The workingman's advocate. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1864-1877, 1874-12-19
CHICAGO DETROIT AND CINCINNATI SATURDAY DECEMBER 49,

No. answered coldly.
"He started, and looked at me with
strange pleading glance. l leant baal
against the window, playing with the -
sal Of the blind, waiting for him 10 spoak
Eleanor, ] cannot in honor break q,
promise with you'll am willing to fnE
It; but, Eleanor, do not love you. Cd
mire you, respect you; but / have fouAt
out my mistake in thinking that i lovts
YOU
Were they not cruel words, Maggie
And / loved him--oh, now well, hos
truly-and our marriage was but two daf
thence. But / would not relieve hin
from his promise-I could not, l wouE
nOt-and answered-
"'You can break the promise You gay|
me if you please, Mr.. Carlyle, but 1 shsI
never doso.'
'Thsn ii shAll not be brohan, he "
turned. -
He left the room, and stood ut tn,
window looking out into the night till tn
house was still.
''Our marriage-day dawned, a COLDER
balmy day, so sweet and bright; it ssemet
to accord but ill with the vows that wsr'
to be spoken, and longedSfor clouds Il
shadow the sunshine. A great man,
friends and relatives were gathered here
Your mother came, but Eva did not
had not seen her since that evening, but I
note came asking me to excuse her. Sh'
was very unwell she said-con6ned to ha
room. 1t was a loving note, wishing M
all happiness, and cried over it;they wer,
the first tears | had shed for months.
almost made up my mind to break the en-
gagement of, but my pride still kept mn
back. 1 could not marry a maR that did
not love me, but | could not bear thu
sneers and comments of my friends. Sc
the hours passed on.
II was dressed in my bridal array and
stood beside the altar, with my hand in
Roberts, and his white stern face looking
far away beyond me. All, who among thi
gay circle round us guessed how misersh<
we were} What bitter mOckeries tiN
congratulations were when we gathered8 \
the vestry and | signed my name q
Eleanor Carlyler | can remember moth
ing more distinctly. We rode home 4
perfect silence, but when he handed ms
from the carriage, he said kindly
+" Do you feel ill, EleanorF' Il
"'No, thank you, | answered, but 4
did not wonder at his asking me when
looked in the glass. My face was as whit
as my dress, but for one vivid spot b
scarlet on the cheeks, and my eyes werl
flushed with fever light
THE breakfast passed as most wedding
breakfasts do. A long dreary mOckery il
was, like all else that day; yet | was sor
ry when it was over, and | went to put Oh
my travelling dress. Your mother came
with me. All, Maggie dear, you are sc
like her! j loved her as dearly as though
she was my sister, indeed. She did moi
say much to me; | saw she knew | waa
not happy, though l laughed and chatted
excitedly. i went down 90 have one lmi
look at the dear rooms-for we were "a
ing abroad The library was my fAvorits
room. a il ia nnwA- AnA i u~sssG-sn-shSse s<l
stood at one Of the windows trying to @
my burning brow. | did not notice ID
husband, who had been standing at enc b
the other windows, but he crossed over "
me. He was aboutto speak, when suddeN
ly through the air came the tolling Of y
bell-the passing bell of WOodscot chapes
which was rung only for one of the Lsne&
One-two-three, the strokes sounded on
and we counted them with nam eless tef.
ror in our hearts, till the nineteenth died
away in silence; then knew that Eva wa,
dead.
. L sank down by the window, covered
my face with my hands, and heard my hus
band leave the room without one word tc
me. Then all was a blank, and | know
nothing more till | found myself in my
room, and, raising my weak head, saw
from the window that the beeches on tn,
lawn were bare and brown, and that low
gloomy clouds were sweeping over the sea
| had been asleep, but mother was by my
side weak and dying as she was, she hac
watched and nursed me during my illness
for had been very ill the excitemen
had brought oD brain fever, and for week
they thought | was going to die. Little b.
little learnt the event that had happened
since my wedding-da Eva had indeed
died died Of a broken heart knew
though the doctors called it by anothe
name. My husband had stayed at Alb
bottslyp till danger was over, and then h,
had gone away. | did not see him-I dit
not wish to see him-and l wrote him
letter asking him to make arrangement
for our living apart from each other.
II have not seen him since, Maggie
He went abroad after arranging that Alb
botslyn should be my home as long as
lived, but he did not write to me he lef
England without one word to me, and
have not seen him since"
Maggie's eyes grew dim with tears at tn
quiet misery of her aunt's speech an
she gently clasped her hand around tn
white jeweled one lying on Mrs. Carlyle
dress
You know the rest of my story, Maggi
how your mother came here to live wit
you, and how she died and my father afte
her My little girl, | think should hav
died too had it not been for yon and fo
Guy the fresh pure happiness and Low
of your lives has kept my heart green TO
all its sorrow. But, do not wonder at nm,
being harsh and naughty sometimes
Maggie, | have not conquered my pride
1t is the ruling passion Of my life still. >
"Poor auntie r Maggie laid her chez
on Mrs. Carlyle's lap, and looked up int
her face. / wish there could DE goo
ending to your story"
"There will be good ending to it whe
Guy comes home, and there is = weddin
again in Abbotslyn, my dear. That in tn
only good ending, and that will come
please Providence and, if not-but ths
is too sorrowful an it, See, Maggie, tn
clouds are drifting away, and sunlight
on the sea. Go and put on your thing,
and We will 60 down to the Rectory, an
call ON Mrs. OswOld. And Maggie, Leve
speak of what have told you-I onl
wished to draw your mind from your ew
sorrow-never speak of it again"
Mrs. Carlyle's face was hardened to il
usua al naughty expression, which hid Lib
q mark the sorrowful history of the pas
and Maggie silently left the room pondel
ing the story that had shown her aunt
her in a new light.
CHAPTER III.