Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1877-04-18

shivering in this chilly air."
They passed through the low window
into the light drawing groom. At the
further end of the room Mrs. Ruther-
ford was sitting, her little form almost
buried in the capacious depth of a
crimson velvet armchair. A bright.
pretty little woman, with face very
like her brothers in features, very I'M
like In expression; she had bright black
eyes, as clear and sparkling SIS if no
tear had ever dimmed them, and her
graceful little head was adorned with a
profusion of black ringlets and bright
cherry ribbons. She was evidently not
at all one of the naughty, arrogant
danes, who cypress meek coyernesses.
but a loving and tender-hearted little
woman, who had been very kind to the
frlendless governess, and had trusted
her children TO her care without asking
any questions as to her past life, which
she saw was painful for her to speak
Of. She could hardly understand the
reserved and self-reliant nature, 80 diff
ferent from her own; there were depths
in it which she could not fathom; but
she seemed 80 pure and good that she
trusted her completely. There must
have been misfortune in her past life;
she was sure that there could have been
no guilt.
Mr.. Kingley led her to Mrs. Ruther-
ford's side, and said, quietly:
"Alice, this is our brother's-this is
Arthur's wife"
After the first bewildered moment
had passed, Mrs. Rutherford, compre-
bending all, and thinking of all the
misery the lonely girl must have suf-
fered, clasped her in her arms, and
kissed the pale cheek; and tears, the
first Madeline had shed for many q
day, fell from her eyes. And SO her
position in the family was changed;
yet she would not permit Mrs. Ruther-
ford to engage a new governess, pre-
ferring still TO have the care of the
children as before. There were only
two; Wallace, the eldest, his uncles
namesake, was bright manly little
fellow of eight, and Bessie, the young
er, was a graceful, fair haired little
creature, with all her mothers sweet
ness and winning ways. 1t was con-
slant pleasure to Madeline to watch
the free, joyous little natures, and
through them she seemed almost to
find her way back to the freshness of
her own childhood, that had seemed so
far away, and to conceal all the weary,
ioyless years that lay betweed it and
the present. So she would not give
them up to another's care.
Mrs. Rutherford, with eyes made
keen by her love for her brother, had
not failed to see his love, the love that
was now dishonorable for her who was
his brothers wife. She did not see the
struggle for self-conquest, but she saw
that he had won the victory. His face
was paler and graver than of old, but
his manner was as calm, and as full of
quiet, brotherly tenderness to Madeline
as to his own sister.
He was going abroad; he had long
been contemplating going in search of
his brother, Of whom for nearly a year
they had heard nothing. and now he
felt he could not stay; that it was bet
ter for him to go. And SO, in the first
dreary November days he went; and
the long winter passed, cherries and
lone, but still made brighter to Made
line than any since her childhood had
been, by the clinging love Of the chill
dren, and Mrs. Rutherford's sympathiz-
ing, sisterly affection, before whose
| tenderness Madeline's GOODNESS and re-
serve gave way.
They had letters often from Mr..
Kingsley, who was seeking always,
through busy cities, and peaceful
hamlets, under bright and cloudy
skies, in glad hopeful sunshine and
dreary chilling rains, for him who was
doomed to be all his life long an out
cast and wanderer upon the face of
the earth. At length letter came to
the patient walters at home, saying
that he had found traces of him, and
the next letter, waited for with such
anxious suspense, told them that he
had found him, but that he could new
er be found to them any more in this
world. He had found him i'll, dying,
at little wayside inn; he had iecog-
nized his brother, had told him of his
wife, with whom his last thoughts seem
ed to be; he begged him to seek her,
and ask her to forgive him for the
wrong that he had done her.
And so he had died there in a for
eign land, and they to whom he had
caused so much misery wept tears of
unfeigned grief for him, and remem-
bered him with the blessed merciful
memory in which the dead are ever
held, striving to think of him only as
he had been in other days, and to for
get the wretched folly and crime that
had darkened his latter years. And so
Wallace Kingsley's quest was ended,
but still he had not come home. The
spring came, joyous and sweet, with
balmy breath, and robes of tender trail
ing green; and then summer, with
languid sultry airs, came and tarried
until herb and flower tainted under it's
scorching sun, and still he came not.
All through the long autumn and
winter that followed, Madeline sat by
seaward window, watching half-uncon-
sciously for his coming, but she watch
ed in vain. The summer came again,
and she stood one night in her old place
on the piazza, watching the sunset fade
into twilight. It was lot just the same
Madeline that had stood there two
wears before: the old DREAMY look had