Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1875-02-25

at her side. Again she saw the light
of peace and rest come into those trOu.
bled eyes as she promised. She had
been faithful to the charge; should she
desert him now?'
Bitter was the conflict, but Maria
Warton conquered. She put the wo.
man under her foot, and was the strong
heart again.
I will save you, Charlie; heaven
help me!' she said. The path of duty
may be bitter, but its end is bright
Richard Boughton wondered at hel
cold, constrained air at the breakfast
table next morning. If he could only
have known the fire that was raging
! in her heartI
She Joined him on the lawn after
breakfast, as she stood looking dreami-
ly up into the dancing leaves of a
bright-hued maple. What she said
she knew not; she only knew that she
stood before him cold, calm, decisive,
and asked him to release her from her
engagement. She gave no reason, as
signed no cause; she wished to be free,
that was all. Would he release her?
Ne outward sign of emotion, no trace
of the fierce conflict within; no evi-
dence of tortured and quivering
heart was visible. Her voice was
calm and even, her manner firm and
self-possessed.
And Richard Boughton, man-like,
suspected not the angushed within, the
wild longings struggling for utterance,
the bitter agony of her throbbing,
bursting heart. Hesaw only woman
tired OF her conquest, anxious to shake
off her irksOme bonds, that she Inight
derive from the ensnarement of some
other the heartless excitement which
he could no longer afford. His heart
had been the plaything of her fancy,
his love won but to cast aside; he had
served her vain purpose, and was use.
less now. Why should she be fettered
longer.
After the first sharp, cruel throb OF
agony, his pride rose supreme. He
was not one to sue for unwilling favor.
He cast his love coldly, contemptuous-
ly aside. Why should he struggle for
its continuance? Pride concealed his
greif; his indignation alone was visible.
And thus they parted; and one week
later Richard Boughton was on his
way to Italy, to bury in foreign travel
the esnse of his great loss. Maria War
ton had deceived him; what woman
could he afterwards trust. @
Maria WartOn'S disappearance from
the fashionable world furnished gossip
for few days, and then was forgotten.
Life has too many activities, each heart
too many purposes and desires of its
own, to heed the fall of another.
Bravely she took up her cross, and
uncOmplainingly bore il. No useless
sorrow, no fretful complainings marred
the worth of her sacrifice. The past
had been a sweet dream; it had van
ished, but she could thank heaven for
its memory. r- @ .f r
After every guinea had been honora-
bly, paid, small sum remained to
them-enOugh, in the hands of an earn
est, prudent man, to be the basis OF fu-
ture independence. But Charlie was
not such man. His indolent and lux.
urious habits overcame all manly re-
solves. Weak, vacillating, he was a
burden instead of an aid. His own in
capacity made him reckless; he could
not bear the silent rebuke of Maria's
manner, more cutting than angry
words. ai..
In senseless riotiDgs he squandered
their slender store. In low revelings
he degraded still more his weak man.
hood. And then the separation came.
The brother was fugitive from JUS
tice; his newborn babe dependent on
the efforts of the strOng-hearted sister.
And this Was the end of Maria War
tons sacrifice, made more bitter by its
uselessness. This the result of her ago
ny, so shameful, and yet purchased at
how terrible cost! No wonder her
strong heart trembled; no wonder her
noble spirit bowed for q moment. But
with unrepining lips she took up life's
weary load and carried it bravely on
ward. .f
And how often thus! Life's purest
deeds, humanity's noblest actions, pro-
duce here only bitterness and sorrow.
But beyond? Earth has no honors fit-
ted to crown them; their reward is in
heaven.
III.
The evening breeze blew softly
through the open wiHdows of French
hospital. 1tlifted the swaying covers
of pure white, spread the odors of new-
ly-gathered flowers, and toyed loving
ly with the golden curls of a sufferer
who lay babbling softly to himself in
the wanderings of fever.
Richard BoughtOn, a visitor there
from curiosity, walking slowly up the
aisle, between the long rows of snowi-
ly-draped beds, paused to listen, He
had never seen that face before, and
yet there was comething strangely IA
miliar in it. Something in the arch