Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1874-01-20

IN dream, seeing nolhinS before me-
nothing but what had left behind-the
woman loved passionately. and in one
little hours time was to lose forever. But,
with all the passion and will that was in
me, vowed that would not lose her
thus. would fulfill the letter of my
promise TO her. would not seek, by
word or act. to sway her from her con
science; but would keep myself inform.
ed Of her movements, and contrive,
somehow, sooner or later, to be near her;
would wait for her till death, it need
were; but let her pass wholly and forever
out OF my life. l neither could nor
would.
On reaching the railway station, even
my preoccupation became aware oil some
unusual excitement. joined knot Of
eager takers, and learned that there had
been an accident 10 a passenger on one OF
the eastern trains just in. The stranger.
who, according to the general testimony,
had appeared to be in singular hurry
and excitement, had jumped off the train
before it was fairly stationary-had some
how slipped and lallen. and-hod been
taken up for dead.
| made my way to where the body WAS
lying. Ii was that OF man some thirty
years of age, evidently belonging TO The
weather classes. The face, which vas
not dsfgured. was handsome, in spite OF
the traces of passion and dissipation.
He was quite dead; they had given up
attempting TO restore him. and were
searching the body for identification.
One OF them, rs approached, had just
opened pocket book filled with papers
and marked inside with 4 name. read
the name over his shoulder: il was
James HuntleY.
Strange chapter in the strange romance
interviewer with my life, This mans
death, so sudden. so little to be looked
for, had come to cut the knot Ct all The
doubts, the difficulties. the despair which
else might have envelopcd the whole
future ot two lives! 1t seemed 10 me
that il ever | saw The finger OF Destiny in
any human event. | saw ii there.
| waited only long enough to make sure
that there WAS no mistake, and then |
hurried back TO Miss Knowles--to Miss
Knowles ?-that is. to Mrs. Huntley.
Yes, for the first time, realized that it
was a husbands dreadful death that
was Fastening to communicate to his
newly made widow, and shrunk from
my task
knocked gently at her door. She
opened it, and seeing me. looked at me
for the first moment IN silent surprise !;
then putting the natural Interpretation Of
her own absorbing thought on my return.
so much before the time set, she cried
out am too late, then, after all? He
is here already"
"You have nothing more TO fear from
him." said, gravely trying to break the
shock to her by degrees. But she did
not understand.
Nothing to fear, do you mean, from
Iron my husband'" she said, slowly,
with perplexed look in her face.
"You have nothing more to lear from
the man who was your husband" >" repeat
ed distinctly. This time she caught my
meaning. She grew white, and her lips
trembled so that she could scarcely
articulale the words. Tell me-"
gave her the briefest and most soft.
ened outline possible OF what had hap
pened. She stood like stone. only her
face showing that she heard. Inever
saw in any human countenance such an
expression as that in hers while she
listened-pity. relief, awe, all struggling
together. Then she moved her lips, but
l heard nothing; suddenly she dropped
to the floor and buried her lace in the
sofa cushions, while q voice should not
have known Tor hers said: "Go-leave
me alonem
had no words for such emotions as
hers in that moment; could only obey
her in silence.
As l walked away, my mind going
over all that occurred could not help
recalling the old saying, that man pro-
poses, and God disposes. This scheme
OF Websler's, laid with such malice and
treachery-we had reason aitcrward TO
think that he had access TO her writing
desk, and 50 discovered her secret-ihis
plot, say. on which he had counted to
crush her utterly; had been the instru
ment, in the hands of a mysterious
Providence, OF working her deliverance;
working it alter terrible manner. it is
true, but not the less freeing her future
from its Iie. long shadow.
pass by all history of those sad days,
OF sadness if not of mourning-the
months OF seclusion and waiting-to a
time when | could claim her for my own
before the eyes of the world. and call my
neighbor, my friend, by the dearest name
of wife.
Eleanor" said to her on our wedding
day asking the inevitable question which
every lover since Adams time has asked
"tcll me, when did you begin to care for
me?"
George" she answered, looking at
me with the sunshiny smile in which
there was never any ice now. "do you