New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878, 1870-07-17

1 AVuuS SWEEP VOICES sung Auulc ltsuIlC.
| Slowly he staggered back to his sofa
again, carrying q horde of half forgotten
memories-memories which had gone to In
dia year ago with him, followed him all
through the scenes Of war and death. and
returning home again, only to be banished
by fever and uncOnsciousness. Back
they flowed with double force, as Annie
Laurie broke the stiffness around. i
| "Her songw her songw he murmured.
II hoped had forgotten her."
The poor wounded hand struggled hard
| to cover his face, but only the right hand
was able to perform its work, and the man
| who had once been strong and brave groaned
in neutrality-suspicious. for his helpless state;
but methinks it was more at the memories
which the old song recalled.
| ~ could have borne it all, had she not
fool" he grOaned.
| All, there was q wound in Charles Chal-
! loner's heart far deeper than that in his
arm-a wound which time did not heal.
The opening of the door caused him to
look around. Then, trembling, staggering,
and CHASTITY, he rose to his feet. Was it the
| ghost of his former love that came to him
there in that moonlight silence, robed in
white, with her pale, beautiful face rivaling
outstretched hand Clare HolrOyd came to-
ward him.
| Captain Challoner," she said, 81 heard
you were here, they told me-you were i'll.
| am come to see yOu-tO say wronged you
! once in my cruel fOolishness. But now l
ask you to forgive"
| Broken, disjointed, and almost incompre-
hensible as was her speech, he understood it.
| It was no ghost, then; it was really Clare
| HOlroyd-his first, his only love. And the
face he had wearied and pinned to see was
| how c;I
| ing upon it and upon the soft, golden hair -
Clare HolrOyd, more beautiful than ever,
| because of the pride, the hauteur that was
! gone, the gentle, tender humility which had
! come.
Captain Challoner saw the danger and
remembered she was another mans wife.
| He recovered himself in a minute. He took
the outstretohed hand, felt the slender fin
| gers clasp his own, then carelessly, cOldly
let it go. And Clare stood there looking at
him, with yearning, sorrowful pity in her
face; she could see how ill he had been, how
weak he was, and when her eyes fell upon
the poor, helpless, wounded arm, great tears
swelled into them.
| How different from the Charles Challoner
of old. Brave, bright Charles Challoner,
who had gone away and left her because
she had firted with Sir Philip Fairfax, in
stead of being cOntented with his honest
love-
"Oh, Charlie, Charlie, forgive me; say
you forgive me " she cried, in low, sweet,
plaintive voice, forgetting all else, but the
memory of the old, true love. Charlie,
you should never have gone away without
word that time. know that deserved
it, but l was true to you indeed was l
never cared"
Hush " said he.
Cold, stern and proud, the soldier threw
her hand from his arm. 1t was the first
word he had spoken, but there was no sound
of love or forgiveness in the tone. 1t
nearly broke Clare's heart.
"Hush," he repeated. ''He is your hus-
band now, Lady Fairfax. Do not prove
your truth to me by being false to him. 1t
is too late now"
''Who told you 1 was married. p she
cried, with breathless gasp.
A bitter smile curled his lip as he re-
Piled:
you forget that English papers travel to
India, and though they may not always be
the bearers of pleasant tidings, at least they
are truthful. 1t was through them learnt
that Clare Holroyd was married at Brighton
in January last to Sir Philip Fairfax, the
owner of Duneden Hall, Staffordshire,
the"
"The greatest fool in London" he would
have added, in his bitter scorn, but he
checked himself, sinking YEARLY back upon
his couch.
There came light over Clare Holroyd's
face-the old, glad light which left it when
Charlie ChallOner went away SO suddenly
to India. 1t came back now, slowly but
surely. Standing there before him, with
her hands clasped close together, trembling
with a strange, new agitation, she ques-
toned him:
lift had not married, could you have
forgiven me, Charlie! Could you have
loved me!'
He looked up at her Was she trying to
tempt him! Why was her voice so sweet,
her tone so gentle!
"Speak-tell me " she cried '.but for that
could you have forgiven me!'
II could, he replied.
The light on the girls face was creeping
down to her heart as she seated herself on
the sofa beside him. The twilight had died
away in the clear moonlight.
There was no need Of gas to reveal these
two faces to each other. Clare's was not
pale now; it was burning with beautiful
color.
"YOu had better leave me know; am not
quite strong yet" he said, with an effort
He was right; the old wound was opened
afresh, and the pain seemed greater than
the man could bear.
81 know it," she answered. "In one mo-
ment will leave you if you wish it. Iwant
y
Toner, do you remember my aunt and
cousins in Harley street? l think l intro
duced you to them once"
He bowed his head.
"You remember the girls" she continued.
"There were four Of them-Grace, Mary,
Julia and Clare
81 never heard their Names" he replied.
4" only saw them Once-the day l met
them in the park. think you introduced
Sir Phillip Fairfax to them at the same
time"
He spoke somewhat sharply and with a
weary impatience.
Clare's voice trembled as she said:
81 did; and four months after he married
the youngest girl my cousin Clare. am
Clare HoIroyd still
Then she rose up from the sofa, and he
sat there alone. The moon passed behind a
cloud, and there came intense darkness and
silence in the old library at Woodlands, but
it was only for few minutes. Then the
clouds were gone, and then there came
floating into that stiffness wonderful
light, which found its way into the soul Of
the wounded soldier.
"You will forgive me now" said Clare,
make me feel happier, much happier, to
know that am forgiven. And may heaven
grant you health and strength, that you
may recover from your terrible illness, and
be yourself again.
He tried to raise himself, but he had
already tried his strength to the uttermost,
and now, when this great joy was streaming
into his SOUL when the old wound was heal |
ing, he felt how miserably weak and help
less he was to battle even against that un-
speakable joy. He looked up at her stand |
ing there in her beautiful young strength |
before him-one earnest, yearning hungry |
look.