Clayton herald. (Clayton, Del.) 1867-1870, 1869-06-12

future still before me. But stunned anc
humiliated rs l was, could only grow
el in the ashes of my love.
A tap-very light indeed-at my door
startled me as though it had been sum.
mons TO the last judgement. Nervous
and trembling, yet glad to be awakened
from this nightmare of wretchedness,
opened the door to admit a dripping,
shivering figure, which I could barely
descry in the dim light.
But needed no light; I should have
known it just as well in the dark.
Without question or word of wei.
come, stood gazing at him and wonder
ing if l were in dream.
ais that you, Ruth, and may como
in?" he asked in eager, happy tones.
l made several Intellectual efforts to
speak before succeeded in saying in a
strange. thick voice, Yes, Frank,
am glad to see you"
"Why, bless your little heart, how
startled you are" he said, following me
into my tiny sitting room, 81 have
frightened away my welcome. Look at
me, child, and say again in your own
dear voice that you are glad to see me-"
But did not look at him, for l was
busy just then lighting the lamp and
putting the thick shade over it, and
somehow it took me longer than usual.
So Frank took it from my hand and
placed it on the high, old fashioned man
tie piece above my head, where the
friendly shade could no longer screen
me, and he took my face between his
hands and looked down upon it silently
and searchingly.
"You are pale and worn, Ruth" he
said reproachfully; "toil and privation
merely did not leave those traces. You
have been sad and suffering"
was pale no longer. Tho hot blood
mounted to my cheeks for very shame
that they should have betrayed me. With
the remembrance of his pcrlidy, my
heart gave one great indignant throb
and sent fiery fushes TO my temples,
throat and arms. l could not speak,
for emotion always quenched my voice
but tried to withdraw from those
strong, cruel hands.
He only dropped them from my face
to my fingers.
1t is strange, and perhaps disgraceful,
but even i'll that moment of anger and
confusion / looked at my brown hands,
and susp piciousTyf proad pafms 'anu re-
flected that hers must be fair and dim.
pied.
Again he spoke to me: Ruth, 1 have
been away so long haven't you one lit
tie word for me? At least look at me
with those sweet eyes that have haunt
ed me night and day.
There is fascination in misery, q Bit
ter sweet quality which every unhappy
soul must have discovered. 1t must
have been that which made me reply,
II wish that 1 may never look ON you
again"
The history of the days that followed
is very brief, for it chronicled only tad-
ing cheeks and silver hairs for me.
Yet the creeping months grew into
years, years in which even suffering be-
came monotonous, and l almost forgot
that pain was not the true name for life.
But never said, as in the old impa-
tient time of youth, that was tired
tired of it. There was rest in my very
hopelessness. wished for nothing that
the world could give, except place in
it so long as Frank livod
Sometimes, dream of what might
have been, came over me, and tho dull,
perpetual pain would quicken into kee-
ner anguish, and what had seemed but
torpid endurance would resolve itself
into living agony.
Those l called my happy days, happy
in all but this-I felt that they were
numbered.
One such day stands out in my mem
ory from all the rest.
The warm summer had fingered low
ingly about the earth, up to its last APP
pointed hour; tho happy, dancing sun
shine had beamed all day into every
heart and home but mine.
1 could not bear its honest face and |
shut it out.
But when the glory of the skies had |
paled and the voices of the merry birds |
had sunk to u sleepy twittcr, crept out
upon my little vine, covered porch, and |
there listened to soft evening sounds, |
and looked upon tender-tinted clouds. |
Tho honeyed breath flowers hung about |
my head with gentle endearment, and
the little breezos sung in the ivy leaves.
The want of human companionship
had early driven me to seek that of Ma
ture, "who never did betray the heart
that loved herr" and think that in my
devotion she kindly told me some OF her
secrets, and taught me her vocabulary.
So, that evening on the porch, when
closed my eyes to catch the mute mes
sage she had sent, L felt quite sure that
heard it Alright.
"Dying, dy ing, dying" all her mes
sagcs chanted in sad harmony.
1t could not be the day of whom they
sung, for she was only sleeping, and
would awaken smiling Tomorrow NOR
ming. Nor could it be the requiem Of
summer, for she had only gone away for
a time and would return again.
"Was it? Surely that word so often
repeated was not for me! My life was
not TO bo vanquished at last after cling
ing to me 50 desperately for all these
years.
"No, could not be dying, for heard
the postman's ring at the gate, and his
grufl, but CHEEKY greeting.
1 could not rise to take the letter he