The herald and mail. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1873-188?, 1874-04-24
THROUGH THE BREAKERS.

| YET L KNOW Iudb lu0 lOVc between us III
those old days was as great as it could
have been if the mothers, of whom on
ly sweet memories had been left'us, had
been one, and as if my father had been
Elsie's father, too, instead of having pit
fully adopted the orphan child, and
brought her from a poor and homeless
life to share our happy home. My
father, when his own health failed, per-
suaded his young partner Ito whom the
mills would entirely belong after his
death) to come and live with US in our
great house upon the hill, at the foot of
which the mills lay. So Horace Capon
came, and the whole active management
of the mills fell into his hands, and,
although he was young man, my faith
er felt the utmost confidence in him.
The master was safe in relying on Mr..
Capon, the men would sometimes say
to us, when we wandered, as we liked
to do, over the bus4e noisy mills he
was one to be trust. We used to
smile at the expression, which seemed
to them to mean so much, and, when
Horace would join us from the offices,
what wonder is it if we saw a new power
in his handsome face, and in his tone of
genial yet irresistible authority? And
could we warn each other of the feel
| ing which was growing equally in both
our hearts? Could we always remem-
Der that for one of us this feeling must
end in bitter and humiliating pain? 1t
was to me the pain came at last ; very
gradually, because it took such long,
long time to believe it after it was told
! forgot how it was that there first
dawned on me the knowledge of one
| of my fathers motives in having Hor-
ace CapOn to live now in the house
which he was eventually to occupy as
master of the mills. I think he told
me himself, one day, saying that Hor-
ace was even now as a son to him, the
one man. in all the world to whom
he could most willingly give his daugh-
ter, and adding that he knew Elsie would
always find happy home with us.
From that hour, when my dreams
lost their vagueness, and this one lay
marked out in brightest hues before me,
| was conscious of a new shyness in my
manner to Horace; timidity quite new
to me, yet the most natural result of
that dream which was buried now so
deeply and so fxedly in my heart. 1
thought Elsie was too thoroughly wrap
ped up in her own bright thoughts to
notice this, yet knew that our love for
each other then was true and unsuspi-
cious. But the day came at last when,
after one flash of nameless pain, that
cloud fell slowly and heavily down be-
tween us,
had found Elsie sitting in the morn
lug sunshine, watching Horace so 1
stood above her, watching too, in 81
lence. He turned at the gate for mo-
ment to raise his hat with a smile, then
hurried on down the hall, and disap-
peared through one of the great doors
of the mills. Elsie rose then, but was
dreaming still, Just as / had stood lit
tie ways back from the windows, my
eyes upon the spot where Horace disap-
peared.
"Margaaet," said Elsie softly, paus-
ing as she Faced me, "your eyes look
warm and glad now; and-because
Horace could not see-you answered
his smile with one as bright as his.
Then why have you been cold to him,
and distant p
"Cold?.' I echoed in a whisper, and
L could not bring my eyes back to her
face; ''Elsie, dear, you do not under
stand"
She had both her hands upon my
shoulders now, and her eyes were read
ing mine eageTly-ah, with such panied
go, Margaret" she cried, catching
her breath in great fearless sob, "tell
me 1 am wrong Say that I cannot
read that in your face o, no, no, no
is not thatr'
/ put one arm around her, wondering
that she should be so moved to read
the secret which l must have guarded
so much better than she had guarded
hers.
"Elsie, dear" I said, laying my
cheek upon her bright bent head, ''there
was nothing in my face which need have
given you this sudden pain"
so, yes" she cried, go Margaret,
yes, 1 saw"
She was weeping sorely, there with
her eyes hidden on my breast, and her
breast, and her trembling fingers clasp
ing me even to pain.
"Elsie, what grieves you SOP"
asked " 1 cannot understand it."
"I-I musttell you, Margaret but
[ never guessed"
"Tell me, II whispered fondly, when
she paused.
Horace-Horace says" she was
uttering the words very rapidly below
her breath, aud with her head dropping
so upon my breast that it was not easy
to hear them" Horace says-I mean
he asked me-only vesterday-only
yesterday, to be-h's wife o Marga-
ret, love him more than all the world /;
and yet I wish-I wish"
1 think put her gently from me, and
made a feint of smiling and / think
that-groping blindIy in my great mise
ry spent that day just as I had spent
other days which had been crowned
u-lth hAr,n
think that / gave Horace nv hand that
night and told him he would be very
happy with Elsie; and I think that it
was only Elsie who cried when we bade
each other goodnight. But / am not
sure-I am sure of nothing save the
anguished aching of my heart and head,
and how, when that had been mine for
many, many days, great lonely cold
ness came and wrapped itself about my
heart.
1t was happy an unruffled court
ship, that of Horace's. Ny father gave
his free consent to the marriage, and
breathed no word of that disappointed
plan of his and nv fathers men, who |
all loved Elsie for her bright face and |
winning ways, made her young lovers |
heart rejoice with their praises of the
wife whom he had chosen. And day by |
day it was my lot to watch this happy
courtship, living entirely apart in my
own inward life,e and growing day by
day more silent and more cold. All,
what bitter solitary time it was, ard !
what happiness and despairiug thoughts
possessed me! Why had he been given
to her :?
Sometimes / told myself that if he
had loved me best, only for one dav- 7 |
would have made it grow to such a |
strong and all-engrossing love that IL
could never change; a love beside |
which this happy and untroubled affec- |
ton that he bore to Elsie would be a
shadow only-if only the love had once
been there to take root