The Findlay Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Hancock County, Ohio) 1870-1881, 1877-08-03


1t penetrating eyes.
n But" he says quietly, you canno
evade; you know he does. Now, wha
|, | will have from you is this: How vii
: you answer when he puts to you tn,
supreme question of his life? Silent
But | demand an answer
And l command you to desist from
: your present impertinence and to leave
:. me-" 1 cry, springing up in passion, anC
fiinging far from me the rose witt
t which / had been toying; "and if yor
a are delegate from your friend, he hal
indeed been unfortunate"
No, upon my honor, am not that
he replies, earnestly. Then he stand.
aside and bows gravely as I sweep past
| hasten to the drawing room, and
D soon the gentlemen comes in. William
Hamilton comes over to where | am
sitting. He is certainly handsome
though not in way attractive to us
women; tall and slight, with an aristo
cratic, mobile, though somewhat femi
nine face, lit up by large, soft. melan-
cholly eyes; his hands, beautifully fash
tiened, are thin, almost TO transparency
He leans with his arm on the back of my
chair, and begins talking about some
book he has given me. To all his ques-
tons / reply with warmth and anima
ton. Colonel Gordon is observing us;
his face always brightens when he hears
me talking less frivolously than is my
wont. ] cannot help contrasting the
two friends; the younger-and so much
the younger, too-so fair and fragile, the
elder, certainly not at all handsome, but
strong of limb and broad of chest, with
the dark resolute face, worn and beaten
by the storm wind of the world.
think have made myself most agree
able to poor Mr. Hamilton. We sit BY
ourselves all the evening apart in a cor
Iner of the room, apparently lost in one
another, until something he says puts
me out Of tune, and | leave him in tiff
poor fellow. Only when he is going
away, am so sorry for him that can
not resist saying,I hope you don't think
me too quarrelsome? Then / look up
piteously in his face and cast another
look of proud defiance at his friend.
Soon our little party breaks up, and l
am glad that the evening is at an end.
Another superb day, Just as hot and
clou Hess as the day before; but in spite
of the beautiful weather, and all the
roses in the garden, I got up cross and
out of spirits. Am | merely fiirt?
Something altogether too light and
frivolous? A woman, 1 think, should be
something better After all, Colonel
Gordon was right, and when | see Mr.
hamilton again will show him firmly
but kindly that he has no reason to hope.
| am somewhat comforted by this resolu-
ton, but / have no will to read books or
pay visits. have no mother, and l am
an only child, so my life is rather soil
tary. Somehow the day wears itself
away, and at 6 o'clock, punctual as the
time itself, comes the quick, familiar
ring, and | hasten to meet my dear old
father after his official duties. | over
come him by kisses and complaints.
"Oh, / am so glad you have come back"
1 say; Il say; "I have been horribly dull;
and hasn't it been hot-no cool corner
in the house, and no shade in the gar
den" He returns my kisses very affec-
tionately, but he looks so grave that /
say, anxiously, "is anything the matter,
dear?"
Yes; | have very sudden and bad
news" he answers, taking me into the
dining room and stroking my hair with
his dear. kind hands. "Young Hamil
ton is dead; was found dead in his bed
1t appears he was always subject to heart
complaint met Gordon in the street
who gave me the sad news. Poor fel-
low. he seemed quite broken by it."
! am terribly. Dead | say the word
over and over again, and yet cannot
realize the full meaning of it. But
when go to bed turn my face to the
wall, on which one long ray of moon
light is playing and sob as if my heart
would break, and yet know | did moi
love him. o, soft, melancholy eyes
Perhaps not melancholy now, but glad
, and radiant and full of new triumphant
: light. o, poor troubled heart that has
hope, at last found rest. But / think
of the little things might have said and
done, and of all the things said or done
SO much the better left undone.
Well, the tedious summer days go by
We never see Colonel Gordon now, he
seems to have given us up; even papa
ceases to wonder at his silence. The
hot August day we leave noisy, dusty
London behind and take wings for the
, continent We have got over the shock
of poor Mr. Hamiltons death, but / am
not quite what | was, and | think il
Colonel Gordon could see me now he
would think me less frivolous. / have q
half hope that we may meet him in ou1
+ wanderings. | look anxiously into all
the hotels, into the books of visitors
where his name is not registered, and
after two months of mountain and sea
air we come buck to old London, the old
house, and the old life. We have been
home week. To day papa has got tc
his Office occupations again, and to-day
1 feel terribly sad and cheerless-a sad
t ness which all things round me tend tC
/ deepen; the rustic of dead leaves in the
} garden paths, the meanings of the wind
in the leafess branches, the cold, gray
aspect of the sky. Is there nothing
, should like to do? think, as / wander
listlessly between the garden and the
house. All, yes, there is one thing
have always intended to do, and why not
to day? I gather nosegay of late
autumn flowers out of our own garden
knowing that, if living, that would have
pleased him stand Iset out ON my sad
pilgrimage. They have laid my lover to
rest at Norwood, in the dim vaults under
the church. Ash walk up between the
long rows of tombs chill rain begins
falling, beating in my face, but i do not
feel frightened or lonely in this capital
, of the dead, nor do | shrink as, Lit by a
family glimmering taper, / follow down
the winding staircase into the sad,
populous region below dank air, in