings of gray stone. 1t had once been |
attached to religious house, as farm or /
guest house, and hence its peculiar name |
The little entrance-hall and a dingyl
square parlor looked towards the road
an ugly little excrescence of modern |
growth had a seperate entrance to itself, |
andw the surgery. Two large low sit |