Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1869-12-14

w nat was TO become OF IL or OF me,
| knew not, cared not. Shame, dis
grace, they were as nothing, if out of
this awful sea of anguish, in which | /
had been submerged, could but bring
up this pearl of great price-some-
thing of my very own to love and
care for.
at was dead, so my cousin told
me, and l turned my face to the wall,
not to weep, but to lie in a dull stu
por of anguish until the morning
broke.
II regained my strength after a
while; and when the host of summer
tourists went back to the city again,
went with them. That sad chapter
of my life had ended. But my girl
hood had fled forever. Not yet eigh-
teen, | seemed to myself to have lived
a century.
Il had felt from the first that it
would be impossible to prove my mar
riage; and now, that my baby was
dead, | had no desire to do so. He
had set one seal of silence upon our
relation to each other, and now the
grave had set another. Let them both
remain unbroken until the resurrection
morning.
$50 | went back to the world again.
| went into society; was admired and
caressed. Dudly Randolph sought
my hand. He was all that was good
and noble. He was worthy of any
woman's love. l did not love him.
Ah, mol But I thought my heart had
burned itself out; that nothing was
left but ashes and dead embers. Yet,
as friend, he was most dear to me,
and | believed that I could make him
happy. Ny guardian urged the mar
riage, and | longed, womanlike, for a
home of my own. In less than year
| became his wife.
No, do not interrupt me. Let me
tell the story in my own way. l know
all that you would say of the injus-
tice, the cruelty. l did not love my
husband; yet it was not without bit
ter pang that learned before we had
been married a twelvemonth, that it
was necessary for one of the firm of
Randolph & Co, to 90 to India, and
that he was that one. He was to be
gone three years, and it was impossi-
bic for me to undertake so long and
so tedious a journey. Again the hopes,
the perils of approaching motherhood
were upon me.
He had been so tender, so true
had found such rest, such peace, such
a sense of security in his love. How
could let him go? l clung to him in
the hour of parting! sobbed upon
his breast. even as the most loving of
wives might have done. | thank God
Cor this, al least, that Dudly Randolph
never in those days, doubted me. He
took my love for granted; and, if l
was not over demonstrative, the ab-
sence of demonstration did not pain
him. He thought my nature quiet and
self-contained, and was content.
He went, not taking the most d.
rect route, and, when he reached Cal
cutta, be found a letter there telling
him that my child, his child, lay upon
my breast. All! what a letter be
wrote me in return! | have laid it
up among my treasures yet-so full
of yearning, passionate love for us
two, his wife and child. | was read
ing it alone in my chamber when a
telegram was brought me. 1t was
from the cousin who had befriended
me in my trial hour, begging, nay
commanding me to come to her in a
distant city.
Travelling with a baby was nc
light matter to my inexperience. But
| could refuse no call from her. and
as soon as time and strength would
permit, was by her side.
"She was very ill-at the point ol
death. She had lived, the physician
said, for many days, simply because
she would live; kept alive by strength
of an indomitable will.
al lived to see you, Isabel she
gasped; 1 had something to tell you
l could not die. Are they all gone
Is the door shut? Hold my hand, fol
l cannot see. Kiss me, Isabel!
" | did her bidding. tenderly, but
with deathly sickness at my heart.
, a. Isabel she whispered, 'stooE
down. Put your ear to my lips. Ht
is not dead-your little boy. / tol(
: you an untruth. | did it for you
| good. l thought it was for the best
There seemed no other way to save
you from open shame.
"And now! why had she told mt
now, when | was just finding peac,
i and rest and forgetfulness when, b,
the heart thrill with which | had reaC
I my husbands letter, hoped it, Low
! was again knocking at my door?
"Her failing eyes sought mine
! Forgive me- she said, 4 could no
e die with this lie upon mo SOUL
: For answer | kissed her; but
0 only said, Where is hep
: "'He is safe; he has been tenderl
cared for; you can reclaim him whel
/; you will. Give me that pocket book
}. "She opened it with trembling fin
o gers, and took from its folds a card
i You will find him there, she said
J. 1t is all right. Good night. Fol-
= give US our sins as we forgive
e The petition was never finished
e or was finished in heaven. My cousi
q was dead.
}, "After she was buried l sought m
: child. May God forgive me, but
g did not want to love him ! onl
= wanted to forget. l had never see
q his face, and ever since promised t
s be Dudly Randolph's wife, had trie
to forget that he had ever been. On
= der the stern discipline of sorrow
q had grown older and wiser, and say
l. now with clearer vision than in th
|, days that seemed so long ago. Isa'
: that my early idol had been but clay
that | had mistaken dross for the pur
b gold of Ophir. Whether this child
d father had willingly wronged me,
/ know not; I did not wish to know
r But he had been years older than