The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1871-02-07
T FL p 70 novEs 8
c | / BERT CRATES.

|G | / B / Rf G RAVE )
A face soft, confding and innocen
was Mary Plympton's before the calam
ity from which she suffered came to ma
its perfection. Alas, for her. that he
happiness should have depended npor
this face alone; and sadder than all tina
her love should have been given to Gil
bert Graves, and that she should have
relied for the duration of that happines:
upon the continuance Of his love.
At time when Mary was most cheer
ful and most hopeful of the future,
dreadful sickness came upon her. Wher
she had recovered her health and wa.
able to sit up and converse. she felt tina
that had left her which, in the beginning
had won Gilbert's heart. The beauty O.
her face had departed, and Its fair white
surface was pitted with the traces of the
disease. Her first thought, as, for the
first time since her loss was manifest,sht
looked in the mirror at her Scared coun
tenance, was, "Will Gilbert love INT
nowi"
A prophetic burst of tears was the an
swer to her thoughts. And as she pro
gressed to strength and full recovery
the question that she had asked herself
with tears for an answer, was ever upper
most in her mind-"Will Gilbert love
me now2"
In due course of time it was announc
ell to her friends that she was quite vel
and strong again. She had written t,
her lover, making him aware of her ca
lamity; but no answer had been return
ed to her letter. Many days had elapsed
since her recovery, and still Gilbert
Graves remained away from her, There
were those about her who sought to per
suade aer that he had ceased to love her
and that her duty was to forget one who
was so little worthy ;but her heart plead.
ed for the absent one, and as the days
went by her longing to see hlm became
stronger ard stronger, and in her unsha-
ken faith in his honor, and in his love
for her, she found consolation in fran.
ing to herself hundred palliating rea
sons for his absence.
One day, sitting in the parlor with hel
longing and her loneliness upon her, she
caught the sound of familiar footsteE
upon the sidewalk, and, moment later
upon the steps leading to the front door
1t was Gilbert at last. But to whai
purpose had he Gomez Poor Mary
This was the question that she asked
herself, as she heard the door open and
close, and heard his step in.the hall. i
was but moment given to thought, how
ever; for, in the next instant, Gilbert
Graves stood before her, looking at hel
intently from the threshold of the door
The parlor was 'darkened somewhat
the curtains being drawn together, bu
there was ligh. enough in the room tc
make all things plain within.
As Gilbert stood gazing at her witt
that intent look, she half crossed tht
room toward him, with her hands out
stretched to greet him.
aOh, Gilbert, have you come at last!
she said. 81 knewyou would come, Gil
bert, although every body told me tha
you had forgotten me-"
AS she finished speaking, she went up
to him and looked into his face with thu
old expression that was familiar, in bel
eyes. 1t was an expression that was ia
miIiar, too, to Gilbert Graves but {
troubled look came upon him as he an
swered her:
81 thought it my duty to call upon
you, Mary" be said irresolutely. "l
dare say my visit is as painful to you a.
it is to me. Heavens! how you have
changedm
Then he looked away from her, anl
sat himself down, with the irresolute ex
preston making itself more apparent il
his face.
For little while after he had moved
away from her, Mary stood with hands
claspcd over her bosom, gazing at thu
floor
at was only duty, then, that brough
you to see me"' she murmured. sOh
Gilbert, Gilbert! if you could only have
known how patiently and hopefully
have been awaiting you! l have never
felt until this moment how great has beer
my msfortunew!
II had thought" he replied, "that yol
would have understood both my silence
and my absence from the house. Whel
| heard of your-your misfortune, Mary
lit occurred to me that perhaps yo,
would think as / do-that it is bette
that we should cease to feel that interes
in each other which we formerly felt. /
was for that reason, and with the hop
that you would forget me, that I remain
ed away from you. don't wish to ap
pear cruel; but it seems to Inc that
ought to be honest
"Then you hdre ceased to love me
Gilbert p
She seated herself, but not as in th
old time, by his side, and covered he
poor disfgared face with her hands. 1
that interval she wept silently Final
she spoke to him:
sit was all true-all that they said
Gilbert, would you have cared much if
had died p
He made no answer, and she wen
on:
II wish to tell you, Gilbert, even i
parting from you, how dearly loy
you, and how much, during my sickness
thought of you, and how cheerful
made. me to think that you, above a
others, were anxious about me, and hoI
ing for my recovery. / knew that a
my beauty 1T was you who first mad
me think that perhaps I did posses
Seauty-had gone forever; but eve
twhen had this conviction, while reco,
ering, / felt hope that your love woul
withstand even this test. But ! forgiy
you, Gilbert forgive you"
81 shoulG wish to hear you say, also
that you won't suffer from my change {
feeling. But have something else
foil vnu Morv- carnafh;nrr fhaf 10 yoA