The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1874-03-27
VOLUME l.
MISCELLANY.
THROUGH THE BREAKERS.
BY NARY CECIL HAY.

Z L
those old days, was as great as it could
have been if the mothers, of whom only
sweet memories were left us, had been
one; and as if father had been Elsie's ia
ther too, instead Of having pitifully
adopted the orphan cid, and twought
her from a poor and loveless life to
share our happy home. My father, when
his own health failed, persuaded his
young partner Ito whom the mills would
entirely belong after his DEATH to come
and live with us in our great house up
on 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 voung man, my father 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 busy, noisy mills; he was one 10 be
trusted. We used to smile at the ex-
preston, which seemed to them to mean
30 much, and when Horace would join
us from the offices, what wonder was it
if we saw a new power in his handsome
face, and in his tone of genial yet ire
sistible authority? And could we warn
each other of the feeling which was
growing equally IN bOth-our hearts,
Could we always remember that for one OF
us this feeling must end in bitter and hui
initiating pain? 1t was to me that the
pam came at last; very gradually, be-
cause it took me such long, long time
to believe it after 1t was told.
I forgot how it was that there first
dawned on me the knowledge of one OF
nv fathers motives in having Horace
Capon to live now in the house which
he was eventually to occupy as master OF
the mills. / think he told me himself,
one day, saying that Horace was even
now as a son to him, the one man in all
the world to whom he could most will
lingly give his daughter; and adding
that he knew Elsie would always find Il
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
consciouss of a new shyness in my man
ner to Horace; timidity quite new TO
me, vet most natural result of that dream
which was now buried so deeply and
so fixedly in my heart. | thought FL
sic was too thoroughly wrapped up in
her own bright thoughts to notice this,
vet knew that our love for each other
then was true and unsuspicious. But
the day came at last when, after one
flash of namele<s pain, that cloud fell
slowly and heavily down between us.
/ had found Elsie sitting in the
morning sunshine, watching Horace; so
l stood above her, watching too, in si-
lence He turned at the gate for mo-
ment, to raise his hat with a smile, then
hurried on down the hill, and disappear
ed through one of the great doors of the
mills. Elsie rose then, but / was dream
ing still, just as had stood, a little way
back from the window, my eyes upon
the spot where Horace disappeared.
Margaret" said Elsie softly, pausing
as she faced me, ''your eyes look warm
and glad now; and-because Horace
could not see-you answer his smile
with one as bright as his, Then why
have you been cold to him, and dis
tant?"
"Coldr' echod in whisper, and /
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 eagerly-ah, with such pained
and breathless eagerness {!
80, Margaret,"s she cried, catching
her breath in great fearless sob, "tell
me am wrong! Say that I cannot read
that in your face! o, no, no; it is not
that y
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" 1 said, laying my cheek
upon her bright bent head, "there was
nothing in my face which need have
given you this sudden pain"
go yes" she cried, 40 Margaret, yes,
l saw"
She was weeping sorely, there with
her eyes hidden on my breast, and her
trembling fingers clasping ME even to
pain.
'Elsie, what grieves you so?'' I asked;
81 cannot understand it."
"I-I must tell you, Margarel; butt
never guessed"
"TeIl me-" whispered fondly, when
she paused.
"Horace-Horace says" she was ut
tering the words very rapidly below her
breath, and with her head dropping so
upon my breast that it was not easy to
hear Horace says-I mean he
asked me-only yesterday, to be-his
wife! o Margaret, love him more
than all the world; and vet 1 wish-I
wish"
think L put her gently from me, and
made a feint of smiling; and think
that-groping blindly in my great mis-
ery-I spent that day just as 1 had
spent other days which had been crown
ed with love and hope and pleasure. l
think that gave Horace my hand that
night and told him he would be very hap
py with Elsie; and think that it was
only Elsie who cried when they bade each
other good night. But am not sure
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 coldness came
and wrapped itself about my heart.
1t was happy and unruff1ed court
, ship, that of Horace's. My father
gave his free consent to the marriage
, opI bro.4baI No ,.,1rJ of tbot