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

knowledge, but she had not courage to
awaken the storm of abuse which she
knew well would fall upon her head
should she divulge it, so she let time pass
on, and told her mother nothing. She
kept her secret for two years, hearing
from her love occasionally, but not often,
and living on her silent trust in him.
After these two years were ended, one
day, bright summer afternoon, Mrs.
Morton stood at her cottage door, shad-
ing her eyes from the strong sunlight as
she looked eagerly toward the school.
coming pouring out and swarming down
the road, and whence presently, with a
step that was slower than theirs, came
Margaret. Mrs. Morton's tongue was
loosed as she drew near.
!" o, deaF-me what a time that school
does keep you!" she calculated. t'Such
state as I've been in all day; my poor
heads just worn out with thinking
Margaret, you never will guess Us long as
you live, but what do you think the post
man brought me here this morning 2"
What, mother 2" AS she spoke
Margaret's whole face flushed.
| 90. you may well ask what. 1 tell you
you'll never guess. Why he brought a
letter from your uncle Tom, in America,
who might have been dead and buried,
for anything I've known, these five years,
and he's sent US money to go out to
him. Yes, he says we're to go out to
him, every one Of US, and he'll keep us
as long as we live. Why, Margaret" :"
Mrs. Morton cried. Margaret! God
bless the girl, are you going to faint p
" Mother, come in. Mother, come in
and shut the door"
White and trembling, Margaret passed
into the kitchen. She let her mother
join her there, and grasping her hands
! tight within her own, she began to speak
! hurriedly, in low, constrained, almost
hard tone.
/ " Mother, 1 cannot go; 1 cannot leave
/ England" she said. If you go, you
must go alone. No-no-don't look like
that at me- have had news, too, to-day.
! @, mother !" she cried, all hardness sud
denly breaking down as she clasped Mrs.
Morton's hands upon her breast, "speak
/ gently to me, look kindly on me. Dear
mother dear mother! am going to be
Philip Langton's wife,
Mrs. Morton stood before her daughter,
: 1dCS " idtS; anu hSt OJ tiiS oi ulo-
You are going to be arhatp" burst
from her lips. "Going to be aehat:9 J"
she dried.
e 1 am going to be his wife" Her
answer came almost triumphantly now.
"I promised him long before he went.
He wrote to me to day to tell me that he
could marry me. And he is coming .
she cried, the light flushing up in her
face
1t was the last fash of gladncss that
| lighted that poor face for many day to
come Margaret had told her secret, and
what followed was storm Of tears and
passionate reproaches so violent as to ex-
haust all the small stock of strength tha,
Mrs Mortou had, and force her, before
many hours were over to her bed, where
she lay and sobbed and moaned all night,
and by morning had worn herself i'll
enough to make Margaret unable to leave
| the house. Throughout the whole day
from morning to night, her daughter sal
beside her. listening to her reproaches
and her self-bewailings, and her passion.
atc eutreaties. For years past, indeed
for well nigh her whole life long, Mrs.
Morton had been very we'll aware tha,
her strength lay in her fretful pertinacity
and her deadness to every other crea-
ture's comfort but her own. In former
days she had ruled her husband by her
queru.ous selfishness J; for years she had
ruled her daughter by the same means
selfshness was to her her armor of proof,
and she had resorted to it in countless
straits before, so she resorted to it now.
Margaret had worked for her, and devot-
herself to her, and humored her, and
Mrs Morton felt that it would be hard
now to do without this flial care /; and
feeling this, whatever a generous and
noble nature could least bear to have it.
self accused of these things did the moth
er launch at her daughters head. She
hung herself as a dead weight round
Margaret's neck, and then, ringing her
hands, called every one to witness how
Margaret was about to throw her mother
off.
For two days Margaret bore this per-
secution almost in silence, sitting hour
after hour by her mothers side, with her
poor heart growing cold and faint within
her. What should she do !? They were
all against her,-m, ther, brother, friends;
she had no one to take her part, no one,
not a single one,-to utter Philip
Langton's name except with abuses or
reproach. What should she do? Hour
| after hour for those two weary days the
poor girls desolate passionate question
went up to Heaven
And slowly and relentlessly, as these
hours went on, the hope that had been
her torch so long paled and died out.
She fought for two days, and then the
battle ended. When the evening of the
second day came she knew that she must
give him up.
She must give him up,-her love -
her life She was sitting when the strug-
gle ended by her mothers side, who,
worn out with forty-eight hours of fret
ting, was lying at last with closed eyes
and shut lips. She had lain so for half
an hour. her thin face shrunk, her pale
cheeks followed with those two days
illness, and for half an hour Margaret had
sat and watched her. Sat in the deep
| k1a Gret ~ eu<c &c hot