Huntington advertiser. [volume] (Huntington, W. Va.) 1874-1921, 1875-04-22

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| chose the very house-a little lrown
cottage en- the outskirts of tie city,
where my bird would have her nest.
1t was in March when her letters,
which had come faithfully all winter
ON their stated days. failed suddenly.
A week went BY without o message
from New Orleans and when it came
at last, it was written in another
hand.
1t was long letter, but never
read it through. ! only read three
lines; that told me she was dead,
the babv was buried in her arms.
The-yellow fever had broken out in
the city, and my two were among the
first to go. Her parents had left
New Orleans, and before their letter
reached ME would have sailed for
England. leaving Edna and her child
in the valley. among the dead Yer
deray's, in crowded cemetery.
So | never saw the little, white
wrapped figure and the laughing
baby any more.
When there was no one else . share
success aud worldly comfort with me,
nobody's lite to be esteemed by the
things that money could give them,
| it came TO me in my loneliness. /
had no object in life now, no care or
occupation that was pleasant to me
but because nothing save bard work
and untiring application could make
existence bearable and deaden my
heart in me, | worked hard, and
made money like other men. But |
gave it away lavishly, as people said.
| 1t was like sacred duty to my dead,
to brighten some other lives with the
means that would have spared hers.
Iuever saw either of her parents
again. 1t was better for US all, MIR.
| Verderay had said, that the inter-
course should cease with Edna's and
the childs death and, God knows,
felt so, too.
SO | lived OH in New York alone
and rose in the firm; travelled, and
made money; and wandered from
city to city, at last, successful
in everything that | touched, with
out trouble or anxiety in life-onl.y
the burden of my heavy hoart. |
was thirty years old when my dar
lings died l had plenty more years
to live, and death was still i long
way off. People called me a young
man still, even after my hair was
very gray; and seemed to have
grown Old and tired down to my
hearts core. And the years went
by weariIy; and was tor'y.eight. and
nv hair white.
It WAS at Flcmming's home that !
met Harriet Stanhope. She was n
cousin of his wife's and an attractive
woman-not girl-the sort of wo.
men whom everybody calls interest
ing; clever, aud cultivated to the
uttermost, sweet.natured, and adapt
able and good, with even more than
wcman's share of tact. She was one
of those people who win your con
fidence just by the atmosphere OF
their own natures, without effort or
even wish.
had not known her very long be-
fore | could talk to her of the story
that she knew already, and tell her
about tie day when | looked back
and saw the little figure in the win
dow, holding up my child for me to
see.
Well, you have guessed already, |
suppose, at the end Of this beginning.
| never loved Harriet Stanhope-
never. ! was one of those men
and, say what you will, they are not
rare-who love just once, and never
f1rget. But it came to me, slowly at
first and very reluctantly, and then
with a great shock, that this woman
cared for me, and h,d given me more
than ever could give back again.
And | began to think of the posi-
bility OF her taking-in mems eyes,
at least, and to outward seeming
Edna's empty place.
She was lonely, too, as ] was; with
no near relatives, no claim OF love
un any one, nc home aud a sorrOwful
outlook before her. | never could
bear the sight of a solitary and un-
cared-for woman, and this woman
touched all my pity and sympathy
| gave her that and my friendship
most freely and sincerely, and that
was all. But | began to think that
even without love life might be
sweetened little. and made easier to
bear, and that we might both taste
some quiet happiness at the last; and
SO | said to myself that would mar
ry her. !
did not resolve hastily. | had
known her for :wo years before had
thought of it at all. and then it was
long before the idea took definite
shape. was travelling in the. west,
and one of her letters reaching NE IN
a large rown in Oaio, decided the last
doubt that was left in my mind.
read it twice, and then walked the
floor all night, and lived my life over
in my memory, and reached far Oh
iato the future to plan out what 1t
would be-what it must lie If God
preserved it-snd then sat down to
write to Harriet.
wrote her long letter, and laid
my heart bcfor- her as honestly as |
would have confessed its secret before
Heaven. told her bow much and
how little could give her; hos far
4 had outlived the warmth OF youth
and the best part Of loving, and ak
4 4 / ,..ae