The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1874-05-21

/ AOlso1O1u care G16 haQ none Her life
had been passed in perpetual pleasure.
seeking, with no call for sacrifice.
But the letter, the fateful letter. told
the tender husband that the wealth he
had held 50 carelessly for years was
gone IN one great commercial crash
one hour man of riches, the next a
/ pauper. 1t was all gone, his lawyer
wrote, and the sale of EImsgrove, his
nome, would scarcely cover the habili-
ties incurred in the past three years.
Edith Edith That was the cry of
the mans heart. His darling who had
been shielded from every rude blast.
! who had known only the brightest side
/ OF life under his care, who had married
| him for money, perhaps !
Had she married him for money ?
| The thorn, once planted, stung him
sorely. He was not vain man, but he
had thought his love, so devoted, so
true, had won a return. Money had
been to him, all bis life, so small con-
sideration, never feeling its want, that
he had never taken it into considera-
ton, except to be glad il was his to give
Edith every indulgence And now the
hateful thought rose, and pressed him
sOrely, that Edith married him for what
he had lost, and ceuld give her no
longer
A rattling at the door-handle, voice
calling his name, reused him from his
moody misery. and he drew back the
bolt to admit Edith.
=" just in time to dress for dinner %
she cried, coming in. 81 stayed down
stairs till the last minute. Shall / ring
for Mary, Edward, or" She looked
in her husbands face. edward, what
is the matter ?"
An impulse, a cruel one, prompted
him to test her then and there, and he
put his lawyers letter In her hand. In
a moment, before she had smoothed the
crumpled sheet, he repented, and drew
near her to catch her if she tainted, and
to console her if she wept. She read
it all. The light of merriment in her
face softened to a sweet, earnest gravi-
ty, and some of the rich color faded
from her cheeks. Her voice was very
tender as she said, "I'm so sorry for
you, Edward You will miss your
library, your books. Perhaps we can
save some of them for you"
But you, Edithl" he said, amazed.
"I? Mr.. Morrell tells you, espe-
cially, that my property is safe. A hun
dred a year" she said, with a silvery
laugh. How little it is, compared
with what you had but I have seen a
time before when a hundred a year
seemed positive wealth"
"But, Edith, child you do not un-
derstand. I have lost everything. 1
can no longer give you diamonds, laces,
Yelvets. 1 cannot carry you from place
to place, wherever the whim sends us.
II can give you nothing"
His face was ashy white, and his eyes
rested upon his wife with piteoas, i'm
plOring look, as if entreating her par
don for some wrong. She put her arms
about him, and drew him down beside
her upon a sofa. Then she rested her
head upon his broad shoulder, and put
her hand in his before she spoke,
Edward, my husband" she said,
gently " do not grieve for me. I never
Owned jewels till you gave them to me.
was brought up in a school of COM
parative poverty. The income my
father left me was gathered together at
a cost of privation and hardship can
never describe to you. When my father
died you came. I was never in house
so beautiful as Elmsgrove. I never had
any one to speak to me so kindly as you
spoke. My father had given me an
education, and my teachers we're fond
of me, but he seldom spoke to me. I
was a desOlate child"
'' Edith Edith " her husband said,
tenderly.
"Then you took me home. You
spoke to me so gently; you cared to
have me near you. You "-Edith's
tears were falling fast" you loved me.
down to love poor little me. Edward,
nobody ever loved me IN all my life but |
you. You gave me every wish of my
heart but all the pleasures, all the |
indulgences, were nothing beside your
love-"
Edward Lancaster was too much |
moved to speak. Never before had |
Edith torn the veil from her heart as /
she was doing now, and the certainty /
he was rapidly gaining that she had /
given love for love was a happiness too |
overpowering to find vent in words.
"Aud yet" Edith said softly, "there
was always one wish ungratified. Do |
not think I uudervalue all the sacri- /
fees you have made for me. I appre-
ciate the care for me that has made You
leave your home, your books, to take
me about in the gay world. 1 saw that 1
it made you happy to have me dress
to have me invited into
society and enjoy its pleasures. But in
all these three years / have scarcely |
we could be all in all to each other
where no claim to the gay world should
come between us. Not a grand home,
with servants to perform each task, but
a home YOUR wife could beautify with /
her own hands. Now we will find one,
my husband. I am longing to show
you hcw nicely 1 can cook how daintily
I can clean a room. While you read, /
will work and in the evening we Will
sit together in our tiny sitting room,
and be far happier than we are in these
hotels. And, Edward, if we
are very saving, we can buy back your
books. There are all my jewels, surely
they will buy some.
Edith, stop My own happiness be-
wilders me. You love me like that
You will be happy in poor home cook
ing and working for me
Edith lifted her shining, dark eyes
to the noble face bending over her. and /
drew dewn her husbands head till her
lips touched his.
Z" love you 4 love you she whis-
pered. "Eove will make all labor /
light if It is for You "
There was CONSERVATION in the gay /
circle of Edith's friends when, the next /
dav, she was missed from among them. |
were wild regarding the /
sudden disappearance of the brilliant
star of society, and many were the pity /
ing words lsvished upon her when /
Edward Lancaster's losses were known. |
But the little wife neither knew of the
pity nor asked sympa by. Her husband |
accepted a professorship in a college, |
and little house was taken and fur |
nished for the home Edith craved.
The beauty that had made Edith a |
star in the most brilliant circles of soci- |
ETY. lost nothing in her husbands eyes |
when il was the home-light after his |
days of college work. In her quiet |
dresses, without glittering gems, Edith ]
was as lovely as she had ever been in |
her costly ball or dinner toilettes; and /
the little hands that could rest idle IN |
luxury, glitter with valuable rings, and |
fash over the piano keys, we're busy |
from dawn to sunset In the hOuse-work |
that women find ever waiting them.
Edward Lancaster was never very |
poor, and Edith never knew again the |
wants and cares of her girlhood but |
the wealth he had lost was not restored, !