Eaton weekly Democrat. [volume] (Eaton, Ohio) 1866-1875, 1872-12-26

claimed. Chow dare you insult me
SOP"
"Ah, Efie, why affect to be cruel t?
Why struggle against fate?'
at was never intended, Mr.. Talbot,
by any fate, that should listen to such
foolish talk" said Efie, fairly out of pa
tience. "The best thing you can do is
to go back to the village, and leave me
to go home alone"
Well-but, Efie, was sure you
loved me.'
"Then you were utterly mistaken"
she said, coldly; "and don't call me
Ehie."
'tAnd you will not listen to my suit ?"
"No, nor endure your presence" she
replied, and abruptly turned away from
him.
They had been standing, during the
latter part of the talk, sheltered some
what by clump of evergreens. Now
Eff1e turned out into the road again.
Mr.. Talbot called after her once, but
she did not turn.
"She's little spit6re, anyway" he
murmured. Then aloud:
"Miss Effiel Miss EffieI 1 will go
home with you, if you are afraid"
She turned at once, her eyes flashing.
"No, Mr.. Talbot, 1 am not afraid.
l.
count. am much better off without
you. Good evening"
She hurried on again. He looked
after her a moment, and then, with a
shrug, turned back toward the village.
These last words sounded very reso-
lutte, certainly. He must have made
mistake. Effie was wiser than he had
thought her, and his time for the last
few days had been very evidently
wasted.
Musing thus, he walked on, and then
a sudden thought struck him. Why
should he not go back to New York,
after all? He had only decided to stay
in the country on the chance of improv-
ing his Irritation with Effie, and, if that
was a failure, he had much better spend
his Christmas in the city.
With this thought he pulle't out his
watch. He could just make out, in the
dim light, that by hurrying he might
catch the last express train. So he
made the best of his way to the hotel,
gathered together hastily his effects, and
rushed off, leaving the landlord astare
at the unaccountable suddenness of his
movements.
He was just in time to reach the train,
and scarcely half an hour after he part.
ed from Efie was whirling past her
house on his way to New York.
Meantime, the young lady he had
left was plodding on through the storm !;
and her thoughts were not very pleas
ant companions.
This man had insulted her-this
seemed very evident. There was moth
ing genuine in his tone. He had said
no word of marriage. Did he think she
was so weak as to tolerate such imper-
h Z D0r
dear old Tom, who loved her so dear
ly, and longed to make her his wife :?
Tears came into Efie's willful eyes, and
she was sorry enough for her foolish CO.
quetry.
Absorbed in such reflections, she had
gone on some distance, without paying
much attention to her way, when a sud-
den turn in the road brought her to a
stand-still.
She looked about her with dismay !;
she was on the wrong track. She must
have taken the wrong turn at the Ever
green's, where she parted from Talbot.
Just there two roads met, and in an ex-
element, bewildered by the storm, she
had gone down the road leading to the
next town, instead of the one on which
ed mother.
What should she do? Go back No !;
that looked such a long and dreary way ;
and in an evil moment Effie decided to
go across the fields.
With some difficulty she made her
way to the fence, climbed over it, and
went plunging on over the trackless
snow. 1t was not much worse there
than in the road, but the storm was
driving right in her face now. She held
on, though, manfully, nothing daunted,
for some distance. But the night grew
rapidly darker, the cold increased, and
by the time she reached the second
field, Efhe was fairly bewildered.
Still she tramped on, until she was
suddenly brought up by high stone
wall. 1t loomed up before her out Of
the darkness, black, with snow tufting
it here and there. and great snow-car
on its summit.
Now, for the first time, Effie was dis
heartened. That wall showed she was
wrong in the direction she had taken
1t ran at right angles to the road she
had left; she ought not, therefore, te
have come to it. There was nothing fol
her now but to follow it along, until she
came to the next fence, which she knew
must be the one on the road leading tc
her house.
Tired, cold, breathless, she reached il
at last, and began to climb it. The
snow was very deep now. 1t was hare
for her to hang on with her numb hands
and, somehow, when she reached thu
top, she slipped and fell. A sharp pair
shot through her ankle, which was ben
under her. She staggered to her feet
but each motion was agony, and, afte
few feeble steps, she sank down agail
with cry of pain. She had received
very severe sprain, that was evident
and further progress, unassisted, wa
out of the question. As Efie realizet
this, her courage fairly gave way. Sh
drew herself little back into the corne
of the wall, wrapped her cloak over he,
and hid her face down in her muff, sot
bing bitterly. She was well punishe
for her thoughtless coquetry. She ha
made Tom miserable; perhaps lost hir
forever, and for what? Only to be ir
suited and deserted by this wretchec
conceited fop. His conduct had bee
unmanly, frat in insulting her as b
had done; next, in leaving her, unde
sny circumstances, to go home alone,
the night and storm. Tom would NJ
have done sol No, no matter what sh
might have said to him, he would nj
have left her thus. And now there W;
no telling what might happen her. ii
| road leading to her cottage home WI
| x,ory lono1IJ yarxy 1;tt1a I,soA Tha1