Bradford opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1874-1881, 1874-07-04
from his reverie; hesitatingly, in
this new fear, he told his news.

1t was not such rs would permit
. of much preparation simply that
Ray Croydon was gOne-w why, OF
} where, no one knew or could discOv
er; there was the bare fact, and
' nothing beyond.
Sylvia heard it with u calmness
that but a little before would have
satisfied her father but now an
anxiety had arisen in his mind which
would have it's way. By,and by he
returned to the subject.
"Sylvia," he said. abruptly, ''it is
more than two years since-since
all that happened.'
Sylvia bowed her head, but made
no other answer.
1.-TWO years is long time" con-
tinued her father, ''especially at
your age. My child, cannot be
with you always. If l could know
that there was some one to take my
place when | am gone" Still Syl
via did not speak, and he resumed: {:
"You know whom l mean. Sylvia,
you know that John Hastings wants
you for his wife, and that l would
gladly give you to him; for apart
from his position and fortune he is
all that | could desire for Your
husband"
"Do not ask me, tather!' cried
Sylvia, breaking in a moment from
the deceitful calm. eff Ray Croy-
don is dead, l shall never have any
husband in this worldm
"And-if he is FALSE" said her
father.
Sylvia did not answer for an in
stant.
"Then | shall never have one
anywhere" she said at length slow
ly, and there was something in her
face that silenced the words her
father had been about to speak.
There was a prophecy, it seemed,
in Colonel Darchesters speech. 1t
was not long after this that he fell
i'll, and going from worse to worse,
soon both knew that in little
white Sylvia would be alone-that
he would never rise from his sick
bed again. 1t WAS almost like her
own death sentence, for these two
had ever had such a love for each
other as nothing could come be
tween.
Now that their hours together
we're numbered, she would not re-
sign one Of them, night and day,
tending him with that quieting calm
which a breaking heart knows how
to counterfeit for loves sake. But
one midnight, when he seemed sleep
ing, and there was nothing but the
feeble glimmer Of the watch-lamp
to see the silent tears kept from
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 me-remembering the harm |
have done you.'
Sylvia looked at him anXiOusly,
fearing lest his mind was beginning
to wander.
"No," ne said, answering her look.
cit is on my concience-Sylvia, Ray
never wrote to you because | made
him promise"
"Father " cried Sylvia, springing
up with sudden, sharp wall as OF
intolerable pain; then, seeing her
agitation reflected in the sick mans
face, she forced herself into quiet,
and, sitting down by him, took his
hand and laid it against her cheek
with a fond, soothing gesture, He
gave all uneasy sigh, and resumed
after a little:
II put him on his honor to hold
no communication with you till he
could show himself prepared to
meet my conditions. You were
such Il child thought you would
forget him and do better. l wanted
you to have your chance, Sylvia"
he added almost pleadingly.
"Poor father! you did it for the
Dest,' said Sylvia, softly stroking
,he wasted hand in hers.
"God knows but it was i'll done,
SYLVIA and he sighed restlessly.
Ill done, truly Sylvia's heart
,ould not but echo it when, little
ater, Colonel Dorchester lay in his
grave, and she was all alone, whom
he might have left a strCng stay
or her desolatiOn, but whom he
lad himself taken from her. Yet
Sylvia cast 10 reproach Oh his men,