The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1871-07-18
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Amy, in her earnestness, had rested
her hand lightly on her sisters arm, and
a mist of sadness yelled her beautiful
blue eyes.
"Richard's 8 love is not a common love,
my darling; nor is his honest preference
to be despised. Some other man may
win you for his wife, Florence, but not
one will ever WOO you so royalty as
Dick Pennoyer!'
,"He woes ME as other men WOO, sup
pose, with sweet words and occasional
caresses, for which we must be grateful;
and / acknowledge the fact that l shall
miss him when he is gone. But"
"Oh, Florence, you do lore him, then! !!
Recall him before it is too late! He
loves you well enough to come even now
at your bidding"
"You did not let me finish my sen.
tence," said Florence, with smile. eff
he should win, how would he gear me ?
Not like jewel Of which he might just
ly be proud; not like flower perfdmed
with its own rare purple; but as some
modest daisy whose modesty is its only
charm, and which must be content to
bloom unseen in the shadow of his royal
robes
"And what happier destiny than that,
dear sister? You will be enshrined in
his heart, and his love will make your
life so golden-full of glad days, so ripe
with all sweetness, that you will never
miss the sorry adulation of the careless
crowd, or care for the garlands they
would wreathe you"
~ care very little sor the purple robe,
|! if there be no broidery on it; nor for
love, if it come alone to the feast! No,
Amy-your sweet teasing is useless
shall marry Silas Martindale."
Amy's lips quivered, as they always
did when her heart was in a tumult.
"Why, Florence ?"
"You want me to enumerate my rea-
sons, you dear little goosie Well, in
the first place he is rich, and I can have
all my heart desires in the way of luxu-
rious surroundings; you know 1 am not
like you, Amy, and I could not endure
the touch of hand soiled wi th machin.
cry"
"But you haze endured i'll" ven tured
Amy.
eyes. But you don't understand the
difference between a lover and q hus-
band. The one washes his hands and
puts on perfumed gloves before he ven
lures into your presence; the other could
well, come in his shirt sleeves if he
felt like it; and that would do away with
all the romance"
"Florence, Dick Pennoyer would new
er do thatr'
Literally, perhaps NOT. But there
would be a hundred ways in which ]
should know that my husband was once
a working man."
Amy was silent, though her brave
heart throbbed with Indignation.
"And them" continued Florence, Mr.
Martindale is not only wealthy, but his
connections are good-such family as
1 should be proud to acknowledge; bu
Dick Pennoyer's sisters have actually
worked in mill, and even now one O.
them does fine sewing for old Mrs. Mar
tindale! Very probably she may do i
for me when l am married.
II will waste my breath on you ne
Longer, Florence, but the time will surely
come when you will regret this decision
You may have fine jewels, fine dresses
fine carriages, and fine friends; and yor
may have a heavy purse, yet not ligh
heart! When you are tired of all thu
glitter and show, tchat then?"
Was it only the wind that blew across
her face as Amy opened the door ant
passed out, or was it a sudden hint from
the unseen world that lies about all, o
the dreariness of life without love-
Years afterward Florence Ma-tindal,
remembered the impression Of that mo
ment, and could have answered tht
question. For she married Silas Mar
tindale as you have foreseen.
| She became the mistress of his fine
home, and his many servants, yet no
one among them was so completely :
slave as She.
Strangers looking in her beautiful fact
thought her proud woman, and wei
content; only Amy studied her gravely
and wonderfully feeling that she was of
ten unhappy in spite of the luxuries will
which she was surrounded.
For eight years she endured her bond
age. At the end of that time all the
world knew that it was goldens stit
which had united them, and not the deal
love which binds in one two married
lives.
There was terrible accident on tht
railway--a single night of terror il
which despair of her husbands life, anc
a wild hope of freedom were strangel,
mingled. And then it was all over, anC
Florence Martindale was widow.
1t lis terrible to be alone with grea
grief shut in from the light and warmth
of the pleasant social life to which ont
has grown accustomed; to be haunted
by the gray phantom of lost happiness
which we know can never return yet
think it was more dreadful for Florenc,
Martindale, shut up for three gloom.
months with an accusing conscience.
| When the three months were ended
she threw open the shutters of the grea
house, opened her doors to merry com
pany, and appeared among her guests il
the gay colors which she used TO wear
herself gayest among the crowds whicl
gathered to welcome her return to thei
little world.
!. 1t was one night in early autumn, ,whel
her house was full of company, that sh
2 met Dick Pennoyer
, He had risen steadily in his chosel
: profession had won well-deserved lau
:, rels from his citizens, and ha,
e been in Washington two winters.
e She had heard his name often,and he
e heart throbbed tumultuously at til
s thought that at length she was free, an
f could afford to marry the man she ha
: always loved.
J The music was at its merriest and th
dance at its gayest, when Mrs. Martir
dale found IN onnortunitv tO leave Il,