The Marietta journal. [volume] (Marietta, Ga.) 1866-1909, 1872-03-15
No. 10.

ue'N DSSH SUuHtiuS IhS NdJe ., tH0
hours, the very minutes until we
should touch port; but now that my
feet rang once more upon tho pave.
ments of my native, city. | actually
dared not go home.
turned into downtown restau-
rant, where | had been wont to go,
in the days of my bachelorhood, and
skunk in that dark corner; the twi-
light was just falling, and | was
sheltered by the partition.
Hush that was Tewksbury's
voice, harsh and jarring as of old.
"Just what might have been ex-
pected, said Tewksbury. "Pretty
and young widows don't 60 begging
in this market p
"Folliott might have known it,"
growled old Farnum. stPoor Fol-
liott there was some good points
about him, too Sad thing, that,
very sad thing Y
"We must all de-" said Tewks-
bury, gravely.
"Yes, but fellow would natural
ly prefer dying in his bed to being
carried off by an East Indian fever
and buried in the iungles p
| shuddered. Had / then come
home to my own funeral as it were 2
"And she's going to marry young
Birmingham, after all !" added Far
mum.
The paper dropped from my
hand.
81 could have told Folloitt SO,
when found out what COMPOUNDED
idiotic will he made" said I'ewks-
bury. $50 gold has fallen again
Just my luck; | sold out tonight !"
stayed to hear no more, but stag
gered out ia the darkness with one
idea whirling thro' my dizzy brain
my Clara was mine no longer
1t was questionable what Tewks-
bury had said. | might have an
ticipated some such end. She was
too young, too lovely for such a
rough old fellow as | was. My wild
ow-what a curious sensation the
words gave me as | mentally pro-
nounced them.
Under my own windows, with the
ruby-red light shining through wine
colored damask curtains, | stood
there feeling as Rip Van Wrinkle
might have felt in the play-like a
dead man walking on the earth
once more. Voices and lights were
within. | opened the door softly,
and crept into the hall.
The drawing room was ajar.-
Clara, herself, stood before the fire,
in deep black robes, with frill of
white Grape on her auburn gold
tresses--the awful sign and symbol
Of her widowhood. Directly oppo-
site, stood Harry Birmingham, look
ing diabolically young and hand
some in the soft gas light.
"Clara, Clara !" he cried, "you
surely are not in earnest. You will
reconsider !"
''My answer is inal" she re-
sponded. "The time might once
have been when | fancied | had a
childish liking for you, Harry Bir-
mingham-bat that time has long
since passed away. | gave my
heart to the noblest man that ever
breathed-Paul Folloit--and in his
grave it is forever buried. | loved
him once shall love him on into
eternity never was half worthy
of him, but"
And Clara voice was choked with
sobs.
"My love-my darling--my own
precious wife p
How | ever got into the room =
how l managed to make Clara COM
prehend that | was my own living
self, and not a ghost arisen from the
shadow of the sepulcher, cannot
tell to this day-neither can she =
but | know tina. young Birmingham
somehow disappeared, and was
standing with Clara clasped TO my
breast, the happiest man that ever
breathed Gods blessed air.
For Jones, Tewksbury, Farnum
& Co., were all wrong-and to use
the words of the orthodox fairy
stories, slightly paraphrased, | and
my widow lived happily ever after
wards