The Andrew County Republican. [volume] (Savannah, Mo.) 1871-1876, 1876-05-11

snould END. i I'M o saying, you see,
that it must be so, but only do you not
think it would be betterp"
"You are the best judge" he said,
hoarsely, at last. And, strange as IL
may seem, q sense of injury, q sudden
anger, caused the color in his cheeks to
deepen, and warded off both shame and
pity. sit is rather singular that you
have not intimated such a wish before.
Was ii for this you wished to see meP"
"Dc not be angry, Philip" pleaded
the girl. 81 was in the room the day
the day that you and Madeleine we're
walking, Philip. / was here when you
came home. Neither of you saw me,
for the was dark. Iought to have
spoken, but-but | could not speak. ]
heard-what you said. I tried to tell
Madeleine then-oh! why could l notp
But, Madeleine, you were not quite ig-
%norant?"
There was no answer, nor did any
sound disturb the silence for five long
minutes. They had called her a child
in their hearts, and comforted them
selves with thinking that il she felt
grief, it would be but light and easily
forgotten. In simplicity, in truthful
ness, in sweet and trusting confidence,
she seemed indeed n child. But not in
the shallow-natured inscnsibility that
refuses to suffer, or in the elasticity that
rebounds from pain-notin these things,
if this white face might be taken in evil
dence, whose ashen pallor c~ontrasted
so pitifully with its yet round contour,
and more strangely still with the glow.
ing red.gold hair, that caught the last
CLEANS of daylight, deepening them in
to sparklcs with its W living hue.
Philip buried his face in his hands.
"Cccilc, ! am not worthy to speak to
you," he said mt last, brokenly. "You
will not believe whatI am going to say,
and | can't blame you. 1t does not ex-
cuse me, either; but, as God is my wit
ness, | meant to be faithful to you.
Until that evening, if Madeleine knew
| loved her, | had not told her so.
But-but you heard every thing.
struggled against ~it-forgive me, Cecile
and | meant to tell you; but how
could /? can not ask you to pardon
me, but don't blame Madeleine. 1t was
not her fault, nor mine, God knows.
could not help it."
She held out her hand at this; but
Just then the dim forms in the room
swan round her, a dazzling, agonizing
light struck across her aching cyeballs,
and all the world vanished suddenly, as
one blows out a candle, into dark moth
ingness.
They lifted her up and laid her on the
sofa, Madelcine's hot tears falling on
her head. ".And they saw her face, as
it had b.en the face of an angel
Philip bent down and kissed her brow,
his bosom thrilling with strange an
guish, and oh!-inconsequent heart
with blind regret.
at is farewell" said he.
What remains is easily imagined
There were yet many hours of pain be
fore the safe calm of sacrifice could be
attained, many applications for par
don, many fearful assurances Of regre'
and remorse, before the sacrifice wa:
made perfect by acceptance.
But the bridal dress was worn at last
And none who looked at the fair wreath
adding beauty to the pale full brow be
meath it, guessed that a sting was hid
den in every white heart of the bios
SONS, II imagined the troubled memor,
lying in the depths of the brides calm
shining eyes.
Cecilc stood beside her sister tina
day. There is such a glory in self-abne
CATION that | dare not saythe bride wa,
the happier of the two. Cecile locke,
down the fair path she pictured for he.
sister, and saw the observation-disclosures
rose of life, that should have been he
own, yielding its sweets to her, saw he
own sunshine gliding her sisters brigh
days, and her wi heart-music leadin.
her along the way that should have beef
smoothed for other treading; but tn
light on the bridesmaids wistful brow
was crossed by nj shadow of regret.
dare not saythe bride was the happie
of the two. She also had visions; swee
eyes made sadder for all their lifetime
n fair face paled by her doing, a low
voice Slapped of its ringing happiness.