The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1877-08-31
CONsTANCE'S STORY.

When my husband, Roscoe Arnold
asked me to merry him, l felt IL neces.
sary to tell him that 1 did not love him
as he loved me-that understood his
devotion, because felt it for another
that other, Ivan Gray-that to my hus-
band l had to give only grateful affec-
ton. Would that suffice?
He said that it would. He told me
atterward that. through my weeping, he
did not catch the name; but he thought
l said also that my lover had died.
The subject was not pleasant one
we did not refer to it afterward.
From the first Roscoe was good hus-
band. If l did not appreciate him then,
| was not unhappy. had a bright,
beautiful home which Roscoe named
Hesperides. The library was extensive,
the conservatory luxurious. Books and
flowers being my ruling passion, my
husband had taken especial pains to
crafty me. To-day never smell hello
trope or tuberoses without the memory
of those first lovely years coming back
to me.
After our boy was born, and every
body pronounced him a most healthy
and beautiful child, Roscoe said to me
"Constance, are you happy now"
eyes as l truly answered.
eyes, Roc.'
That was all he said.
1t was just two years after our mar
riage.
A few days later he received letter.
| asked him whom it was from.
"My sister," he answered.
81 never knew that you had sister,"
| said in surprise.
ono, l had never spoken to you of
Ora. When my parents died in my
boyhood, Ora was baby, and was tax
ell by an aunt down to New Orleans,
where she was raised with her children.
have only seen her once since then.
She is very pretty. This letter tells me
she is to be married."
He gave me the letter to read. 1t was
written on delicate, fragrant paper, the
penmanship easy and graceful, but rath-
er too fine. Rather brief communica-
ton, prettily expressed, asking lis TO
come to the wedding
"TO New Orleans in July! | am
afraid to take baby, and | could not
leave him."
81 see that we cannot go. 1t is i'm
practicable. l will write and tell Ora"
"And give her my love. Say that l
hope she will be very happy"
/ had been present at but one wedding
in my life, and that was my own. /
was six and twenty. 1t was very diff
ferent from what thought it would be
when l was eighteen. AT eighteen |
had been betrothed to Ivan Gray; at
twenty-six | married Roscoe Arnold.
The suggestion of another wedding
brought back the past to me. When /
was alone, and baby asleep in his bas-
ket, l went to a drawer in private
cabinet, and took out packet of letters
and a photograph.
The latter was vignette-a face as
handsome as a Greek gods, with per-
fection of contour that must ever be
fascinating. AS looked at il the peace
of my heart fed away. The breath of
the past, fragrant, new, springlike,
swept over me; the warm, imperious
impulses of youth started up in my
blood. Ah, that only was happinessl
That was bright morning-this was sui
try midday.
GAS starlight unto sunlight, as water
unto WINE, murmurcd.
sat there on the rich carpet before
the rosewood cabinet, the panorama of
the past sweeping before me, while the
sunshine crept along the pearly wall,
slipped across my lap, and illuminated
my baby's little rosy face.
1t awoke him at last. He reached up
his bits of hands in the golden light, and
lay cooling.
l looked at the letters, but did not
open them. There was no need. Ihad
learned each one by heart years ago.
The packet was small, and sat with it
held between my palms for nearly an
hour. But put away the letters and
picture at last and sat down by the win
dow, swinging the baby's basket to and
fro. The gladiolas famed crimson OH the
lawn, old elms embowered the deepest
shade, my pansies made purple shadow
on the paths beneath. A white butter
fly, futtering from the rose vine at the
window, swan on golden air into the
rich room where l sat, and wavered
from object to object. He rested at last
on the frame of my husbands portrait.
just then heard Roscoe whistling
lightly as he ran up stairs, and in a mo-
ment he entered the room, his hand full
of pond lilies.
"See here" said Roscoe.
He pulled off his straw hat, and the
curling hair about his white forehead
was literally dripping with Precipitation.
"See how wilted am, hurrying home
through the heat to save your lilies, i" he
laughed.
l brought him some cool water to
bathe his face, laid out some fresh cloth
ing, and went away to see if dinner was
ready. Thus took up again the pres
ent.