Port Royal standard and commercial. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, 1876-07-27

uHblOu.
"'If any Of my heirs feel sufficient.
interested in me to inquire into my per
sonal history, they will find my diary il
the old mill where it was written, at Ret
Cedar pond. Personal application t.
be made to Deacon Treat or Squir'
Wells The heirs noted this direction
with indifference.
my share of the legacies took mi
through college-as my father, one O
the dearest and noblest of men, bu
never fortunate in money making, coule
not afford-and furnished me with
small capital to commence law practice
7 had more than one compunctlou!
thought about my benefactor. 1t seemed
to me shame to accept such benefits
from a man in whom I had not ever
sufficient interest to acquaint mysel:
with his personal history. This year
when I became for the first time en-
couragingly established in my profes
sion, I determined to commence my
vacation by looking up the neglected
diary. I confess do notfnd myself in
spired by its revelation. What did you
find, deap>Gouisa, to kindle you into the
request that has haunted mo: Il hope you
will love him a little.
"I found worlds in it," said Miss
Thatcher, sighing SO sorrowfully, as she
had not done since she had entered bel
new world of love and loving.
"Worlds of what, my dearest =
asked the light hearted young lawyer
He was clasping her hand in one OF his
as he spoke, and with the other he
turned absently the leaves OF the time
stained book that lay on the table. A
little bit of handwriting that he knew
struck his vision; it was the line on the
margin:
"No one to love, none to caress."
Miss Thatcher saw it too. eyes, ]
know" she said, softly. "I wrote ii
there. could not help it. Twas the
tribute OF my sympathy"
He turned to her very earnestly.
Something in the tremulous sensitive
ness of her face smote his heart pain
fully. Tears started to his eyes. lie
folded his strong arm around her With
a sense of infinite tenderness.
"Let me tell you," she said, Olsen.
gazing herself from his embraces,
!" what a strange thing I found, OF
thought I found, in that diary. First
of all, you know, I was drawn slngu
larly into rapport with the writer by
my own sad loneliness. I felt the depth
of meaning in his complaint. Yes," she
said, trembling, ST must confess, and
I do repent, even in his complaint
against Heaven. Alone in the world.
Sometimes that happens"
And here let it be explained to the
reader that by an accident in the cradle
the writer of the diary had been made
physically repellant. and his sensitive
soul exaggerated bis misfortune into q
barrier between himself and the loving
sympathies of all mankind. As tor wo'
mankind, he knew not-for his mother
died at his birth-even its maternal ten
derness.
"Leonard, DEAR" Miss Thatcher went
on, "you will think me, perhaps, tie
most supesa.itipus being (; but I think
and the idE. has gathered some rea'
sonable pleas-I cannot help thinking
that this book is framed as q mode OF
beouest. / believe the writer, your
fathers brother, stung with the bitter
thought that his hard earned fortune
would be spent by those who never
knew or cared for him, devised a meth
cd by which a part at least should be
the reward of afectionate gratitude.
She explained to him then her theory OF
the maps, and her instructive construc'
ton of one particular map which she
had studied at the very last reading IN
the old mill.
Leonard Mansfeld's cheek flushed as
he listened. At the close he said: "Youl
reasoning is sufficiently plausible to de-
serve to be tested, and so it shall be.
But first promise me one thing; prom
ise me that if this mi acle of intuition
proves true, you will be my wife to-mor'
row. My darling, you shall not say
NO." He prevented her, indeed, IN
lover-like way from saying anything
Aud silence is eyes" to love.
X
The last day of August the whole vii
lage was thrown into torment OF e1
cited curiosity. The excitement began
in one of the twin houses on the Meet
ing house hill" at five o'clock in the
morning. Miss Tabitha Butts stood in
her nightdress peeping through the
blinds of dormer window. She never
could tell, as she declared afterward,
what made her peep.
She saw the back door of "Dick Sea-
mans " open, and Louisa Thatcher look
mysteriously out. Then she saw Tim,
the miller's boy, creep stealthily around
the porch with a pickax and spade,
which he gave to Miss Thatcher, who
disappeared with them into the house.
Then Tim, stealing back again as far as
the lilac bushes, and cautiously survey
ing all approaches, put his hand over
his mouth and gave a low whistle. I'm
mediately from the horse shed by the
church man came very quickly, and,
nodding to Tim as he passed, hastened
to the highroad. Miss Tabitha was
sure, although his cap was drawn over
his face, that this man was the young
stranger to the village who had been so
infatuated with Miss Thatcher.
Then Miss Thatcher came to the door
again and beckoned to Tim, and whis.
pered; and he went, around by way OF
the church, down the plum orchard, to
the mill.
A pickax and spade Miss Tabitha
had cold shivers; she could think Of
nothing but grave. When, two hours
afterward, the coast being clear, she
sped across the garden patch to the
''meetin' house she'd" her fancy lost