The interior journal. [volume] (Stanford, Ky.) 1872-1881, 1874-12-25

I never imagined that wings would grow
out Of her sides; | liked her round
plump arms great deal better. never
supposed for one moment that she hadn't
faults, and plenty Of them too, but she
was something better than angelica
good, honest, warm-hcartcd, pure-mindcd
New England girl, whom hoped some
day to WOO and win for my faithful
wife, and didn't want to do any thing
which I should have to keep secret from
her any thing that would make II hard
work to look her In the face when
asked her TO love me. You are not a young
man, Edith and my opinion about the
matter won't be much help to you; but
! do assure you there is nothing which
regulates youngsters life like an early
attachment to good girl.
al wasn't the least bit melancholy,
though I was separated three years from
home and Rhoda, was learning my bust
ness and doing we'll. There were plenty
Of new things to hear and sights to see.
No true man, or woman either, lives
wholly in their love. There are in life
other pleasures and duties; mind to en-
rich, body to strengthen, social affections
to cultivate. I tried to do all these. !
believe there were whole days when did
not even think Of Rhoda, but always at
night found quiet hour to think over
what steps was making in life, and then
she was always present with me. She
seemed to come naturally into my deep
est thoughts. felt some way rs II she
belonged to me. She was only fifteen
when had seen her last, and the fear
that any body else would improve the
time was losing in winning her away
from me never entered into my mind. I
felt sure of going back some day and find
ing her as had left her, with her sweet,
untroubled face--ber warm, unclaimed
heart.
al had been three years away from
home. II had seemed long time but,
strong as my afecsons were, my will
was stronger, and would not go back
to Moor Farm until could see my way
clear. That time had come, and leaving
my business in friendly hands, went
North to spend long summer. My
heart was full of hope. HAD enugh now
to offer Rhoda Fairbanks more of luxury
than her unselfsh nature and active
habits would ever have demanded. l
had an Unborn love myself for the pompe
anil vanities. l liked to be surrounded
by elegant things, to live delicately.
Above all, I wanted to see my wife al
ways charming and beautiful. After she
was mine no household care must soil her
raiment, no toll harden her fair hands.
They have made a good many pies and
cakes since, those hands, and have en-
joyed eating them, but did not contem-
plate such commonplace pleasures then.
/ liked to think how free from care
Rhoda's life should be; how dainty her
apparel; how diamonds should glitter on
her fingers. ] carried one home. 1t
should be our engagement ring, so
hoped.
"Such fancies-they were not strange
ones for a young man Of twenty-four-
beguiled my homeward journey. /
reached Moor Farm in safety, and found
my parents unchanged, save an added
frost in my fathers hair. There was no
frost in his kindly heart. The next day
Invent to see Rhoda Fairbanks. Thoughts
Of her had been so constantly my COM
panions during my absence, that felt
nearer to her than when l left, and almost
expected from her a lovers welcome.
"When | saw her | started with sur
prise. To say should not have known
her would be an idle cxaggeration. /
think nothing, in three years time, could
I so change woman whom a man truly
loved, that his heart would not recognize
her. Still, there had been great
change from the girl of fifteen from whom
l had parted, to the woman Of eighteen
who met me at the door. She was GER
tainly not less lovely, though she had
lost the lightheartedness of youth. Her
eyes were no longer full of dancing mer-
.riment, of smiles coming and going like
light. Her step was slower, her manner
quieter, her voice lower and fuller of pa
thos. II seemed to me that she had been
growing away from me during these years
Of absence. Still she greeted me with
country hospitality and the full-hearted
kindness of an old friend.
during the summer that followed !
spent much Of my time in her society.
She was always kind, always friendly,
but missed something the old warmth
from her manner. 1t was rashness when
at length ] offered her my hand. She
surely had given me no encouragement,
but reflected that she was surely not q
woman TO be won unsought. ! remem-
Der well the hour and the scene. My
heart has outgrown many old wounds, or
could not tell you this. II was an af-
ternoon in the late summer, and | found
Rhoda sitting with her work under the
old locust tree in her fathers garden. !
sat down beside her, and we began to
talk about my life at the South, until
finally told her eyerythfng-how had
succeeded in business beyond my hopes;
how the thought Of her had kept my
heart warm; the memory of her, under
God, preserved me from sin; how had
dreamed during all these years of the
time when she should share prosperity
with me, and then ! asked her to he my
wife.
"She turned toward me her sad, sweet
face. A look of tender pity was in her
dewy eyes. Her voice was low and gen
tie, but oh, how sad She said:
go | must show you my heart, Nathan.
1t will be best you should understand
why the honor you offer me can never be
mine Once il mipht have haen a tIe rent