The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1874-05-01
VOLUME 2.

much preparation; simply that Ray
/ Croydon was gone-why, or where, no
one hnew, or could discover; there was
! the bare fact, and nothing beyond.
Sylvia heard it with a calmness that,
but little before, would have satisfied
he, father; but now an anxiety had
| arisen in his mind that would have its
way BY and by he returned to the sub
iect.
Sylvia" he said abruptly, ''it's more
than two years since-sinee all that hap
pened."
Sylvia bowed her head, but made no
other answer.
Two years Is long time" continued
her father, especially at your age. My
child, 1 cannot be with you always. If
| could know that there was some one
to take. my place when / am gone"
Still, Sylvia did not speak, and he re-
sumed: "You know whom l mean, Syl-
via, you know that John Hastings wants
you for a wife, and that would gladly
give you to him, for apart from his for
tune and position, he is all 1 could de-
| sire for your husband"
"Do not ask me, father~ cried Sylvia,
breaking, in a moment, from that de-
ceitful calm "If Ray Croydon, is dead,
| | shall never have any husband in this
world!''
"And-if he is false?" said the father.
| Sylvia did not answer for an instant.
"Then shall never have one-any-
where" she said at length, slowly; and
there was something in her face that si-
| lenced the words her father had been
about to speak.
There was a prophecy, it seemed, in
Colonel Darcbester's speech. It was not
very long after this that he fell i'll, and,
| going from worse to worse, soon both
| knew that in a little while Sylvia
would be all alone-that he would never
rise from his sick-bed again. 1t was al
most like her own death-sentence, for
these two had ever had such a love for
each other as nothing could come be-
.
we're numbered, she would not resign
one of them, night and day tending him
with that quietting calm which break
ing heart knows how to counterfeit for
loves sake. But one midnight, when he
seemed sleeping, and there was nothing
but the feeble glimmer of the watch
lamp TO see the silent tears kept back
from the daylight, lest they should
trouble him, she saw his eyes open and
fix on her face.
Don't cry like that child" he said,
feebly; "you make it harder for mere
membering the harm | have dane you."
{ Sylvia looked at him anxiously, fear
ing that his mind was beginning to wan
der.
"No," he said, answering ner looks,
at is heavy on my conscience-Sylvia,
Ray never wrote to you because l made
him promise
"Father" cried Sylvia, springing up
with sudden sharp wall as of intolera-
BILE pain; then seeing her agitation re-
fected in the sick mans face, she forced
herself into qniet, and, sitting down by
him, took his hand and laid it against
> her cheek with fond, soothing gesture
. He gave an uneasy sigh, and resumed
after little:
FI put him on honor to hold no COM
munication with you till he could show
1, Il Il
You were such child thought you
|, would forget him and do better. want
> ed you to have chance, Sylvia, he add
ed almost pleadingly.
"Poor fatherl you did it for the best,
e said Sylvia, softly stroking the wasted
hand in hers.
n sGod knows!-but it was i'll done, Syl
VIA" and he sighed again restlessly.
i III done, truly! Sylvia's heart coulc
s not but echo it when, a little later, Col
) onel Dorchester lay in his grave, and sh'
>, was all alone. Her father was gone, anC
e Ray was gone, whom he might have lef
l. strong stay for her desolation, bu
whom he had himself taken from her
, Yet Sylvia cast no reproach on his mem
e ory, not even in that trying hour whel
she took, from the place he had indicat
If ed, the little bundle of letters, with thei
"a unbrolen seals, just as she had give
/ them to him. She opened one of them
II but as her eye by chance fell on tn
It words, 81 will wait for you, Ray, all M
10 life, if it need be-" she closed it agai
,- heartily; she could not bear to recall al
re that might have been hers, and neve
% could be now; she thought, with a sud
/ den, passionate yearning for death, tha
n. she was barely twenty. and that life
ve times waiting might be a very long one
tn she looked shudderingly along the Who'll
,e. blank stretch of years, with no love
IN shorten them.
But there was latent strength in Sy
in Was softness that forbade her to Ii
es down and die. The first intolerable al
IT. guish over, she took up her cross agail
lis and faced the weary road, neither wit
a defiance nor despair, but with that quiz
IL patience which grows with the burdel
er Withal, it was doubtless we'll for hc
nd that other cares came to occupy he
. Colonel Darchester's pension ceased wit
or his death, and he could leave his daugl
;or ter little beside the tiny house with i
at, strip of garden that had been his speci
re care. Sylvia could not live on roses al
Ter dew; she must bestir herself to salts
in the unsympathetic body, which will n
,r- resign one of its prosaic wants, howev
ed the soul may hunger and faint. Fort
ire nately in her case, the wants were of Il
ID, simplest, and provided for without dif
i'm Guilty.
of So two more years slipped by. Sylv
so was twenty-five, girl still yet as far 7
be- moved from all girlish things as if
nel score had been added to her age. n
,u that she had grown old, if the bloom
red girlhood was gone, its freshness and so
IN ness remained. And, indeed, she HI