Whig and tribune. [volume] (Jackson, Tenn.) 1870-1877, 1871-08-05

81 shall remember you are my
cousin. But what of Percy Russell!
Have you thought of his wishes in
this matter?o
Margaret's eyes dropped; a soft
flush stole up to her forehead.
'tHe viii desire me to do what is
right, / think. If not, then we shall
be better apart"
"Well, you have chosen, and you
win see. Have you spoken to him
about your absurd decision!"
'1 have written him."
'FWill you let me see the reply z"
eff you wish it. But, of course,
a right-minded man could have but
one opinion on the matter"
'You think so? Well, as l said,
we shall see."
/ And gathering up the mass of her
silken drapery from contact with
the costly carpet, Miss Eleanore
Hastings left the ROOM
From the conversation we have
given, the reader will understand
the character of the spinster cousin,
and the handsome and undetermined
Margaret; and there is no need of
further explanation.
Percy Russell's note to Margaret
cut the heart of the noble girl like a
knife; but after the first pang was
over. she felt very thankful that her
life had not been bound with that of
this sordid man. She gave him
back the freedom she knew he de-
sired, and then their paths separ-
ated.
The property left her by Mr.. Peck,
was legally transferred to the chill
dren of Robert Peck-Rupert and
Edna, both of whom resided in a
different part of the country. The.
business was all tranacted by Mr.
Eden, Margaret's lawyer; and al
though Rupert Peck strongly ops
posed the transfer, he was forced to
acquiesce. He urged her, through
her solicitor, to retain, at least, the
old mansion where his grandfather
had lived and died, but this she re-
fused to do; and likewise did she de-
cline the yearly annuity he wished
$50 much to settle upon her. And
casting off all ties, Margaret left her
proud, mercenary cousin, went to
distance, hired q little cottage, and
settled down there. There, too, for
two years, she lived on without
love; and what is harder than that
for a woman? She may be poor,
and humble, and unknown, but if
there be one true heart that loves
her, then life is glory and bless
ing.
At the end of these two years of
seclusion, Margaret found her
strength failing. The physicians
July day, she beheld, for the first
khn orraof naoan GoHonnPo
was quite a resort for quiet people,
who, disliking the noise and fash
ion of Saratoga and Newport, pre-
ferred seclusion and quietude.
The third evening after her arri-
val, Margaret walked down on the
beach. How quiet and still was
everything. No sound but the cease
less break of the surf on the beach
q sound old as creation itself. The
sun was down, a breath of south
wind swayed lazily the flag, and be-
fore her, at her very feet, lay stretch
long reach of sand tempted Marga-
ret to prolong her walk, and loiter-
ing along, she reached the extremi-
ty of the beach. just beyond, across
| the rocks, there was a patch of sand
| CHCA OCdul44lll l10lA lllul c41C
had Just crossed; and with light
step, she bounded over the rocks,
and set foot upon the treacherous
waste. At the first few steps her
| light weight hardly made an im-
preston on the sand, but as she
went onward, she sunk ankle deep,
and with a slow horror stealing over
her, she found that it required all
her strength to extricate her feet
from the power which held them.
A voice from the rocks, ringing
clear through the distance, cried
OUT
ssNot another step forwardI Re-
main where you arel You are in
the Sycamore quicksandv'
She turned toward the voice, and
saw, dimly defined through the
| gloom, tall man hurrying toward
her. A boat, wrecked and bleached
by the storms, was lying at little
distance. He tore out a piece of
plank, and made bridge for him.
self. 1t brought him within a few
yards of where she stood, slowly
sinking. The cold, treacherous
sand was up to her waist now. He
stepped fearlessly upon it, and sue
ceeded in drawing her out, and in
safety to the plank He did not
speak until they were standing to-
gether upon the shore. Then he
said, looking down at her pale
face.
'eYou are not acquainted with
Sycamore beach, l suppose?"
For the first time, she looked at
him fairly. He had a strong, relia-
BILE face-not a handsome one. The
forehead was broad and full, the
features tolerably good, the hair
/ chesnut, and inclined to curl, and
the eyes gray, deep, and of that
kind which keeps their owners Sc
crets.
'No," she said, in reply to his
question; 81 have never seen the sea
until yesterday"
ssDo not condemn il for threaten
ing to swallow you," he said, gayly.
81 certainly shall not, if it gives me
the pleasure of your acquaintance.
But must hurry you to your abode.
You will take cold; the air is getting
chilly"
He gave her his arm. How very
delightful to this lonely woman was
the sense of protection this mans
presence gave heri AT the door of
her lodging she paused.
ssYou have done me a great SER
vice, sir; may l not know your
manner"
.sWillis. And yours?''
margaret Vance,"
A sudden flush went over his face;
he stopped over her and took her
hand.
margaret Vance?" he said. 81
shall remember. Take care of your
self, and goodnight
After that, Miss Vance and Mr..
Willis met constantly. They walk
ed, drove and watched the sunsets
together; and perhaps before either
was aware, they had drifted into
i love. Margaret realized how deep
/ ly her heart was stirred, when he
| spoke of leaving Sycamore beach
on the morrow. Something he saw
in her face led him to speak.
Margaret. one word from you
would keep me through all timel
Will you say it?"
She looked at him, but dimly COM
pretending his meaning.
''I will make myself clearer. |
love you; l want your love in re-
| turn. What answer have you2''
She put her hands into his.
81 love you, Mr.. Willis"
"And you are not afraid to trust
me, utter stranger as am, of whom
you know nothing?'
I gENn Il on a 0fpaiH i