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

Ihlllp caught Inc speaker in his arms.
In the half-articulate words of endear-
ment that followed there seemed as
deep a pain as passionate tenderness.
"My love! my life! my darling! In
the name of God, why did l love youP
1t is a sin; but the sin, the suffering, is
its own reward. My love! l WiH not
leave you"
Madeleine struggled to FREQ herself
from his embrace.
"What will become of us?" she MUIR
INJURED, despairinsly. elf one must be
sacrificed, let it be me-"
81 swear | will not give you up. Mad
%eleine, you do not love me-"
"Phillip, let me go! | thought bet
ter of myself and you than that this
would ever be; from the moment | saw
you, there was sin and treason in my
heart. Philip, leave me, and let me
think am tortured and half crazy.
Philip! Philip! let me go!"
Madeleine wrenched her hand from
his grasp and opened wide the door of
the oom Unconscious of Cecile's pres
ence, she fed past her into the little
dressing-room beyond.
Cecile, whose bonnet and shawl had
not been removed, waited a few mo-
meuts, and then followed her to her re-
treat, rs though she had but just come
in. But Madeleine caught the deadly
pallor of her sisters face, and cried out,
"Cccilc, what has happenedP Are
you illP-you look like death! Some
thing is the matter; what is it?'
al am tired, Maddie," said Cecile,
in n low, wistful tone, as utterly differ
ent from her ringing cadcnces rs was
this ashen-hued, ~lifeless face from the
sun-bright and glowing cheeks that
made half of her brilliant beauty.
Madeleine was conscience-stricken, but
she asked nc further question, judging
all too truly that her treachcry had
been discovered.
Two or three days passed away, and
each, conscious of conccalment, grew
more constrained in the vain effort to
Danish cOnstraint. Cecile was ill bodi-
ly; her cheeks paled, her eyes grew
hollow and dim, and beneath them a
purple shadow bore witness to her pain
and weary thinking. Philip had not
been to the house since that evening,
nor had there been any remembrance
from him.
The sisters had been sitting together
all day long, Madeleine busy with her
pen, Cecile's languid fingers folded list
lessly together, while her blue eyes
wandered over the yet bare branches OF
the trees in the city square that their
window gave upon. All day long they
sat together, and scarcely a %monosylla,
BILE broke the silence, until the shadows
of twilight gave Madeleine leave to
raise her head from her weary task,
She said nothing for a little time, lean.
ing her head upon her hand, and look,
ed ut her sister for almost the first tim,
that day.
The awful suffering in the quiet face
reused her conscience, and with Il DIES
perate impulse she cried out,
"Cecile, why are you so silent? VIVA
is it that you are thinking of? Tell NJ,
the truth, Cecile?n
Cecile turned her face slowly TOWARD
the speaker, without even a sigh, he.
pale lips motioning for Il sort of smil,
more distressfui than any tears coul,
have been.
81 was thinking of something | ough
to have told you before, Maddie," sh,
said, quietly. "Do you remember tn,
story of that poor princess-it is only
foolish fairy story-who lost all her hap
piness forever because she was not con
tent with the gift of her godmother, an,
tried to crown herself with the swec
loon sur rays, when she was told t,
choose only the morning dew? Itwa
foolish, but very sad. 1t is SO natura
to wish for sunshine. And so hard
all! so hard-to lose it!n
Then there was Il long silence; bu
presently she spoke again:
~ am thinking, Maddie," she said
in Il soft, wistful tone-"I am thinkin!
that, after all, it is not, perhaps, eithe.
the sunshine or dew-drops that max,
one happiest, and that could give VI
both"
Still Madeleine made no answer.
"You wiH not understand me, Made
%leine," said Cecile. She laid her han,
on her throat, rs if to press back tn
physical pain of speech, and her mex
words came with effort. 81 have bee
thinking of it for"-oh, what Il voic
was this!-''a long, long time, Maddie
and-and a give Philip up" Alon,
pause followed. ellis love was the sun
shine and dew and all the bloom an,
glow of life to me. 1t is dead. lie doe
not love me any longer. He is no
mine now, Maddie."
"Give him app" said Madeleine, wher
she must speak, in Il voice Immature
and cold. "You do it very easily,
seems. Why should you give Philip up
Cecile, you are ILL.,"
) Cecile made no shadow of an answer
She forbore even to turn her eyes upo
her, lest the mere look might have con
veyed reproaeh.
; Now happened one of those chance
, that occur often enough in life, bu
, seem unnatural in fiction. Philips ste
: sounded on the staircase. A red surg
: ing blush, hot and painful, staine
Madeleine's cheeks; but not a tinge
color passed the quiet face turned OF
toward the dying daylight. Yet an il
! describable change vas visible: ii
pallor seemed to increase, and the cain
n ness was like that of death.
He too was different. The last wee
G or two had left its mark upon hin
Thara wara inciniant linaS unnn his for