Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1876-03-04


ing man 5 last request -
And then he wrote some words. com
ing from his heart, | knew, which. be,
ing of myself, | cannot quote even here
Il could not think that | deserved
them.
And the result of that letter, and ei
another from the lawyer who had Olive
Hunters little fortune in charge was
that one soft spring day found me on
board of great steamer which lay al
rest after her voyage in the protecting
arms of Liverpool with two little
hands in mine, and a pair of great
brown eyes lifted to my face. and !
sweet voice choked with sobs saying
of poor papa, and of how much he
had spoken of me, and of the lovely
voyage, and the green graves left be-
hind; and /, who had gone to meet a
child and found a woman, looking al
her and feeling towards her as | had
never looked upon nor felt to any
other.
Not to Elsie Hall. 1t was not the
boyish love dream come again.
Analysing the emotion, found only
great longing to protect and comfort
her-to guard her from every pain and
i'll; and | said to myself This is as a
father must feel to daughter; / can
be parent to George Hunters chslG in
every truth" And | took her home
to the old house and to my old mother
[ thought only of those; somehow ]
| never thought of Ashton.
Shall / ever forget how she bright
ened the somber rooms How, as her
sadness wore away, she sang to US in the
twilight! How strangely something
which made the return home and the
long hours of the evening seem Sc
much brighter than they had ever been
before, stole into my life / never
went to sleep in church now; kept
awake to look at Olive Hunter-to lis
ten to her pure contralto as she Joined
in the singing. Sometimes I caught
her eye, her great, unfathomable
brown eye, for she had habit of look,
ing at me. Was she wondering how q
face could be so stern and grim? ]
used to ask myself
Ashton used to look at her also
He had been away when she first came
to US, and when he returned she was 9
grand surprise to him.
"Oh, how lovely she isl" he had
said to me.
',She is pretty I replied.
Ashton laughed.
May [ never be an old bachelor i
it brings me to calling such a girl very
pretty, he said: and felt conscious
that my cheek flushed, and felt angry
that he should have spoken of me thus
though | had never cared before.
They liked each other very much
those two young things. They were
together great deal. A pretty picture
they made in the Venetian window in
the sunset. He a fair haired, blue
eyed, Saxon-looking youth; she so ex.
quisitely dark and glowing.
Every one liked her. Even my ole
clerk, Stephen Hadley, used to say hel
presence lis the Office more than a
dozen lamps, the nearest approach tC
a poetical speech of which old Stepher
was known to be guilty; and | never
knew how much she was to me unit
one evening, when, coming home earli-
er than usual, saw in that Venetian
window where Ashton and Olive haC
made so many pleasant pictures for me
one that | never forgot-that never
shall forget as long as live.
She stood with her back to me
Ashton was kneeling at her feet. The
sound of the opening door dissolved
the picture; but / had seen it, and
stole away to hide the stab that it haC
! give me.
sat down in my own room and hlt
my face in my hands, and would hav'
been glad to hide it beneath my coffin
lid. knew that | loved Olive Hun
ter; that | loved her not as an old maj
might love child, but a young mar
might love the woman who ought to b.
his wife-better than | had loved Elsi,
Hall; for it was not boyish passion, bu
earnest, heartfelt love.
| in lovel | arose and looked in the
mirrior, and my broad d-shouldered re
flection blushed before my gaze.
The spring time Of my life had flown
and my summer had come and gone
and in the autumn / had dreamt o.
loves bud and blossom.
| knelt beside my bed and prayed
that | might not hate my brother
that l might not even envy him. His
touch upon my door startled me. Ht
came in with something in his manner
not usual to him, and sat down oppo
site me. For few moments we were
silent. Then he said, speaking rapidly
and blushing like girl: Ned, ole
fellow, you-you saw ME making foo
of myself just now, [ suppose p
| l. /
And thought me silly fellow, eh
But you don't know, Ned. You can
understand-you've been so calm anC
cool all your life through, you know
She's driving me mad Ned, do be.
lieve she likes me, but she won't say
yes. I'd give my right hand fer hel
love- | must have it, and l think you
can help me, Ned. From something
she said, | belive she thinks you would
disapprove; perhaps you are one Of
those old fellows who want every one tC
marry for money. Tell her you re not
Ned, dear old fellow, tell her you have
no objection, and I'll never forget it.
indeed | WON'T"
''Iell her ! have no objection" ]
repeated mechanically.
You know you are master here, and
as much father as if you really were
one instead of brother" said Ash
ton. If | did not know how kindly
you had always felt to us both, /
shouldn't t confde in you for it's a seri-
Gus thing to be in love, Ned, and you
may thank Heaven you know nothing
about it.
Know nothing about it. All, if he
could have read my heart just then
"Ill do what | can, Ashton" 1 said
at last. I'll try my best.
And he flung his arm about me in
his own boyish fashion. and left me
alone-alone with my own thoughts.
He had said truly; | had been like
father to him. | was old enough to be
hers, and no one should know my silly
dream. | would hide it while ! lived.
AS | had said once, Il have only the
old folks and thechildren now, I said
then, II will only think OF mother and
Ashton. Let my own life be as moth
ing; / have liyed for them-if needs
be, | will die for them"
But | would not see or speak to
Olive that night, nor until the next
day was quite done. Then, in the
twilight, | sat beside her and took her
hand,
Olive" | said, II think you know
that Ashton loves you. | am sure he
has told you so. And yOu-can you
not love him p
She drew her hand from mine. and