Maryland independent. [volume] (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1874-current, 1878-04-11


and was Obliged t.. decline the kind in.
vitatiOn.
I soon after the return of the Vernons tc
b I i,ondon, IN unlock I'd for event occurred
W. hi'thef only sister, wealthy widow
who also resided iu London. came out and
spent the summer with us, and on her re-
turn home insisted upon taking me back
with her
1t was shame" my aunt said ito
keep girl like me shut up all my life in
II little country town like Rosedale 1t
was time | saw something of the world,
and had advantages suitable to my age .
1t was trial to my mother, knew, to
part with me; but for my sake she gladly
consented to my going. And then it was
that Tor the first time, | saw the world for
myself As the niece of the wealthy Mrs.
Lacy and her reputed heiress, | found
ready admittance into the excellent circle
in which she moved. | mingled with the
rich and the gay. | learned what fash.
ionable society meant and | found, too,
that had tastes and capacities for enjoy
ment of which had never before
/ dreamed
My aunt only regret was that she had
not known me sooner
But then, she would say, cit don't
matter; you are still young and pretty
and you have such happy way of adapt
| ing yourself to circumstances, YOU will do
well enough
/ And it was there, too, again met the
! Nernons. Angy's health was still delicate.
and she mingled but little in general so
/ ciety; but how many blissful, happy davs
| spent with her in her own home When
| summer came. we all went 20 tiie svasido
| together; and now looking back on the
vista of years which have since passed. it
seems the most delightful summer of my
/ life
Immediately after my return to town, |
received letter from my father inform
] ing me of the dangerous illness of my
mother and urging me to come home
/ without delay. | reached there Just in
! time to receive her parting blessing
! For several months after my mothers
| death | remained at home, and, in my own
way. tried to comfort my father in his af
| Fiction, and be a mother TO my young
| brothers. My father did mourn sincerely
/ for short time; but his was not deep
nature and he was soon comforted. Be
/ fore year passed he brought home a
| bride to fill my mothers place; and then,
at my aunt's request, returned to town.
4 But another great sorrow awaited me
/ Angy Vernon was dead Died in Flor
cnce whittier her husband had taken her
for her health.
Several months elapsed after the news
of her death reached us before | met her
husband But at last he came back to
London with Willie, and but few days
past after his return before he came to see
me; yet ii seemed to me years, instead of
months. had been added to his age-so
prematurely old had he grown since we
last met.
'Oh. Louise, " he said, II try to be sub
missive; but how can live without Angy2 |
how remain here where everything re-
minds me of herr knew il was necessary
for me to return; knew my business de
manded my attention, and, for Willie's
sake, | must make an effort to struggle on
4 alone. But | cannot remain here | must
/ have a change. | have always wanted to
visit the East, but did not expect to 90 yet
for years Angy and | had talked it over
so often, and she had anticipated so much
enjoyment from the journey Shortly be
fore her death, we were reading together
book written by one who has been for
years missionary in Jerusalem, entitled
The city of the Great King. remember
her saying to me. Oh, husband. how |
should like to 60 there myself And now,
my friend | shall take the Journey alone
make of you; and do not make it in my
own name, but in the name of her who,
with almost her last breath, said, Take
Willie to Louise; tell her to love him for
my sakeH Heaven helping me, hope to
return a chastened, but better man"
| could refuse him nothing then, coming
as it did from Angy's dying lips; so gave
him the required promise. My aunt at
first objected; but when she saw my mind
was set on it, she gave her consent
In few days Edward Vernon brought
Willie to me, and started on his Eastern
tour. II was three years before he re
| turned to his native land. During all
those years | remained with my aunt
Our summers were spent in travelling, or
at some watering place; our winters were
passed in town. And then it was | lived
the life for which had so often sighed in
my early girlhood. But how | wearied OF
it all! How | longed for some quiet spot,
away from the noise and hustle of London,
where, with Willie for my companion, |
could live more rational life Even the
little town of Rosedale, which had once
thought SO hum drum, would have been
grateful to me then. But to my aunt |
never complained; still | think she must
have seen my mind was i'll at ease, for she
was constantly planning some new pleas,
ure-some new source of enjoyment fol
me.
My good aunt how perfectly devoted
she was to mel And at times how unwor
thy felt of the love she so freely lavished
upon me. But, fond as she was of me-
knew that in one thing had sadly disap.
pointed her She seldom spoke of it, but
| knew the one great ambition of her life
was to see me make a brilliant, wealthy
marriage. And great was her disappoint-
ment when one after another of my suit
ors was rejected "and without, " as she
said, being able to give any good rea.
SON
Is it really true, Louise, that you have
refused Colonel Ransom, one of the hand.
soonest and wealthiest men in town.
Yes Aunt Ellen, l told him a long
time ago could not love him.
And why could You not love hiunq vo,,
DO you wish to get rid of me?''
mo, Louise. You are the greatest com
fort have in the world; but cannot live
always, and the thought of leaving you
alone when am gone is at times really
painful to me"
Ny aunt's words made strange impres
sion on me; and that night, alone in my
own room, found myself repeating th,
5 question she had asked, "Why could
e not be Colonel Ransoms wife," He wa
a man every way worthy of my regard
his position was an honorable one. and
sincerely esteemed him as friend-bu
5 more than that | could not give, | di,
Y not love him; could not be his wife.
And in that hour of silent self-commun
4 ! ;,n rayalatiOp 40