Northern Ohio journal. [volume] (Painesville, Ohio) 1872-1896, 1873-11-29

am iu the summer SIaFS. Inc ulSul WAS |
divine in its still rapture of moonlight.
We walked on and on across the wet |
sands, for the tide was coming in, and |
the soft glee of the waves, as they dash
ed and rioted at our feet, was pleasant |
thing TO hear. Before us glistened the |
the vast white ocean. How wide aud |
still it lay under that great wizard of |
moon which hung over il, and looked |
down into its great throbbing heart, |
into awful caverns of darkness and ter |
ror, into the vast green swirl and heav- |
ing of the tide.
The mood of the evening came into |
my soul and possessed it. In that wide, |
white rapture of earth and sea, what n |
FOOLS chase the struggles, and rivalries. |
and petty ambitions of life looked to me. |
A horror of tricks and shams came upon |
me. What was life worth if one could |
not be honest? And by my side walk |
ed this man bald and brown, and wealth. |
ering his fifties.
1t was a night and time for IA lover |
to choose for pouring his fate into the
ear of his love. have a fancy that we
wards did she reproach me-
The next Mr.. Rennard called, and he
and Aunt Madge had a long interview.
never knew what transpired, in the
talk. but l felt assured that Aunt Madge
put her own coloring upon what had
said to him, and knew the depth of her
plausibility.
Mr.. Rennard's manner was more
gravely kind than ever when l met him,
and he only said:
"You were a brave little girl the other
night. so brave so noble, as had never
considered it possible for woman to be.
Let me be your friend"
. liked the man better after this than /
lid hof I 10
gratitude to him for the kindness and
delicacy with which he had treated me.
| he'd secret feeling, too, that not
withstanding what | had confessed to
him, he was willing to take me for his
wife, and 1 was certain Aunt Madge
had not rslinquished her matrimonial
projects. AS for myself, if Mr.. Rennard
were willing to take me as his wife now,
after all had confided to him, used to
wonder whether should not consent.
l seemed to look at myself as somebody
else those days. An Indifference, Ian
guor, hung about me from which 1
could not emancipate myself. Was it
not the natural reaction from the strain
and tumult of that night on the sands
Whatever it was, it came to an end sud-
denly.
One day I had letter from an old
school-matc, kindly and silly, with
small beer foam of gossipv news.
Amongst other things she told me that
Tom Darrow, who had gone out West
the year before. was married to another
school friend of ours. who, on a visit to
her uncle, had met the young man, and
a short courtship had been consumaied
by wedding. The whole letter, the
whole world, was in those few light sem
tences that my gosppv friend had DASH
ed Off amid matters she fancied of far
more consequence to me.
But Tom Darrow-well, he was the
| man of whom l spoke that. night on the
sands, in the moonlight. He was the
son Of an old neighbor of ours, and he
was a young physician with nothing in
strong brain, and his generous young
heart.
About a year after I came toi Uncle
Jacobs, Tom was in the city on his wsy
out west full of energy, hope and ar
dor.
| One day he came anu offered himself
to me. Aunt Madge suspected how
| matters stood between us. She was
| lynX-eyed about these things, and her
solemn and frequent denunciations of
| tue women who plunged selfishly and
madly into the misery of poor marri-
age, merely to crafty their own silly
| AdhCtCSs Adu ShCAA WOASht Will hlCs
Yet the delicious joy that thrilled
through me that day when 1 heard Tom
Darrow's story, made me desperate. /
was afraid to trust myself 1 was hunt
ed and maddened betwixt my heart and
my aunt's talk, and my terror of pover-
ty, and refused Tom with a dash of
swift scorn in my words, and he went
away hurt, outraged, believing the
world had wrought its enchantment
with me also, and that the maiden of his
love had grown into n proud ambitious
wonon, and so, my heart was desolate
! and at last this was the end.
| / knew the woman Tom had married !;
pretty, weak, fiaccid, with no forces OF
heart or character; no breadth or elas-
ITCHY of thought or nature for the years
to develope narrow and superficial, with
frequent sullenness which would be
likely to gather as certain sparkle and
glow of youth faded, into cloud lower
ing always about the horizon.
A woman to wear and tire to the core
man with Tom Darrow's Temperament
and tastes, and hang millstone about
his neck. And to this wife ! had help
ed hinl-1!
While I sat thus with the letter in my
lap my aunt came in. She looked at
me. think there must have been some
thing awful in my face, she gave little
shrek and then she seized the letter and
glanced over it, her suspicious going
straight to the line or two which had
been ali the world to me.
She put her arms around me kindly,
: "Poor Honora," she said, and their was
a quiver of real tenderness in her voice,
ssYou must come and lie down.
dod't know what allied me afterward
, perhaps took cold that midnight on
the sands, but 1 was ill good while
not very, but sufficiently so to alarm my
!. friends; to drag myself through the
days, and to feel no human interest in
what was going on around me; and to
grow so thin and pale that started hall
!, frightened at my own spectre in the
t glass.
Mr.. Rennard was kinder than ever
taking me out on rides and sails, and in.
defatigable in deyising means to amuse
and interest me. | felt very grateful to
! hlm for all this. He never spoke of be.
: ing lover; never alluded to what had
} passed between us one hour on the sand
T at Eeatherhead.
/ Late in the Autumn we returned te
, the city. / was better by this time. One
. day my friend came to see me and told
me that his business affairs had sudden.
2 ly summoned him abroad. He wanted
1 to write to me as the woman he most re
l SdTucu duu hOIUTCu Ill Tie WOTlu.
i | wondered when he had said that
remembering what had shown him OF
/ myself once! But / was touched too
and my eyes filled with tears as CAV,
| him my hand and promised TO write tt
| him.
4 Well, my friend went away, and wa
gone longer than he intended, his busi
4 ness not permitting his absence. HI
= wrote me regularly, not love letters, ye
! l knew when we met again he woul6
D sooner or later ask the question he hat
:. once, on the sands at Featherhead.
Y I had not died of broken heart. :.
: was not a woman to do that, and deep
i er sense of the true worth and manlines
@ of Mr.. Rennord's character had grow
: upon me in this time.
= When my friend came back if h.
: would take me, after had laid bare m,
n soul to him-even in my own heart tn
e final clause was never added.
d l was still at Uncle Jacobs, but TIL
d old burden of dependence was not less
i ened with the years.
! When the steamer arrived, on whicl
e he was TO sail he did not come with il