The Albany register. [volume] (Albany, Or.) 1868-18??, 1870-06-11

nerseH TO ana IrO, croucnlng ner neau,
putting out her hands and covering her
face, moaning over and over again some
low unintelligible, broken hearted words.
She never changed sound or movement
till Mrs. Morton's querulous voice broke
on her misery. She only changed them
then to raise her white face to her moth.
er, and strive to utter words which at her
first effort choked her and would not
come.
|. And when at last, kneeling by the
bedside, with her face pressed upon her
outstretchcd hands, the poor girl uttered
them, giving her broken hearted promise
that she would go, for her reward there
came this answer:
ssCould you not have said as much at
the beginning" Mrs. Morton said, "with-
out doing your best to kill me first? But
you are still as you have been all your
/ flife,-thinking of no creature in the
world except yourself"
The promise was given, and from that
time onward she was altogether passive.
The chief object of every pne about her
was to hurry her away before Philip
Langton could hear that she was going.
She knew this but she never said word
Living as they did they only needed
few days to make their preparations for
departure. The rector promised, without
OBTAINING Margaret, to find substitute
for her in school. By the end of the week
they were all in readiness to go.
She sat, on the last night, in her own
room alone. Through all the week poor
LaDgton's unanswered letter had laid
upon her heart. Tonight she wrote to
him
Like one whom sorrow had stunned
ints insensiblity, she told him all that
had been done she told him Of the
promise she had given, almost without
one demonstration of emotion. And only
| then, when all was said, suddenly at some
stray thought-the chance recalling of a
few words uttered long before-all the
great agony of heart burst forth.
I" Do you remember" she said, +" that
evening when we parted, how I told you
that felt as if had hold of the last link
of chain?"
"What am / to do?" she broke out
wildly. 90 my God what am 1 to do ?
How am 20 live all my life long alone
o Philip, help me! Philip have mercy on
me write me one word, or shall die
o, if could have seen you once more
only once more-only once more before
go! All day long,-all night, as / lie
awake, think Of it. o, Philip! write
to me and forgive me, or my heart will
break
She had been in her new home for ,
month when the answer to that appea
was brought to her A hard aud crue
answer. This was what it said j:
l trusted all my happiness to you
and you have wrecked it.. From this
give you no forgiveness. From you
solemn promise to become my wife,
from your solemn promise to wait for MT
till should come and claim you,-n,
power on earth had the right to set yo,
free You have broken those promises
of your own weak choice and will. Hat
[ been by your side you had not dare'
to do this wrong to me. If You had beel
faithful would have loved you as neve
living man will love you now. l woul'
have cherished you as never man vii
cherish you. You have chosen your ow
lot apart from me- And l."
The letter broke off here. To this las
ing but the passionate bitter cry
Margaret Margaret !"
"A pleasant room, with windows open
ing to terrace, and, beyond, gardel
sloping to the sea. A summer day i
southern latitudes.
And so after all these years" erie,
a lady reclining on cushioned sofa
Henry Fitzgibbon has come bacl
again"
cay, he has come at last"
g / am SO curious to see him. We mus
go early, Mr.. Trevers, and have tall
| with him before the other people come
| And with regard to the girls, Miss Nor.
ton," Mrs Travers raised herself a little
and turned her head. as my sister
likes you to be early, you had better join
US about eight"
At the far end Of the room Margaret
Morton sits writing. with cheek that
nine years have paled, and a figure that
their hands has made more slight All
the rounded comeliness of former days is
gone and yet the calm, refined, strong
face is beautiful now with a beauty it
never possessed of old. The dreary eyes
have deep, tender look in them, some
times sad, oftencr composed and cheerful;
for she has wrought her way out of that
great anguish of her youth, and it shades
her years now only with silent and
subdued sadness, not any longer with
passionate sorrow and revolt.
Yet the lore that caused that bitter
suffering has been the leading star,-the
refining element of her life. Its influence
has led her in everything that she has
dona.-in everything that she has struc.
gled to become. She has been true to it
IN her whole heart and being. in spite of
Philips injustice, in spite of her own re-
nunciation-
She has risen to the position of gov
erness in merchants family. Hither
| and thither her lot has led her, during
these nine years, over that wide Ameri-
can continent. She is now in a pleasant
Southern town on the coast of Florida.
/ She is all alone in the world. The kind
| uncle who brought her over is dead the
sickly mother dead, too, year ago: her
brnthar tha only ona remaiHino Is a