The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1872-11-01
THE JOURNAL.
Continued forn First Pace.

ntersreted. There were a few who
made remarks" but most people
considered it very good match; for,
though the money was all on the la
dy's side, the beauty, talent, agree
ableness, and general popularity of
the two were about equal; and, while
women acknowledged the fitness of
each for the other, men said Mr..
HALEY had secured the ablest assist
ance which he could have in his bus
mess, and all agreed that it was a re-
markably pleasant arrangement ev-
eryway.
As for the young couple, they lived
through the sumer in a garden of
delights, literally and metaphorically.
The rose-arbors of the HALEY place
could not but have witnessed many
charming passages of romantic pas
sion and tender sediment; for these
two souls were truly as nearly in
perfect unison as it ever falls to the
lot of souls in the flesh to be. and the
more intimate the acquaintance, the
more they were delighted with each
other. With mutual sentiments like
these, their marriage would not long
be deferred. In fact, it had been
agreed upon that the ceremony
should take place by the middle of
September.
About the first of the month, when
the bridal trouSseau was engaging so
much of Marion's attention that her
lover was frequently half jealous of
the finery, Gopherton had a fresh
sensation, the direct cause of which
was the appearance in a San Fran
cisco paper Of the following:
Personal Walter Mason will please send
his address to his anxious and devoted
CAROLINE MASON.
Social thunderbolts donate always
directly in inverse ratio to the size of
the communities into which they
fall. All Gopherton was in, state
Of feverish excitement three hours
after the mail was distributed on this
fateful morning; all of it, except
Marion and her little army of seam
stresses, among whom she sat, fresh
as rose, her brown eyes full of hap
by dreams, and her lovely cheek a
tinge more rosy than its wont, toy
ing with some dainty fabric which
entered into the composition of that
magically interesting thing-a hap
py brides wedding dress. 1t should
be picture, a poem, ravishment,
that dress. She wanted to look, o.!
so lovely, in his eyes. She longed
to please him beyond anything he
had ever imagined by her looks on
their wedding-day. She meant he
should be the happlest husband, as
she knew she should be the happiest
wife, in the world.
The click Of the garden gate, and
the sound of a rapid, well-known
tread on the gravel walk broke in
upon her dream, pleasant enough,
but with a little surprise; for "her
boy" as she still called him, in her
secret thoughts, and sometimes au-
dibly, beneath the rosebowers of the
garden, was not used to appear at
the house during the business hours
of the day. Divining that his errand
was to her, Marion ran down to
meet him, and found him standing
by the great bay-window in the par
lOr with such look upon his face as
she had never seen there before.
"Oh Walterp she cried, with a
vague alarm, her thoughts reverting
to her father, to a public calamity,
to any possibility but the true one
something has happened, "What is
it?'
"Have they not told your he in
quired hoarsely, without moving.
81 have not heard anything. fit
concerns me, Walter, please tell me
at once," said Marion, pausing close
behind him, and feeling as much
wonder as alarm at his strange man
ner, that was not even friendly.
Savagely, almost, he thrust his pa
per into her hand, with the "person-
al'' strongly marked, as it had been
by some one who laid it on his desk
at the bank. She read it over
twice, thrice-her color paling slow
ly, until the horrible meaning at last
had reached her reluctant compre-
hension.
"What is Caroline Mason to you?
she asked coldly-O, so coldly-as
people ask and speak who have had
all the warmth and brightness of life
suddenly extinguished from them,
yet do not care to own it, preferring
to "die and make no sign"
"Nothing-eYerything. o God!
o Marion! How much better for
us both if you had let me die! But |
you brought me back to Iife-you
made life dear to me-and now--p
He reeled like a drunken man,
Marion's hand as he sank
into the nearest seat. She withdrew
her fingers from his grasp, and stood
looking down into his upturned tor
tured face as calmly as a statue
really, for that moment, scarcely |
more sentient.
"Do you hate me, Marion darling?"
he asked, more softly, searching her
cold eyes, with the eager, tormented |
soul in his.
81 do not think" she answered, re-
the gaze steadily, ''that 1 Ell
bher hate or care for you at all. You
are a false man, Walter Mason;
false coward, whom either to love or
to hate were a condecension. Since
you have no further news for me,
will bid you good morning" When
she had thus spoken, she turned to
cave the room, with slow, proud
steps, and a cheek as white as her
lainty white morning dress.
els that your parting, Marion%
Marion my love-my loVe-how can
you bear this dreadful thing? II
hought I should have killed you, as
veil as myself; and you do not even
weep. 0, then it is less bitter if you
10 not care"
That last word touched her. His
renzy was not, then, all for himself:
lie was thinking of her, and bearing
Ter grief as well as his own. With
sudden impulse she yielded to his
letaining hand-for he had followed
turning back, sat down be-