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

prise.
Then | will not longer as a man, 1
thought | was doing right thought was
taking a step to eventually embrace your
happiness; and if l erred, as l now fear l
did, it was from my jealous care of you. I
did not think you would suffer much, or for
long. But find was mistaken and regret
the act. Ibroke up your correspondence
with Lucy Meryman."
"You, father"
eyes, l kept back the letter in which
she would have informed you of their con-
templated removal, and gave her future ad-
dress"
"And then she has been left, through all
these years to suppose that the neglect was
mine"
eyes, but I did not think
Enough ! She shall know now. I will
write-no I will 60"
And the next train that went whirling
through among the mountains westward,
numbered Morton Whitcomb among it's
passengers.
Before leaving, the father had placed
sealed note in his hands, addressed to Miss
Lucy Merryman and with the words:
"You will not have to humble yourself
and accuse your father. The note explains
ALL" \ \
Miss Merryman had not taken her place
in the school since the death of her mother,
and was that day wandering listless and sad
about the beautiful grounds surrounding
her uncle's residence.
She had succeeded in all things beyond
her most sanguine expectations. AS teach
er she was unrivalled; and she had host
Of warm friends, and was treated as be-
loved daughter in her uncle's house, that
now boasted a second mistress. In fact, she
had become all she had said so firmly, 81
will riSe-l will succeed, and the future
must take care of itself - in that little old
house, on that long ago spring morning.
But was she happy? Her dear mother was
asleep under sods yet green and hid away
in the secret chamber of Memory was that
early love that had promised so much and
given so little.
She stoop ed to gather a flower, and as she
turned on rising, Morton Whitcomb stood
before her.
"Why had he come if he could not ex-
plain his unaccountable silence?" thought
she, asking that which she most wished to
believe.
"Will you come in," she said, her eyes
dropping before his earnest gaze.
"Not now, Lucy; sit with me in this gar
den chair, for little while, please.
have much to say to you and would say it
here"
He spoke in his old loving tones, and she
suffered him to retain her hand and lead her
to the seat.
81 have letter for you, Lucy" and he
handed her the note.
cat last" she said, raising her eyes to
his.
"Spare me-" he replied, "until you read
it."
She did read all the humiliating confess
sion of the proud man, who had hum bled
himself from love for his son.
"How dared he tamper with my letter P''
she said, her eyes flashing with indigna-
! ton.
4" He is my father, Lucy"
eyes; and as your father, l forgive
him."
"Thank you," and drawing her closer to
him, he said, "one more boon may he be
yours in name? Will you be my wife, Lucy,
and be to me as you ever have been, the
dearest object on earth?"
The angry spot.faded from her cheeks, and
the love-light came softly to her eyes as she
answered gently:
81 will be your wife, dearest Morton; and
Oh, love me always, for there are but few
to do so now - Six weeks later Lucy re-
turned bride to the home of her childhood