The tribune. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, 1876-12-20

could suggest for her comfort, enjoyed
the bliss of few hours honeymoon,
and then left her.
needn't speak of that. 1t was hard.
I tell you.
Ah, we'll I'm an old man now-older
by sorrow than by years but shall
never forget the fresh, dainty look OF
my darling, as Left her on the steps
that bitter day-a bride in the morning,
widow at night. And I never did for
get it Through al! the black years, though
it seemed as though the very memory
of it would drive me mad.
Well, went to the mines, and tried
faithfully, eagerly, for my heart was
longing to get back to her. But I could
not succeed. Mails were not then es-
tablished, so did not hear from my two
dear ones; but all the harder toiled,
for never thought of doubt entered
my mind. was only too glad to have
my dear brother to care for her, and
save her from all rough contact with the
world.
Finding no luck in the mines, I de-
termined to push on into the Indian
country, and try q little hunting and
trapping-for that was good business
then. l succeeded little better at that,
but wandered on, and finally came out
n Frazer river, where the gold excite
! ment hal broken out lercely.
don't know now whether it was
months or years-days and weeks were
alike to me for long time but at last
was successful, and got together five
thousand dollars in the yellow dust. OF
course, my only thought was of my
wife, and seized the first opportunity
to send off the treasure.
A miner, going home, willingly took
charge Of my little pile, and soon I
begun to look for letters.
Bob's 1 could easily imagine-nobIe,
manly, like himself. Susy's thought
Of, aud tried to fancy, hundreds of
tunes, for I'd never had letter from
J her. knew it would be delicate and
dainty. and like my pretty snowdrop.
| Well, well, fancies may do very well,
but they won't feed hungry heart.
Day after day passed by, and no let
t'e. My soul grew sick. | made all
rts of excuses for them. I imagined
Al sorts of delays. But the long, dreary
d., o went by with leaden feet, and not u
wsrd came to tho wanderer.
L grew morbid and bitter, and at last
1 wrote to an acquaintance in San Fran
cisco, asking for tidings of my brother
and wife.
| The friend was not so neglectful as
Soon-too soon-I got reply. can
ste it now, in letters of fire. "My dear
fellow it ran, I" I have made inquiries,
aS you reque sted, about your wife and
brother, and 1 can only find that they
disappeared from here few months
| az o, telling no one whence they were
going, but evidently having plenty of
m oney."
What more the letter contained I
never knew; that much of 1t was sburned
into my brain, and at that point lost
myself. They do say I was a ravine
maniac. Perhaps 30; T don t know.
1 only know I found myself an old
man, blasted before my time, like a
tree struck by lightning.
Yet, I could not feel angry. How
could blame him2 Was I not mad to
leave him, with his loving heart, to care
for tender young beauty like my Susy 2
How could he help loving herr Wash t
she all that was lovely2 He was not to
| blame, poor fellow.
And shea Did she not love me, and
was he not my twin brother2 What 80
strange that, seeing his love, she should
grow to return it2
What should do? Should search
them out, and blast their lives forever 2
Should I como with my ignoble revenge
and tear her from his arms2 Would she
love me for it3 Should 1 get back my
wife and brothers
Oh, no I had been gone long enough
to give her divorce-she had undoubt-
| edly got it, and was even now his wife.
His wife Oh, God, and 1 could live
Weeks, months, years, dragged on.
scarcely knew they passed. Mechani-
cally, worked on. Fortune, no longer
sought, showered gold on me. cared
neught for it, but instinct prevented me
from throwing it away. Gambling was
utterly repugnant to me. No form of
dissipation lured me. I was an old, old
man at thirty. 1 only worked and
thought, and lived over the old DAYS
nv one brief day of perfect joy.
+ never cursed them. The Hurt was
too deep and too sharp for curses. From
the depths of my torn heart / pitied
them
We'll, twenty years rolled On, and I
had got to be forty five years old, feeling
and looking more like sixty-five, bent
and stiff and gray haired.
One pleasant Christmas day, in my
Wanderings, came on travelling party
OF miners, bound to the goldregions. +
joined them, frontier fashion, and was
soon seated at their fire, exchanging
news OF the Indians and from the
States. I chanced to mention my
name.
We've got namesake OF yours in
camp" said one fellow.
.. Have you9" said, carelessly. cit
isn't common name"
"No; and that's why it's odd," said