Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1870-04-20
MARCIA HEATHSON.


STORY OF THE HEART tvp WILL
/ stood at the window watching the Might
creeping up the Virginia Hills on the farther
side Of the river which marks the dividing
line between the States the line, too, Of th,
| irrepressible conflict ages ago, if we measure
time by deeds and as | watched the scarlet
leaves ailame in their October glory, | thought
of "a short quick romance that had flashed
into the life OF those who had lived in thi
house in day, gone by--a romance aud a
/ tragedy as wondrous to me as any story | had
read in the far away time when the whole
world was Wonderland
The old Quaker homestead, with its great
quaint wings and encirclng porchcs, is homely
enough The yard is merely a square en-.
closure, ending in "a large vegetable garden
at the back This garden is divided by a
walk running its entire length, and bordcred
on either side with wide, straight Aower-beds
where May pinks, sweet-williams, larkspurs
and bright sunny-iaccd Johnny-jump-ups, grow
| in lavish abundance. The old barn, like the
house was built by instalments and is a
rambling affair, with warm, sheltering corner,
] lNl fuNhlt dll NNINt~ Oil HAOTlllN laNS before
the winter housing All the beauty Of the
place, aside from its peaceful LONELINESS. lies
| in the lovely outlook upon the Virginian hills.
stretching in the blue, hazy distance on and on
| to the mountain ranges. In the morning
the outline Of the river can be traced by
the line Of mist lowering above it, though
the stream itself is hidden from the eye.
Many times, before | knew anything but
the hushed rumor that there was story con.
nected with the old house where came every
summer, | had begged Aunt Lucy who was a
spectator in the drama. to tell me the story
but she had always kept it as a promise for
the future. This day We were alone; and
|, little weary of the unaccustomed Sc
cluson would not be put off So, seating
herself in the old rocking chair, with her un-
failing knitting work, She told me the story
much as give it now
Thee remembers John lleathsou, doesn't
thee, Lucy2 ?"
Yes, Auntie and | remember how cold
and hard he seemed. 1t chilled me when he
spoke to me,
That was thy fancy, maybe But he was
a cold, stern man-one who talked great
deal in meeting about the justice Of God, but
never Of his mercy. He was rigidIy just, but
never mercitul. His wife, whom thee never
saw, was as loving and meek as he was hard
and stern,-a sweet, gentle little woman, with
a subdued, quiet nature, seemingly without
moods or strong currents. She always re-
minded me Of pale, wintry flower, standing
in the shadow Of cold, gray rock
"James and Edmond were much like their
father keen at a bargain, but hard and re-
lentless toward everything shortcomng in
others When the boys were almost young
men, Marcia was born-a new element in the
family foreign to them all; bright, winsome
and gay, but sef-wiled and impetuous, rush
ing from one extravaganza Of fancy to another
Her iather could neither understand or con-
troll her. She was like some glowing tropical
bird in sober northern atmosphere
-" | think Marcia always felt this in vague
way. She never seemed to assimilate herself
to her surroundings She was sent to a
bOarding-schoo at fifteen, to see if the disci-
pline Of the straightest sect would not tame
what her father called her mad spirits |
pitied her, for my folks were not so strict, and
did not believe any good came ont Of this
oANlu HbdlhliH-r'uuOt Iult, fldftld remained
two years at school, as vigorously secluded
and repressed as though she were within con-
vent walls her fresh gayety checked as a
breach Of order; every expression criticised
and measured by a line aud rule that fretted
her continually.
The day Of her release came at ast.-if
it could be called release to exchange tho
surveillance of the boarding-school for the
harsher rule of her father. But Marcia only
saw the bright side, and sighed for the liberty
Of long rambes over hill aud down dalc-for
the old close life. with all growing and living
things, that had made up so large portion
of her childhood
| was here the day she came home, and
never saw 50 joyous person All her faith
er's grimness, or the sneors of Edmond, who
prided himself on being woman-hater could
not keep her in check. She caught her mother
up in her arms, and danced round the room,
and sang before her father. was aghast at
her daring | was not usually cowardy, but
was afraid of John Heathson, and trem.
bled for what might follow. He looked his
but she had been absent two