The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1873-04-02

was hungry for the love and con-
fidence that had never been his. Sol
was afraid he would miss this little
sparkle of girlhood and warm youth,
and find the void deeper when it had
gone out.
TO the very last day, Rosa kept her
place by my chair; and to the very
last the New Zcalander kept his place
by her. when no one younger stepped
in to carry her of, which was pretty
often, to be sure. Then he always
quietly went away himself, with a
kind of grave regret in his face. On
this last morning, Miss Armour had
just left us along with young lawyer,
to drop oranges and lemons among
the stcerage passengers, when no.
ticed the New Zealandcr looking after
her with sadder regret than usual
almost q pain-in his eyes. He had
such handsome dark eyes 1 could
see that without my glasses.
"Now," said to myself, al hopo
he isn't going to get sofa sensible,
gentlemanly, agreeable man like him,
and quite old enough to be her IA
ther" And so | looked at him to see
if he was, when suddenly he turned
upon me.
" AT least you might have written,
Agatha Wells!" said he, sharply.
l started, as you may think, to hear
my own name spoken so familiarly by
stranger. when, looking again, be-
hold! | saw beneath the bronze, and
under the wrinkles and behind the
beard. a facc that twenty years before
was the dearest in the world TO me-
the face of Duncan Ashleyl We
parted one day, expecting to meet on
the next; but that evening he was
called away, and wrote instead of
coming. In the letter he said what he
had said before with his eyes-yes,
those same beautiful eyes-that was
the choice of his heart and the desire
of his life.
"Answcr me-" said he; az cannot
wait till see YOU"
So / answercd-a long, foolish let
ter, Though there was no need of
writing, for hc had read all l could
say long before, with those eyes of his.
Then watched and waited for him,
but never saw him or heard one word
more. If you are young, you can i'm.
agihe the slow dying-out of hope and
expectation; and If you are old, you
know how such things can be lived
over, and hidden in secret graves.
But now, as though the graves had
been opened and the judgment set,
came this sudden reproachful question
up from the buried past. fairly
caught my breath, as l turned back
my eyes, and looked him in the face
again.
"Forgive me- said he directly, in
gentler tone. 81 did not mean to
speak. You brought it out with your
eyes; that questioning turn was SO
familiar. or course you were quito
right, and | never blamed you. I
never meant you should see me again;
but the temptation 10 feel myself be-
side you, only to be in the soothing
charm of your presence, was too great.
1t has been a blessing l shall carry
with me all the rest of my life"
lie was rising TO go away, but l put
ont my hand. II did write, Duncan
Ashley" said /; the letter must
have gone wrong"
"You did! You wrote !" he cried,
sinking back in his chair again, and
looking at me eagerly. "What did
you say z"
"Thcre was only one thing / could
say, and l said that" | answered,
blushing as though had just written
the letter.
A middle-aged woman in hood and
Waterproof But, dear me it was
only my face that was middle-aged,
after all; my heart was as young and
silly as ever. And as for Duncan's
face, the marks of care, and thought,
and time, fell of, leaving in it only
the eternal youth of love.
1t was the old story of a lost let
ter, and the older story of a proud
man believing himself rejected and
humilitated, and fleeing to the ends
OF the earth with his pain.
"Twenty precious years wasted -
said my New Zcalander. ave will
not be separated another day while
we both live. There is a clergyman
among our passengers, and we will be
married this very hour"
That was SO like his headlong de-
cisions Certainly he did need a So
Der second thought like me for ballast.
"That cannot be-" 1 cried; "the
ceremony wouldn't be legal without
a license or something. And l would
by no means do anything so sensa-
uOnal and conspicuous"
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