The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1876-08-24

the shutters of my room previous to re-
firing, | was startled by the figure of a
man upon the lawn. Something in his
gait reminded me of the 1.-THE form that
strobe away from US on the first day
met my love- attached no importance
! to it, however; and yet, during the
months that followed, 1 met him three
times, always apparently on his road to
or from my house.
"But great anxiety was upon me.
The cheeks of my gipsy maiden were
losing their roses; she could no longer
roam through the heather with her
hand in mine, and / shuddered as /
thought of the consummation of the
trial in store for her. At last / ordered
the servants to pack up our belongings,
and l hurried away with my bride to
one of the suburbs of London, where
she might have the most skilful physi-
clans to attend her. Twill spare you
the record of the long weeks during
which had no other care in life than
to watch over, wait upon, and care for
the frail form IF a woman whose heart
had long since passed out of my keep
ing, if had ever possessed it. For what
| nIistook for disease was nothing more
than the longing Of the Zingari blood
for the freedom of its native forests.
Like bird in cage, | was killing her
by my very care for her. can not tell
you how well | loved her; still less
could l give you an idea of the rapture
of Thanksgiving that possessed my soul
on the night that they put her baby in
Il
safe. Yet mindful of my duties as a
host, l quickly surrendered the
infantile wonder, and hastened
to accompany the weary physician to
the door of our house. L fingered a
moment, watching him as he passed
the, gate, when suddenly there darted
from among the trees the same figure
that had grown so familiar in the Scot
tish Highlands. The moonlight fell on
the handsome face, and showed the
same anxious expression my own had
worn during the past weeks. The man
seized the doctor by the arm, apparent
ly asked some eager question, to which
he received an affirmative answer, and
then disappeared.
81 never saw him but once more
Amonth later-I had narsed my darling
back to health-w when, coming back
from a short journey to London, L saw
a carriage driving rapidly away from
my gate. There were only two Occu-
pants-my wife and her gypsy lover.
mstinctively rushed toward them and
seized the horses by the bride. Then
a sudden flash, followed by a report,
and the bullet intended for my heart
buried itself in my lungs.
81 can not tell you what followed.
All l know is that when | saw my child
again it was over three months old.
After that | went mad. They tell me
that | wandered about from place to
place all over Europe, while people
wondered at the silent man, ever in
motion, and always accompanied by a
nurse and an infant child. At last a
circumstance reused me.--The news
came that the executors OF my fathers
will had contrived to lose my fortune,
and was poor. Then we came to New
York-my little Zillah, whom named
after my mother, and l. Here we have
lived, Dalton; here l have dragged out
the miserable existence OF an invalid;
here l have brought up my child from
infancy to wOmanhood, until she has
become to me something of what her
mother might have been; here we have
been together through better, through
worse, and much of it has been worse.
Now you propose to take her from me,
knowing that she is all | have in the
world-that whatever she may be to
you, l can not live without her. 1t is
an awkward thing to wind all ones
heart about a woman, be she wife or
child. / have done it, and mine is
claim no man should dispute. VIII
you withdraw your demand, Dalton?
Methinks there is parallel to it in the
story of David and Uriah."
"Did you ever hear of the mother
again, Hastings?' -s-a-----
"Only that she died. The habits of
her people, where marriage bonds are
quickly shaken loose when love fails,
made it seem no crime to leave me; but
when the wild desire to be free was
gratifed, they say she pined and died.
But you have not answered my question.
VIII you leave me my child?'
"Will you let her decide?"
In the silence that followed, Zillah
stood in the doorway Slender and
beautiful, with the longing of love in
the soft dark eyes, and the stern rigor
of determination around her mouth,
the clear voice answered, 81 have de-
cided."
"To become Dalton's wife?" queried
the bitter voice of the invalid. -f|
4 single word, sharp with pain, cut
the air. Never!"
"Yet you love me, Zillah?" pleaded
the lover. .,... .fr ~. o. II
This time the girl spoke with less
effort. "No, | do not"
Angry and sullen, Dalton went his
way. Yet she did love him, and both
he and Hastings knew it. ....-
Now the glories of self-sacrifice are
not for the weak. When the human
heart becomes the scene of fierce
struggle, the body that contains it must
needs be strong. Zillah's passionate
prayer for strength to endure her trial
was answered by increasing weakness,
and once more Hastings watched a wo-.
man he loved better than his life fading
before his eyes. From afar OF be saw
the end approaching, and knew that he
must let her go. No word was needed
between the two; but each understood
all that the other would have said, when
the father finally announced, al have
written to Dalton, land the girl bowed
her head upon his hand, and. answered,
% tried, indeed | tried" Then the
roses bloomed again in the gypsy
cheeks; but the steps of the invalid
grew slower and slower, and that fatal
burden of Head pressed even more
heavily into.the weakened lungs.
White and cold were the camellias
that graced the wedding, and white and
cold cleaned the same flowers within a
coffin ere the year was out. Exhaust
ed by her bitter sorrow, Dalton left his
wife to follow the sad procession wind
ing toward a grave. As he turned
away from the freshly heaped mound,
he murmured,
cit is the story of jean Vatican and
Cosette over again. and, translated
into hunplinU En0lish. he repeated the