The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1870-06-16
T. H E
VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF,
BY MISS THACKERAY.
CHAPTER LAST:

| x CHAPTER LAST.
"1URN, FORTUNE, TURN ruY WHEEL"
= One day, Refine, walking down tn
village street, met Madame Merar,
coming from the chalet, where she ha,
been superinsending some packing an,
re,orderiug. The old lady was trcttip.
heavily along, with a large packet 0,
her arm. She was, painting 6ercely, i,
a state Of fume and excitement. N,
wonder. "She had heard an announce
ment," she said, (which she had al
ways predicted-always. What els,
was to be expected Of young woman
50 entirely engrossed, by society ani
amusement:a :as Madame Fontaine had
always shown herself ?" Madame Mer
ard declined to give her authority 70,
the news she had heard. "Non
time would prove the truth of her os.
sertions. Well-informed and dispas.
sionate persons had assured ler that
Catharine Fontaine was on the eve Of
contracting q second and highly ad-
vantageous alliance with Mr.. Butler.
In that event, the chalet and all the
elegant fittings would return to Toto.
Most providentially a clause to that
effect had been inserted in the will, at
cures suggestion; for the poor infatu-
ated Charles would never have shown
this necessary provision. Poor man.
already forgotten All how differ.
emily she, Madame Merard, had acted
under similar circumstances. Although
assiduously pressed, within six months
OF her widowhood, to make up her mind
BY no less than three differcntgcntlemen,
in no wise connected with one anoth.
er, she had refused to give any answer
whatever for space Of two whole years,
during which their attentions had been
unremitting. At the end of that time,
having made Monsieur Mera,d's &C.
quaintance, she had dismissed the other
asplrants With every mark of esteem
and consideration. Nowadays things
were different. Do not seek for disin.
terested affection. Oh, no." said
Madame Merard, "for it would be no
nso." And the old lady stamped away
1T her quickest pace up the road and
across the field, she had business at the
chateau, she vaguely intimated, snort
ing and shaking her head. In truth,
her authority was only that Of Justine
It the chalet, who had heard the news
rom Baptiste at The chateau, who had
It IN a letter from Barbe; now in Eng
and with her mistress; and Madame
Merard was anxious to gather every
particular.
Poor Refine did not take 90 much
pains to verify the news. She had
heard some such report before, that
seemed corroborated now. 1t was na-
;ural, and only what she had expected
III along. The blow had fallen at last. !
Amen. She knotted her two hands
and walked along erect and
distracted, with eyes that seemed look.
ng at iar-off distance, SILENT with
passionate cry in her heart. She walk
ID on to the little village graveyard on
;he roadside, behind the iron railing
where her mother was lying, and Petit
9ere resting under the poplar tree, and
where, in q sunny corner, Fontaine's
name was carved upon the stone cross
which Catharine had put up to his
memory, and over which the ivy was
creeping.
The struggle which came 10 RENE
thsn was that sore one which comes to
Zach one Of ms at one time or another;
when passionate hopes die away, and
[ongipgs, how eager none can know, ex.
'ept each ono for himself; when the
last hope fails, and when the aching
Vold and emptiness Of the future seem
bearing down like the inevitable dusk
at tho end Of busy day. Darkness,
and oblivion, and death would seem
welcome at such times, rather than the
dim shadow and gray silence of these
sad twilight hours-dark gray, though
the sun is shining, perhaps, and the
summer lights flooding the land. Then
the fight begins, a lonely one With no
witness, for who can see or understand
another's moodl And the fight is
this. Il wanted that, 1 tried for this,
I would have been the person that 1 am
not. I would have liked the happiness
which is denied me. Give, give, o
Lord, unto thy servant. Is not con-
tent my right, and success, and love,
and prosperity ?" And even amid the
fierce pangs off pain. and disappoint-
ment the mad question is answered.
"Why should not sorrow and disap.
pointment be thy right? Why should
not the experience of grief be thine !;
the knowledge Of evil as we'll as Of
good? Submit, oh, submit, poor
heart" And tho spirit seem to speak
to the weary body, and one last des-
perate effort comes for resignation, for
obedience to the terrible teaching, for
acquiescence.