The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1876-12-30
A SEALED LEAF.
BY LOUISE BARTON.

1t was such sombre room. that, long
before the darkness closed without, shad-
ows were gathering in far off twilight cor
ners, and the dying embers on the hearth
could only throw iitful glow there, chasing
but not routing them. No sound, except
chipping was IA mOckery. let there were
Other sounds to Maurice Eliot's ear In
earthly echoes of g-passed footsteps
the mOckery of remembered laughter, the
now in the old grange. The ivy boughs,
which tossed against the window where he
stood, framed in one of those memory pic
lures which ale often mole real to us than
any thing on which cur mortal eyes can
look.
Ten years faded out, and the last Christ
mas Eve which he had spent in the grange
was here again: here, with its music and
it's lights, its bright, fair faces and light
forms threading the dance in this old hall
At this same window he had stood with
Grace, the orphan cousin, brought up under
her fathers roof. What a fairy queen she
look cd that night-robed in white, without
ornament, until lie, Maurice, plucked an
ivy spray for the massive braids of her
golden hair. just as now, the wind was
wailing then, and gust by gust on the pane
great rain drops scattered through the
trailing ivy boughs. But they were not
heard through the dance; and little Grace,
at her easement. was shut from view by the
dancers. Shut from view of Maurice pres
eutly, as Lady Mary's hand again and
again touched his. sometimes lingering, as
if she were not loath her tardy lover should
know that the hand his father and the earl
were ready to place in his, she was not
cruelty resolved to draw away. What won
der, then, that he kept it-that he was
pleading to keep it, when a rustic behind
caused him to turn quickly-to meet the
fash of TWO great, startled eyes, and the
proud mouth of Grace.
The picture faded there. To night the
sequel, in which the Lady Mary had thrown
him over, was as nothing to him. He had
gone abroad after her wedding, at which he
was guest, and had been absent almost
through ten years till now. He only knew
of Grace that she was 10 longer at the
grange, but made her quiet home in the
village. Never a line nor word had passed
between them. He would have felt it an
insult to offer her the heart inst flung aside
by the rival he had preferred before her.
But these thoughts We're uncomfortable. He
sliced his hat, and went cut hurredly into
the chill cleaning.
The wind was cutting on the terrace
height, as lie descended to the moorland'
wooded edge. At first he strobe along with
no object save to escape from memories
which logged him still at every turn. His
| thoughts We're in a whirl more painful than
ever, as he stumbled on aimlessly in the
dim light, over dead boughs, or waded
/ through the withered leaves. The vino
went with him shrieking out many wierd
| lament.
/ Wonder lay the scattered vllage-here a,
last the cottage left to Grace with her little
annuity. Close at hand at the near enc
of the one street, Eliot bowed his head anC
passed under the bare rose boughs of the
aiboYed gate, and thence up the dripping
! gravel walk. The dusk had deepened by
this time, SO that he could discern but the
dim outline of the close cut hedge
horse saddled and tethered outside nigh
well escape his observation.
As he set his foot upon the porch, ant
the tangled rose-boughs dropped behnc
! him, the light which had streamed faint,
through them now shone full and softl,
from the windows of the parlor. Whit,
curtains fell before them, it is true, but il
transparent folds, and the one nearest hin
was half caught back. lnvoluntarily h,
paused and looked
1t was a small, plain room-might hav,
been called bare, but for the cheerful adorn
ing of flowers in the windows, and the al
of occupation il books and work on Thu
the cottage piano. The simple furniture
however, had need of no gliding in tn
ruddy fire glow, and any other Christina
ornament the room required it was fas
receiving. For mounted on table serv
ing as Il step-ladder, a man was arrangin!
Christmas holly above a picture, while
little lady stood on the hearth rug holdin:
towards him, at arms length, branch afte
branch of glittering green.
Presently, with a bird-Iike movement o
the golden head to one side, she steppe
back pace or two, looking up at his handi
work criticizingly. The gesture, the att
tude, were SO exactly those familiar in til
bygone years to Eliot, that those years van
ished away, and he forgot he had no RICH