The Brookhaven ledger. (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1875-1883, 1876-11-02

eye to read her sad secret, her an
8" hands clasped in agony, and her
head bent to the very dust-was he
/. avenged.
*~4+
1t was driving storm. Mr.. 10,
resolved to dine at tavern instead
returning home. He had just seat
himself, and given his order to {
he obsequious waiter, when his attenti
was attracted by the conversation
two gentlemen near him.
" "Have you seen the beautiful Edi
since her marriage, Harry?' is IS
mo, feel too much vexed with he
Such splendid woman to marry suc
an idiot! All for foolish quarrel wit
Ainslie. You never saw such wrec
as 1t has made Of him, FHtqtBeEEes Keep 1, Z,
appearances, it is plain she is tl>. N, os
miserable woman an existence; as MI
Jefferson Jones, whom 1 have neve
seen, might perceive, if he wasn't us al
the world says, the very prince of don
keys"
Jones seized his hat and rushed int,
the open air. Six times he went, lik,
a comet, round the square, then, set
tling his beaver down over his brows, il
very prophetic manner, he turned his
foo steps deliberately homeward.
1t was the deceitful calm before the
whirlwind. He found Edith pale ant
self-possessed. as usual. He was quite
rs much so himself-even went SO fa,
as to compliment her on coquettish
little jacket that fitted her round figure
very charmingly.
I'm thinking of taking short jour.
ney. Edith" said he, seating himself
by her side, and playing with the
silken cord and tassels about her waist.
Gas it is wholly business trip, it
would hamper me to take you with me;
but you'll hear from me. Meanwhile,
you know how to enjoy yourself-hey,
Edith?"
He looked at her. There was no cons
scious blush, no change of expression,
no tremor of the frame. He might
as we'll have addressed a marble statue.
Mr.. Jefferson Jones was posed! Well,
he bade her one of his characteristic
adeaus; and when the door closed,
Edith felt as if weight had been lifted
off her heart.
There was but one course for her to
pursue. She knew it-she had already
marked it out. She would deny herself
to all visitors; she would not go abroad
till her husbands return. She was
strong in her purpose. There should
be no door left open for busy scandal to
enter.
OF Ainslie she knew nothing, save
her marriage, which she had returned
unopened. And so she wandered rest
lessly through those splendid rooms,
and tried by this self-inficted penaDce,
to atone for the detection of her heart.
Did she take her guitar, old songs that
they had sung together came unbidden
to her lips, that book too, they had
read. Oh, it was all misery, turn
where she would.
Day after day passed-no letter from
Mr.. Jones The time had already
passed that was fixed upon for his re-
turn. and Edith, nervous from close
confinement, and the weary inward
struggle, started like frightened bird
at every football.
1t came at last-the letter sealed
with black. "He had been accidental
ly drowned. His hat was found; all
search for the body had been unavail-
ing"
Edith was no hypcrite. She could not
mourn for him, save in the outward
garb of Woe
A nslie was just starting for the con-
tinent, by order of physician, when
the news reach him. A brief time he
gave to decorum, and then they met.
1t is needless to say what that meet
ing was. Days and months of wretch
edness were forgotten, like some dread
full dream. She was again his own
Edith, sorrowing, repentant and happy.
They were sitting together one even
ing-Edith's head was upon his shoul-
der, and her face radiant as seraph's.
They were speaking of their future
home.
"Any spot on the wide earth but this,
dear Ainslie. Take me away from
these painful associations" ....
"Say you SO, pretty Edith?" said
we'll known voice. 81 but tried that
faithful heart of yours to prove it. Pity
to turn such a pretty comedy into
tragedy; but happen to be manager
here, young manr said Mr. Jones turn
ing ficrcely towards the bewi]dered
Anislie.
The revnlsion was too dreadful, and
Edith survived but a week. Ainslie be-
came hopelessly insane.
Two lives were thus sacrificed to the
m istakes of o moment.
Both had in that brief space opened
up the source OF grief for life.
They would not hear and forbear
when it was yet time, by kindly conces-
sion, to repair the breach irritation had
made, and brief word would have
amended.
But passion had it's way, and the
grave only healed the wound caused by
the unguarded utterances.
Misplaced Fear.
All languages have literature of ter
ror of death. But living is far more
terrible in reality than dying. It is life