The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1874-03-12
THE OLD LETTERS.


80, Elsie What must / do? There
comes that odious Clifton again.
My child, refuse to see him; surely
you are not obliged to receive hin
! whenever he chooses to come here p
sob, nurse, you cannot understand
I must submit to that mans imperti
nenee,"
"Indeedl I cannot understand why
| this should be the case, aud you aston
| ish me when you say so. I have thought
| that this NJ C}'ffon's calls were sc
| frequent, thar Df. Reed. your betrOthed
husband, might not be pleased"
'' must conide the hnmiliating Sc
eret to you, mamma Elsie. Years aQn,
my Own impruaeRse placed me in that
bold, bad mans power. But listen
| that is his ring at the dOOr-belI. viii
see him this evening, but, Elsie, this
shall be the last interview / viii ever
grant him. Tonight I VIII tell you
all. !"
/" Ny poor dearie I fear some youth.
fUl folly Is about to ripen into bitter
! frnit that you cannot easily put away.
| Aud motherly old Elsie sighed deeply
/ as the lady followed the servant.
1t was hours after. The evening had
grown into night when Sybil Bond crept
back up the stairs to her old nurse,
whom she knew would be waiting for
| her. Crossing the room to the window
where Elsie sat in the shimmering light
of the full moon, she sank on the floor
at her side, burying her face in the
folds of her dress.
Caressingly smoothing the dark hair
of her pet, Elsie watched until the
storm had spent its fury, and only an
4 : l. e
slight form told the mental anguish she
was enduring.
q Tell me, dearie, what troubles you
so greatly"
AZ Mamma Elsie, bear with me even as
you have always borne my waywardness
since my mother placed her twelve
hours old babe IN your arms and went
to heaven"
so, Sybil, my dear young lady, 1t
was precious charge, coming as it did
from my dear young mistress in her
early bereavement, as you know your
sainted mother followed her idolized
husband to his last home in one short
week after his sudden death"
Elsie, do you remember the sum-
mer we passed at your sisters beautiful
prairie home ?"
"FulI well. my dear; it was your
fifteenth summer you we're rather deli
cate, and thought perhaps the country
air might be beneficial to you.
You will remember that although /
did not like going, soon became we'll
pleased with the place, and liked stay
ing so well that did not ask to come
back to the city till fall, when I sud.
denly insisted on en- immediate return.
Yes, remember. "
Z" Well, nurse, it was there I met
Warren Clifton. I was young. roman
tic, and easily Gsttered by his atten-
tions. I pronounced to his wife. After
we had returned home, had time TO
think of my folly, and, after a few
months of childishly romantic CORE.
spondence, I wrote to him. asking to be
released from my engagement, and re-
questing that he would return all my
letters. This he refused to do"
The c)wardly rascal 70 cried Elsie.
g wrote again and again but to my
entreaties he returned the same answer.
Then I went abroad, you remember,
and met DR.. Reed. 1 loved him, and
promised to be his wife, hoping that
Clifton had forgotten me, or had learned
to be generous. You see how mistaken
I was. On learning the news of my en-
gagement, that bad man came here and
threatened to show my foolish, senti-
mental letters to DR.. Reed if / do not
instantly break my engagement and
marry him.
Sybil burst into tears, and ceased
speaking, while Elsie soothingiy said /:
'fThere, there, child, do not grieve So
He's bad man, to be sure, but you We
nothing to be really ashamed of, after
all. Tell DR.. Reed the whole story,
and he'll not be the man to Judge a
mere child harshly."
A look of horror appeared on SYPHILIS
pale face.
''TelI DIR. Reed You know not
what you ere talking of, Elsie. He has
told me, over and over again, that he
would marry no woman who loved an
other man. And will he not despise me
for not telling him the truth until
forced to do so d? He win not under
stand that never really loved Warren
Cliff after reading those dreadful
letters. No, cannot tell him"
depend upon it, dear child, it is the
best thing TO do, " argued Elsie.
No, no Never speak of such thing
to me again. If he must know it, I viii
not be the one who tells him that which
could only cause him to scOrn me. To
morrow afternoon we must be ready 70
go from here. In the interim, we will
catch few hours sleep. And, nurse.
besure you areready. Now goodnight.
And, kissing her old friend affectionately,
Sybil arose, and walked slowly out of
the room.
"She shall not commit this last folly,
if have yet any wits about me, said
Elsie, determinedly.
She caught up light shawl, and has
tily throwing it over her head, left the
room, but paused a the stairway in
the hall, counting the strokes of the
clock.
Twelve, she muttered.
She listened a moment, and then
passed on down TO the hall leading TO
the front door. Standing on the out
side, she looked eagerly up the village
street.
"There is a dim light, and his buggy
is at the door. . I must hurry, or I'll be
too late" And she walked briskly mp
the street.