The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1875-01-08

and cried silently all through the ser
| vice. Nancy's heart so went out to thi
| poor woman that, when they met In tht
aisle she pressed her hand impulsively
saying, in a quick whisper, &c Mrs
| Armitage, Tm so sorry for you"
8 don't want any of your sorrow I
was the sharp response. Sc It's fine
talk but you and I know well enough
who's the cause of it all. One word
from you wonld stop it now If you were
sorry enough %
Poor Nancy The clock was on the
stroke of IL that night when her lover
finally took his leave, and she was free
TO pace the moon-lit sitting room from
end to end with set lips and glittering
eyes. She did not cry. She felt as II
she was going crazy, and in her desper-
alton she did not care If she did. Hour
after hour passed, and still she paced
there, till her rigid face showed Whitley
in the first faint gray of morning.
sob, would he 60 could he go
Would nothing happen to stop him %
Scarcely knowing what she was doing.
Nancy slipped through the door, and
hatless, trailing her dainty blue dress
through the dewy grass, ran across lots
to the Armitages.
It was still dark and dewy. She
heard the village clock strike 3 as she
paused on the outskirts of the old
fashioned flower garden behind the
house, and shrunk behind the hedge of
blossomy 1ilacs, whose potent cdor
sickened her. Her mind was in iwhirl.
She did not know Why she was there,
or what she would do. She was in
deadly fear lest some one should dis
cover her, yet she could not turn away.
For half an hour she erouched there
shiverinRly, never taking her eyes off
Johns window, but starting every time
the curtain blew. Suddenly a step on
the garden path started her so violently
that she could scarcely suppress a
scream.
It was probably some of the work
people-oh, If they should see her A
hasty peep through the bushes showed
her that it was more than that; it was
John himself, striding straight toward
the gap in the hedge, and wearing a
most unpropitious face. Nancy, in
blind terror of discovery, craWled on
her hands and knees close under the
lilacs. He had passed, and was almost
by when bird that Nancy bad disturb
ed few out with loud chirping. One
end of the loose blue sash had caught
on a stiff bough, and the color arrested
his eye. Two strides brought him to
the spot, and he stood with folded arms
looking down at her a moment before
his amazement found vent In the excla
nation
"Nancy ?"
He had never seen such utter aban.
don and agony of shame as that with
which the poor little maiden hid her
face and covered in the wet grass, with
the cry :
"Oh, what shall do? Don't speak
to me ! Go away I" and burst into a
Storm Of tears.
For answer he gathered the little wet
figure in his arms, smoOthed the tumb-
led curls, tried to warm her icy hands,
and did not dare to question while he
soothed her In his tenderest way.
{" Take me home, said Nancy as soon
as she found strength to speak at all.
''I shall do no such thing" was the
decided answer, as Johns disengaged
hands raised her face SO that he could
see it, &" till you tell me why you came,
Nancy. I couldn't help hoping a little
when / saw you here. But don't make
me give it up I thought my pride
would support me through anything,
OuE 4 hLA4 tHAAetAN ~ WOA y NAO 4bg AC
ended, sadly.
"Tm so glad it won't l'' breathed
Nancy, in tones of heartfelt relief.
&c But somebody'Il see us. Take me
home, John, and III tell you all
about it.
How different seemed the way home,
with John at her side. But Nancy was
in no hurry to tell about il. :" She
only said, nervously, holding Johns
hand in both hers
a." Promise me you won't go away"
"Ah, but 1 want another promise
first"
Nancy looked back at the plumy
hedges whose shelter they had left, and
said, with a half smile. 90 You see the
lilacs aren't out of bloom yet, John I
am sorry, as you said I'd be I"
"And the doctor ?" asks the critical
reader. Ah, Nancy is no model of
Christian maidenhood. She is only a
faulty young girl, erring and loving and
suffering, playing her part In one of the
tragedies that are played everywhere in
the springs and autumns, in the time