The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1870-05-03

prospects. lie examined the wafer, it was
hardly dry yet, and the self-willed man, who
would as soon have thought of committing
murder as opening any other letter, reason
ed himself into the belief that he had u per-
feet right to read his sons letters, and his
knife slid under the wafer and the open let
terw before him.
1t contained uothing to alarm, but some
thing to crafty him. For in it Lucy told
her friend of their proposed removal to Hi
nois, and gave him her future address,-care
of James Leonard.
When Judge Whitcomb opened the let
ter he intended to re-close it, and send it to
its address. But now, ifhe could suppress
it,-as he told himself he had right TO do
"a point would be gained; yes, two, for he
would blame her for not writing to him be-
fore she went away, and would lose all clue
to her address, for the present, at least
Judge Whitcomb was not bad man, and
hidden in his heart under a strong crust of
pride and self-esteem, was warm love for
his children. Morton was his darling. and
around him gathered the choicest emotions
of his nature, and had he suspected oft the
sorrow he would subject him to by the act
he contemplated, it would never have been
committed. That the girl would fret some
he did not doubt. But what right had she
to think of him, the only son of Judge Whit
comb? Her presumption ought to be pun
ished. This last thought decided him: and
with steady hand he consigned it to the
flames on that bright spring morning and
Morton Whitcomb recited poor lessons
from wondering why no letters came, and
Lucy MeTyman wept bitter tears in her far
Western home for the answer that could not
come.
AS soon as Mrs. Meryman was gone.
Judge Whitcomb wrote long letter to his
son; and in postscript conveyed the intel
ligence that the widow Merryman had sold
her little place, and had gone West. for
some advantage to her daughter, he had been
told.
And thus the thread that had connected
their lives so long and SO closely was sever
ed, and they went their several ways with
their first bitter lesson in distrust and sus-
picon. *
The father had never been quite satisfied
with Morton. He had not made the man
his boyhood promised. The gay, light
hearted youth had become sarcastic and
cynical. He was not fond of female society
and sometimes spoke sneeringly of affection
between the sexes. Coldly polite to all the
inner temple of his heart seemed closed, and
dishust guarded the portal.
"Morton, why do you say that? Did you
ever care for her?'
Itwas so unlike his father to ask such a
question that he started an instant before
replying:
Yes, as shall never care for another.
But she threw me away as an impcdiment
in her path, in her mad career to position
and wealth. If she has gained the tirst the
latter will surely come; and if she Is graft
fled, her friends ought not to complain, and
l will not"
" You were so young when she went away
Morton, that you ought to have forgotten
that boyish fancy, and long ere this, have
found one on whom to bestow your heart
and name."
" Perhaps But you see / have not, and
with my present estimate of female constan-
cy, you will not be troubled to set up sep
arate establishment very soon."
That proud man looked upon his son fol
a moment, iresolute; but his love was
stronger than his pride. The destroying OF
that letter he had ever regarded as but the
removal of dangerous plaything from his
child but this outraging the feelings of a
man was crime and at last he had come
to see it as such, and bowed his head for az
instant on his hands. The son rose to go
"Come back, Norton" he said. 'Did
ever wrong you as childP"