Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1876-06-23
HIS WORD OF HONOR.

His WORD OF HONOR.
Scene-c0untry tavern in the city of G. !;
a young man having a great-coat over his
arm, a light bag in one hand and stick in
the other, presents himself at the door and
asks languidly if he can be accommodated
with bed and sitting-room.
ga bed, sir ?" replied Mr.. Hunter, a
large man with red face and gray hair,
Eyes sir, I think we can manage to give
you bed"
"And sitting room 20 still continued
the stranger.
| GA sitting room ~ echoed the landlord i,
in the tone of one who is considering some
very great undertaking 'sjust one minute
| if you please, sir" and Mr.. Hunter disap-.
peared into little room Immediately ad-
joining the bar, there to hold counsel with
the second person, the upshot being that
in few minutes Mr.. Hunter, Miss Hun
ter, and a few Hunters just out of the
crawling state, issued forth, bearing re-
spectively working materials, socks in pro-
cess of being mended, tin whistles and de-
capitated dolls.
''You can have this room all to yourself,
sir,'' said Mr.. Hunter, trlumphantly.
"You really must not let nae disturb
you," rejoined the traveller.
"Don't you mention it,' replied the
landlord, in tone which was at once ge-
! NAL and confidential. ssWe would not turn
a customer away from our doors. You see
we do not have much parlor company
''And this is the only room you have
disengaged.?"
swell, yes sir; this is the only room at
present. Susan, mike fire for the gen
tleman.'
The traveller was glad enough to enter
the apartment, and to draw close to the
fire the one dilapidslted armchair.
Arthur Seton, la wyer by profession and
literary by choice, was not really more
than thirty, though he looked considera-
bly, older; for the dark hair and beard were
streaked with gray, ard the regular, hand
some features wore habitually look Of
intense mental wearir,ess. For some time
he leant indolently back, his hands clasped
behind his head; at length he arose and
took from his bag loo ked-up diary, which
he opened, ard availing himself of pen and
ink which stood upon the table, made the
following entry:
s'Oct. II, 1874: Got up late. Called on
the Brainstones Georg was out. Had a
pleasant chat with Annie; went, like
fool, to c., and, like a fool, haunted
ho TIL i11cf ho
as in the old, dear days, but L heard chill
dren playing in the arden. The house is
let, I believe, to city people. Came back
| to c.; dined with the Frasers went to
the club. Got back home late. Wrote
column Review. A weary, weary
day. Shall never kl low moments for
getfulness p"
II e then drew fro N the leaves OF the
diary letter write IL in a delicate, femi-
nj ne hand, and addres sed, "Arthur Seton,
ESQ.," This letter he egarded with long,
J, sad, loving look; then resting his head Oh
his hand, he read it th rough very slowly.
1t ran as follows:
My dear Artzam-If you will be SO sus-
picious, so jealous and, eexacting, ! cannot
see how we are ever to- be happy. Faith
without works is dead, and love without
faith is no blessing, but "a weary burden.
[ am tired of cross words and dark looks.
Some women, [ believe, lii Re the feverish
excitement of quarrels, but [ only wish for
peace. This miserable petty jealousy, is
unworthy of you. Do try and put it from
| nd hot
ed, is sometimes hurt past recovery. re-
ceived your article quite safely, but can
not speak about it now. You have made
me too sad, too weary, and even a little
indignant.
Yours affectionately,
l ALICE CLARIGFLELD.
| He replaced the letter, closed the diary
took up his pipe, and began smoking. The
early part of this day had been fine and
mild, but toward the afternoon the sky
grew all at once leaden and the wind shift.
ed to the northeast; now the wind was
rising and the rain was falling-a cold,
penetrating, impetuous, determined rain.
The country, which but a brief while since
had looked so fair in a bland October sun.
/ light, now seemed a thing to shudder at
The dtln-colored woods, wet and forlorn,
seemed to have no hope of any returning
summer and to know the utter desolation
of the end. It was impossible, indeed, to
imagine that in the green, soaking fields,
where now a few COWS were budding to-
gether and lowing disconsolately, glad
children.could never have tossed each other
in the warm, sweet smelling hay; the rain
drove drearily against the window, and the
! wind shrieked round the house and Occa-
sionally Numbered in the chimney; and
the wagons numbered by or drew up in
front of the door, and, while the drivers
} awaited themselves Of the tavern's hospi'
]tality, the large, broad-backed horses bea1