The weekly Shasta courier., 1873-02-01

and hardness of her voice and eyes. She
turned quietly to me.
ANNIE" she said, in peculiar tone
low, cold and biting" Annie, we we're dis
cussing two books the last day that Percy
was here" And she named the volumes.
Which was it that you said you preferred ?
There was nothing left me but to MUIR
mur the name. l did so almost under nv
breath.
i" said my sister and glanced from
my burning face to her lovers. "Was the
book bought for me, Percy?"
For you, dear Margaret" said Percy
gently.
1t is unfortunate then," she answered
coldly, that you have mistaken and
brought Annie's choice. For my part,
dislike the author. And Annie / am sure
would accept nothing at second hand"
Saying these words, she leaned forward
quietly, and laid the superb volume upon
glowing fire. An exclamation escaped my
lips, and | half rose instinctively. But q
movement of Margaret's hand held me back
and kept silent.
And so, without speaking, three unhappy
beings sat and watched the book smouldel
and blacken, until fame taking pity upon
it caught its tinted leaves and whirled them
In gray ashes up the warm current of air.
Then Margaret rose, and bidding Percy
good night, walked quietly away. And
without word to me, he also left the room
and the house at once.
After that, never saw him again until
the fatal evening which l have now to de
scribe for resolutely following the course
marked out for myself, l no sooner heard
his knock at the door than left the room
If saw him coming, fed: if heard his
footsteps, that also was the signal for depar
ture. But, despite all this, my sister could
not forgive me. She knew nothing of the
sleepless nights of anguish and tears that
testified to my double grief. She could not
guess the struggle that l waged with my
heart for her sake; nor could she know how
deadly to me was the victory over myself
whose only result seemed the necessity for
renewed warfare. She looked upon me on
ly as the foe of her happiness perhaps its
destroyer-and she could not forgive me
One stormy afternoon I sat in my own
room, busy with my own thoughts, trying
though vainly to distract them by the work
that l held in my listless fingers; and so sit
ting, and so thinking l heard my sister
moving about in the room below. | know
not what arrow from heaven shot into my
soul that sudden horror of our present es-
arrangement, and Of our unhappy, unsisterly
life. But | felt suddenly that | could bear
it no longer. l rose and went down stairs
intending to pour out all my heart to Mar
garet, and beg her help me to find another
place to 60 to-some distant, busy spot
where | might remain until she was mar
ried, and happily married /; for l fully believ-
ed that the impression made by pretty face
would very soon fade away when its possess
or was no longer present, and when my Sis
ter's real gentle nature and womanly sweet
ness might reassert themselves.
But when reached the sitting room ]
found, to my amazement, that my sister
cloaked and, hooded, was just leaving the
house. l hardly dared to demonstrate, but
gathered courage. implored her to listen
to the fierce sounds outside, and not tempt
death by exposure to such a storm.
1.-The storm is no more to me than the
sunshine. she answered, and moved away.
But at the door she turned, fastening her
BILE, Annie, that you would prefer my life to
my death?" she asked I burst into tears.
That was cruel. l could not answer her
one word. "My death would be better for
both of us-for both Of u.s." she said slowly
more to herself than to me. "But death
seeks the blessed. Annie. Don't fear that
1T will come near me-" And, staying for
neither question nor entreaty, she closed the
door behind her, seeking relief, perhaps, in
that wild scene for heart more tossed and
stormy still.
sat down in the nearest chair, and bur
led my face in my hands. My tears fell
fast fast. made no effort to govern my
self. l saw no hope in the future nor help
in the present; and, sobbing bitterly, deliv-
cred myself up to my grief.
knew not of the presence of any one un-
til my hands were gently withdrawn from
my face by fingers as cold as death. Lift
ing my head with startled cry, I met the
gaze Of Psrcy's hunted eyes, looking
down eagerly upon me from his white and
haggard face.
For Gods sake. don't cry 30, Annie !"
he said.
sprang from my seat with a sickeniue
terror. If Margaret should come She
would never believe that the meeting had
not been planned would never believe but
that he had watched and waited for the
chance Of finding me alone. "Oh, Percy !"
gasped, and tried to draw my hand from
his clasp in vain.
cannot tell you the mad words he utter
ed: he threw himself upon his knees beside
me, and kisses and hot tears fell from nv
hands, and wild prayers that dared not lis
ten to assailed my heart. "Percy Percy
let me gol let me go!" That was all /
could say and even these words scarce
came from sobs. He will not her me.
at will be once, forever" he said. "On-
ly once, Annie But that once ,ciu tell YOU
that love you aciH tell you that whatever
sacrifice / make is made to duty and honor.
love you, and love you only. ] can never
love any other than she who now looks up-
on me with those angel eyes that are she'd
ding tears upon me-tears, thank God that
acknowledge my love and pity my despair +"
cannot recall by what slow degree l won
him to sane humor-to shame, that he had
so betrayed himself and my sister, and, alas |!
myself. But at last he was calm.
The gay afternoon was waning the deem
twilight rapidly shutting from view the
stormy sky. Bnt all the vast sounds-the
rush Of the angry rain-charged wind, the
commotion in the forests surrounding us, as
sured US that the night would be worthy of
the terrible day. The freight, growing
brighter as the day declined, flashed softly
about the room, as he rose to depart. He
took my hand again. but now as brother
might take it.