Middletown transcript., 1878-05-18

ms me-
Il was afraid the distance could no
be made in time," he said, assisting
me into the carriage.
"You could not have made it, but
stopped to look at some Of the oil
tombs. Richard, are those three you
little brothers and sister ?"
"What three ?" he asked sharply.
''The three whose last names ar,
Worth"
"Agnes, never ask me about them
again. They are dead. What you
could ever know about them woulC
not increase your happiness. Nevel
ask me, nor any one else, do you heal
me, Agnes ?"
He had never spoken so harshly tc
me, and | was determined all the more
to know about them.
"Why don't you want me to know
about those children ?"
'I wish it so. Won't you promise
me that you will not question farther?
He knew if the promise was given
that it would not be broken; that /
could never forget or slight my place SC
much as to do such a thing. So
resolutely said "No, not now;" know
ing that Hannah would be catechised,
and while the thoughts came he inter
preted them.
No one knows the truth but Han
nah she will not tell you. Can't you
be the reasonable little woman l have
always found you and let this matter
drop. If it would increase your hap
piness, l would tell you Don't you
believe that ~
Yes, | knew he would, and was glad
when we were in the parlor and sitting
beside him, telling him how sorry |
was for annoying him so much. l had
not given up the idea of asking her,
and seized upon the first opportunity.
"Why, Miss Agnes, what do you
know about 'em p
Simply nothing, Hannah, but I
mean to; except that their tombstones
are in Worthington graveyard"
"Well, child, that is enough for you
to know, until Mr.. Richard tells you
"But he won't" 1 persisted.
"Then 1 must not" she quietly and
decidedly replied, leaving the room.
For six months I had been Richard
Worth's wife, but did know whether |
was happy or not. Gladness always
came with him, and when away, as his
presence vanished, a terrible night
mare seemed to possess me, a dread
that some one was creeping between
US. Tears would sometimes come, let
me try ever so hard to restrain them.
I was in one of these moods when
Richard came upon me one day. l was
heartily ashamed Of myself for being
so weak as to give way. He was
grieved, and such look of pain came
in his eyes as he said:
Agnes, are you sorry that you
came here"
"Oh, MOI Richard. Why should
[ be sorry for coming here with you,
my dear husband ?'
"Then why these tears, little wo-
man? Do you want to go back home
You are lonesome, you want society"
mo 1 don't want society, only you"
Then 1 told him of all my feelings
when he was from me.
For somewEeeks he took me daily
with him until [ was once more my
old self; but new source of sorrow
was opening for me. Noticed day by |
day the lines were deepening in Rich
ards face and that something was
heavily on his mind.
June came we had been married a
year and were preparing to take the
same journey again. He was SO glad
when we were off and viewing the old
scenes again. The last of July
we were at Fernwood, delayed there
On account of a railroad accident
was busy among the wounded,
'or the dead, nothing could be done.
[ remember it was just before we were
going to leave, there was tall, angu-
ar looking woman, robed in dark
green, brought in the hotel, in an in
sensible condition. I was going to look
it her when Richard caught me by the
lrm, and in a voice that was scarcely ?
Lbove harsh whisper, said:
"Agnes, this is no sight for you-the
rain is due" By this time we were
n the street.
Il saw the others" J"
$50 much more the reason why you
hould not see her," he replied sitting
own beside me in the car and adjusting
ny shawls for me to recline on. REST
ourself, child, you are weary after so
luch excitement" he said, feeling my ,
ulse.
He was so pale and silent during
he journey that l could not help but |
-atch him. Although at a casual |
lance you would think him reading, {
e was not, but seemed to. be absorb
d in thought. |
We were as glad to reach home, as /
e had been to leave it. h
September was always such beau t
ful month to me, and almost each s
ay went to meet Richard returning v
ON his visits.
One day he was passing up and
own the piazza whistling, the air was
miliar; how often he had sung it to {
e when I first knew him, and I float I.
back in the past, listening to his q :,
1ice as such words seemed to sound u
distinctly on the Autumn air, o o
''Soft DER the fountain, Z
Lingering falls the Southern moon, :
Far Ger the mountain, ol
Breaks the day too soon; L
In thy dark-eyed splendor, al
Where the warm light loves to dwell, II
Heavy looks still tender,
Speaks the fond farewell
Nita, Junita,
Ask thou soul if we must part? ly
Nita, Junita, ia
Lean thou on my heart" /,
ID then taking it up where the voice
ased, Richard began to sing aloud:
itWhen in thy dreamings, U