The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1877-09-28

keep away no longer, Faith, | have
longed 50 much to see you. You may
curse me, but ! must speak this
once. / love you better than my own
life. Faith, my darling, you love me,
knew il long ago. God forbid that |
should cast shadow over your young
life; for your sake, would we had new
or met; yet shall be much better
man and truer husband for that por-
ton of your goodness which our ac-
quaintancc has impaired to me, and my
dreary path through life will he strength
ed and blessed by visions of your pure
womanhood. Cruel indeed is the bond
that separates u.s."
"What does thee mcan?" said Faith.
81 mean that | am villain," he re-
piled in husky whisper. "rry TO for
give me, but have wronged you deep
ly, Faith; for eight long years have
been married man.
The color slowly faded from Faiths
cheeks, she withdrew her hand and
stood motionless.
"Can you forgive me?' he implorcd.
81 forgive" she said, in stiflcd
voice, "but we must never meet again"
She turned full towards him, letting
her lovely, truthful eyes gaze earnestly
into his. The surf was breaking near
their feet; the shadows of evening were
creeping over the distant hills, and deep
er and deeper grew the shadow on
Faith Leslie's young heart. She stood
for a moment thus. Farewell" she
said, and at that word, all her loving
woman nature dubbed to the surface,
and she cried:
81 know l shall always love YOU"
Blame her not, she was passing
through her first great trial, and the Sc
verest one that loving woman can be
subjected to. She was parting from the
man she loved, and the man who loved
her. Bitter though her wrongs had
been, she felt no resentment towards
him. o! the wondrous forgiving depth
of a woman's love.
He took her hand-never more were
they to gaze upon each others face.
"Farcwellr' and John Gray was
alone.
Faith went to her room with an unut-
tered prayer for strength to pass the
ordeal. When the object of a woman's
love, around whom the freshest flowers
of her heart are perpetually blooming
and unfolding new beauties, is found
unworthy, where then can her soul find
refuge except in the simple prayer,
"God help me- Henceforth Faiths
life was real, exceedingly real. All
dreaminess and romance were suddenly
blasted, and nothing remained but bare,
practical fact.
But Faith was not broken-hearted.
and as her mind gradually regained its
healthful action the realization of John
Gray's unworthiness formed Il strong
incentive for the removal of his image
from her heart. She felt il her duty to
take up the burden of life with cheer
full spirit. "The holy duties of wife
and mother may never be minc," she
thought, ''yct / may fill place in
society equally as noble. Woman's lot
is on me to be found untired watching
beside the bed of pain, TO yield my life
a sacrifice if need be. Help me, my
God, to willingly accept whatever path
may eass ee 9tifned FL i1F mein mission scnoo, soon
claimed Faiths attention, and being in
tercstcd in that she was gradually led
TO inquire into the condition of others
of the destitute population of her city.
There was work to be done, plenty of il, ,
and Faith grasped it with zeal.
Five years passed and Faith, still an
espoused, had developed into strong,
self-relant woman. John Gray had
faded into pleasant memory: pleasant
because she knew had it not been for
him she would not have received that
discipline which had been the means of
directing her to so much happiness.
She does not love him now, and the
phantom, "might have BEEN" finds no
| on t,.nn n xxritI 4
termined will she hath closed the door
against it, saying, 81 have 10 room for
this" When Faith was tWenty-eight,
Richard Earle once more offered her
his heart
81 have no time for marrying," said
Faith, "and | believe | am too much in
terested in the work have undertaken
to find my truest and best happiness in
married life. do not need a husband,
but thee can, if thee will, assist me at my
labor. l long so much for strong arm
and willing heart to help me. O.,
Richard, how vain and frivolous my
former life seems. What knew then
of the true happiness that springs from
doing Gods will, and my duty to my fcl-
low creaturesw
Soon Faith, with Richards assistance.
had planned the erection of noble in
! stitution, and one which the city of w.
did not then possess, home for desti-
tute children. Faith in her experience
had long felt the need of such a place.
where children could be educated and
carefully watched till they became of
sufficient age to take care of themselves.
Twas noble undertaking, and Faith
freely offered both time and money.
ic IL 4
/ good one it is, too, covering acres of
ground, with plenty of playing room
for the children, light and well yentilat-
cd apartments, and supplied with n
! full corps of competent instructors for
the mind and body. The doors are
opened wide for children of all nation
alities, and Faith finds her best happi-
ness in doing her duty to these poor
outcasts.
One Sunday afternoon a carriage stop
ped at the gateway, and the occupants,
a lady and gentlemen, alighted for the
purpose of visiting the institution. The
lady is stylish, fashionably attired wo-
man, and in the gentleman we recognize
our old acquaintance, John GRAY.
grown somewhat older and sterner than
when we last saw him, yet possessed of
the same air of luxurious refinement
that had always marked the man; and
the woman, who so gracefully stepped
from the carriage, was John Gray's
wife.
81 am glad we are here at last" she
said, 81 am too tired to ride much far
ther, and wanted so much to visit this
Home before returned; il is quite fash
ionablc to do so. When Count Won
lluder and Mrs. Sears were talking
about il, | was really ashamed to con-
fess that l had never visited IL. Take
my parasol a moment, will you. Imust
lift my dress, this walk seems so damp.
There! you have dropped it! why must
you be so awkward?'
John Gray wore grim smile, and as
they neared the door, his wife again
spoke;