Richland beacon., 1873-05-17
poetry of notion" and the SEEM

6ppOrtunity was lost.
Oh, if she could but have told me, how
gladly would have been her friend
What was il stopped the flow of her con.
fidence? Why were words denied her:
Did she fear me, or herself or others
Poor thing she could not speak; it was
impossible. She could not do it !; realize
it now. And when you reach the cOnclu-
sion Of my story, you, too, will under
stand why it was impossible for her then
to have spoken.
But when, after some weeks residence
there, | had gained the goodwill of my
simple-minded but kindly little landladv,
l cautiously ventured TO ask her to crafty
my not, l think, unnatural curiosity; but
| found, to my surprise, she knew but
little more than | did myself.
"She came to me-" she said, "just at
the edge OF the evening, one cold rainy
night. and | could not refuse to give her
shelter, at least for the night, or till she
could do better. | did not think of her
remaining but she is so pretty and gen
tie and imocent-loOking, | could not turn
her out of my hOuse--cOuld |, now? l
know am silly in such ways; but what
could dO?''
I" But is it possible l said, "that she
has remained here ever since, and you
! knOthlng more about her!"
"No more than you do yourself, gem
eral," said Mrs. Honeywell. 81 do not
even know where she lived before she
came here. | cannot question her, and
now, indeed, have become so fond of
her should not be willing to part with
her; and would not turn her and her
little ones out of my house for the world ~
Farther conversation elected the fact
that she was not bOarder, but that she
and her little ones were the dependents
upon Mrs. HoneywOld's charity. "But
! | don't call it charity" said the kind little
woman. 81 am sure she more than earns
her living, poor thing, by what she does
about the house. Why. | shouldn'tknow
low to do without her. ~
What those important services might be
which were accepted as equivalent to the
board of three l did not feel justified in
asking; but am sure it was no servile
labor she performed. and no menial sta
ton she held; for, though l sometimes
met her coming out of the chambers, or
saw her going down the basement stairs,
her dress was always the perfection OF
neatness, and in perfect order, while my
good landlady herself, though always
clean and respectable, was apt sometimes,
poor woman to look little-just little
heated, and tumbled, and en- deshabille.
| But why do | linger over the trifiing
details? Only, believe, because l have
a natural shrinking from reaching the
tragical denouement of my story. But it
must be reached, and it is useless to loitsr
thus on the way.
One fine summer day had made an ap-
pOintment with friend to drive out to his
place in the envirOns of the city and dine
with him, returning in the evening.
When l came down in the afternoon,
dressed for my excursion, | went into the
dining-rOOm to tell Mrs. Honeywell she
need not wait tea for me. AS | came
back through the parlor she was there
alone. She was sitting on the sofa. A
book lay near her, but do not think she
had been reading. She was sitting per-
fectly still. as if lost in reverie, and her
eyes looked heavy with sleep or thought,
But as passed out of the room looked
back. / saw she had risen to her feet, and
standing with her graceful figure drawn
up to its full height, she was looking after
me, with look which | flattered myself
was a look of interest. Ah, how well l
remember that look!
The day had been a beautiful one,
though sultry; but in the early evening
we had heavy thunder shower, the viO-
lence of the summer rain delaying my re-
turn to the city for an hour or two; and
when the rain ceased, the evening was
still starless, cloudy, and damp; and as
drove back to town l remember that the
night air, although somewhat freshened
by the rain, was warm, and heavy with
the scent of unseen flowers.
1t was late when l reached the quiet
steet where l had taken up my abode, and
as mounted the steps l invOluntarily felt
for my night-key, but, to my surprise, l
found the hall door not only unfastened,
but little way opened.
"Why, how, is this, Mrs. HOneywOld?"
I said, as my landlady met me in the hall.
| ''Do you know that your street-dOor was
left open?'
"Yes," she said, quietly, 81 know it,"
"But is it safe ?' said, as l turned to
lock the door land 80 late tool"
~ do not think there was any danger"
she said. 81 was on the watch; was in
the hall myself waiting"
"Not waiting for me, hope !" said !;
s'that was surely unnecessary"
mo, not for you," she answered. 81
presume you can take care of yourself; :;
but" she added, in low tone, "she is
out, and was waiting to let her in"
''Out at this time Of night! that seems
strange! Where has she gOne?'
| II 10 not knOW.
"And how long has she been gomez" l
asked, as hung up my hat.
'I cannot tell just what time she went
out" she said; ''Iknow she was in the gar
den with the little ones, and came in just
before tea. After they had had their supper
and zone to bed l saw her in the parlor
alone, and when l came into the room
again she was gone, and she has not re-
1 turned, and L"
"Oh, then she went out before the rain,
did she %
"Yes, Sir; some time before the rain" !"
"Oh, then that explains it; she was
probably caught out by the rain, and took
shelter at some friends, and mas been
persuaded to stay. There is nothing to
be alarmed at you had better not wait up
another moment"
"But don't like to shut her out, gen.
eral; should not sleep wink
"Nonsense! nonsense J" l said. $50
to bed, you silly woman; you will hear
her when she comes, of course, and can
come down and let her in" And so say
! ing, retired to my own room.
The next morning, at breakfast, no
ticed that my landlady was looking pale
and troubled, and l felt sure she had spent
a sleepless night.
"Well, Mrs. Honeywold," l said, with