The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1872-05-03


through all my veins, like Novcmbers wind
suddenly breathing across bed of flowers.
Clara had heard nothing of me for nearly
fifteen months--what might have happened
IN that time. All that Tewksbery, and Jones
and Allen, and all other prophetic ravens
OF my acquaintance had said, required to
my mind, like burden of an uneasy dream.
l had been counting the hours, and the
! very minutes, until we should touch port
but now that my feet rang once more upon
the pavement of my native city, actually
dared not go home.
| turned into a down town restaurant,
where had been wont to 90, in the DAYS
my bachelorhood, and skunk into that
dark corner-the twilight was just falling,
and was sheltered by the partition.
| Hush . that was Tewksbery's voice. harsh
and .iarring, as Of old.
Just what might have been expected"
said Tewskbery. pretty and young wild
ows don't go begging in this market"
"Folliot might have known it, growled
old Farnum. "Poor Folliot, there were
some good points about him, too sad
thing that very sad thing :"
"We must alldie," said Tewskbcry grave
ly.
"Ycs, but fellow would naturally pre-
fer dying in his bed to being carried offby
an East Indian fever and buried in the
jungles."
shuddered, Had l come home to nv
own funeral as it were.
And she is going to marry young Biz
mingham after all 2" added Farnum.
The paper dropped from my hand.
81 could have told Folliot so when I
found out what a confounded idiotic will
he had made" said Tewskbery. $50 gold
has fallen again. Just my luck sold out
to-day"
lstayed to hear no more, but staggered
out in the darkness with one idea whirling
thro' my dizzy brain-my Clara was mine
no longer.
1t was questionable what Tewksbery had
said; l might have anticipated some such
end. She was too young, too lovely for
such rough fellow as was. My widow
what curious sensation the words gave as
l mentally pronounced them.
Under my own windows, with the ruby
red light shining through the wine-colored
damask curtains, stood there feeling as
Rip Van Wrinkle might have felt in the
play-like dead man walking on earth
once more. Voices and lights were within.
l opened the door softly and crept into the
hall.
The drawing room door was aiar, Clara
herself stood before the fire, with frill of
white Grape on her auburn gold tresses-
the awful sign of her widowhood. Direct
ly opposite stood Harry Birmingham, look
ing diabolically young and handsome in
the soft light.
"Cara, Clara" he cried, "you surely are
not in earnest. You will reconsider ~
"My answer is final" she replied. "The
time might once have been when I fancied
I had childish liking for you, Harry Biz
mingham. But that time has long since
passed away. gave my heart to the best
and noblest man that ever breathed-
Folliot-and in his grave it is forever bur-
ried. l loved him once; I shall love him
on into eternity l never was half worthy
of him, but"
And Clara's voice choked with sobs.
My love, my darling-my own precious
wife.
How ever got into the room-how l
managed to make Clara comprehend that
was my own living SELF and not ghost
arisen from the shadow of the sepulchre,
cannot tell to this day--neither can she--but
l know that young Birmingham somehow
disappeared, and was standing with Clara
clasped to my breast, the happiest man that
ever breathed Gods blessed air.
For Jones, Tewskbery, Farnum & Co.,
were all wrong-and to use the words the
orthodox fairy stories, slightly paraphras-
ed, l and my widow 'lived happy ever af-
forwards"