Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1878-12-28

y
child dared not complain that | was
not beloved. What right had | to de
mand? What difference did my pain
make to any other heart in the wide
world?
Then after my childish sorrow | was
afraid to leave the shelter he had held ont
for me. 81 am not adamant," | whisper
ed. "You do not mind: but parting from
my only friend comes hard to me-
DIR. Wilde drew me forward so that
must look up into his eyes. "Do appear
to you like happy man, Alice ?" he asked
kindly. "No, you look most miserable. y He
still caressed the little loose curls about
my forehead "Oh, child" said he, 'you
are such foolish little girl! Why should
| mind, indeed lis only that in losing
you lose all which endears life to me all
which binds me to youth lis only that
after YOU are gone shall have nothing
before me save a mechanical tufillment of
round of tasks. accuse myself of
weakness now for having yielded to the
temptation your friendship held out to
me. God knows, Alice, thought that if
seeing you constantly entaled pain on any
one, it would all come to me. | knew
was strong and could bear pain. am
used to it and this was the first joy had
had for thirteen years. wish for your
sake Alice. that | had been wiser. You
look i'll ght-fairly i'll. :"
His words had been so potent to infuse
strength and energy again that had to
struggle with myself not to show him that
| had IA certain gladness in his sorrow.
had averted my eyes. IL cant sleep of
late | faltered. II can't sleep until
morning and it has made me grow thin
He grasped my hand firmly, looked
searchingly into my face, then started up
and stood leaning against the fireplace.
II ask you to forget me Alice he said
with calm, steadfast gravity. II love
you dearly. want you to be happy
shall rejoice in your happiness
too had risen. His words smote me.
| flung him word of defiance-that if in
deed he loved me, he could not want me
to be happy. He made me no answer but
went on deliberately.
"You fail To do me Justice now. Later
you will be grateful to me. shall never
forget you-fear anything rather than that.
BE certain that what was for one moment
fully acknowledged and understood be-
tween us can never be changed where
am concerned" He paused, then strobe
toward me. took my face between his
hands and looked down into my eyes with
an expression which made me very
miserable.
"Good-bye," said he. "Good-bye, love-
ly angel face, goodbye. Good, loving,
darling child, goodbye" That was all.
He did not kiss me; did not even touch
my hand but went away at once.
First or last in this life comes the hour
when we must each work our own saliva
ton. Now had come mine. Everything
| had held to had slipped away from my
grasp; it remained for me to find the eter-
nal verities which never desert me. IIither-
to my heart had urged its own wishes
with an insistance which demanded happi-
ness: now il resigned its claims and sought
for mere WEAKNESS of personal struggle,
to enter into the outside interests of the
world and feel the pressure of less egotis-
tic thought. DIR. Wilde had chosen my
companions we'll Mr.. Winslow and his
wife were childless people, whom excep-
tional gifts and exceptional opportunities
had alike allied to sympathies with the
fullest march of the worlds work and en-
erges, while at the same time they could
feel the warmest interest in any one who
looked to them for help and sustainment.
This nearer duty they performed for me
they knew my story and had gained the
consciousness that there was great need
in my life.
But in approaching my encouragement,
my faintness of heart, they did not try to
help me by pointing to any fresh hope by
/ which might feed my supreme hungry
shivering self. They tried instead to d.
rect me into a range of stronger, wiser
thoughts than those which had hitherto
known, There was nothing exceptionally
noble in my new motives, nor were the
determining acts of my fresh impulses any
, thing to tell about it is better for us when
our struggling heroism fulfills itself under
such prosac conditions that we cannot
look for applause nor feel that there is any
thing valuable about our example. Yet |
did improve under the powerfully-com-
polling motive of longing for better,
worthier, and more sustained womanhood,
even if the effects of my new powers were
not widely visible.
We lived eight months of the year in
Florence. and spent the remaining four in
Switzerland. We had many acquaintance
wherever we went, and after a year or tw o
had passed | began to receive offers of
: marriage Once or twice Mr.. and Mrs
| w lilSioN duNlStt me W tDIlSlutT well ne
fore threw away an almost certain pros
pect of happiness. could not tell them
that found it impossible to cut myself off
from the chance of returning to my old
life.
Until one of these new loves made me forget
the sweetness of some of my imperishable
memories, could not believe in the worth
of any destiny he might offer me. Not
that had expectation or hope where DR..
Wilde was concerned, but know that was
growing older. and that he would soon be
a worn, gray man. When that time came,
| believed it would be safe to 90 home
All looked forward to as private, per
sonal joy in my own life was the content
of - ing in the south parlor at Aunt Fall
conei's house and watching for the sight of
DR. Wilde's figure at the gate and listen
ing for the stamp of his horse on the gravel
outside KIN wing that presently he would
enter with his kindsmile and genial, ''How
are you to-day, child -
At times we all heard from him, pleas
ant. friendly letters which were passed
from one to the other or read aloud. Then,
too. whenever the Winslow's wrote +