Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1878-03-07

nothing. do not think mine is an i'm
pressionable nature. Ihad spent thirty
years in the world. and had never loved
any woman until [ saw Mary Mayne in
the morning light sitting above that old
gateway; yet in one short week [ had
I grown to love her-well, as few women
/ are ever loved.
! At the endof that week there came
q letter from Willie Nereker, saving his
/ yacht needed some repairs, and he
would put in at Genoa for few DAYS if
/ his mother could not meet him there.
He had been to the east, and she had
/ not seen him for some time; so she de-
/ cided upon going back to Genoa, hoping
the Gwendoline might need more re
pairing than Willie thought, and keep
him there longer than he expected.
The evening of the day Mrs Vereker
received that letter [ told her of my
love for her niece, and asked permis-
sion to accompany them to Genoa
She regarded me with an odd look of
compassion. "Have you spoken to
Mary YETI" she asked.
| told her had not; [ wished to wait
until we had known each other longer;
[ feared being too precipitate
"Then," said Mrs. Vereker, II have
right to tell you anything of
her story. 1t is sad one, poor child!
and | warn you, you have little chance
of success. If you choose, you can
come with us to Genoa; but if [
were you, I should not do so. Save
yourself while you can. You have
known her d very short time. If you
leave us now, you will soon forget her;
later, you may find it a more difficult
task"
! [ shook my head The advice came
/ too late. went with them to Genoa
The stately marble city had a charm
! for us all. Mrs. Vereker had her son,
and the two found marvellous attrac-
tions in the quaint, narrow streets with
! their palace portals, their courts and
halls, where fountains sparkled and
flung diamonds Of spray round the
brows of pure, fair statues; where in
the GOODNESS and the shadow, golden
orange trees and thick masses of GRIM
son blossom cleaned with startling
glory.
had my idol. Day after day [ was
by her side. It was a fools paradise,
perhaps; but [ suppose there is such an
Eden in every life; and looking back,
when we have left its short-lived peace,
we vainly long for single throb of its
rapture. So, during those quiet days at
Genoa, each Of us, except Mary Mayne
had our hearts desire; Willie, the life,
the color, the loneliness he and his
Gwendoline sought in voyages to many
lands; Mrs. Vereker, her son; |, my
new delirious joy. There, on the terrace
where we were standing, [ first spoke to
Mary, and heard her tell me my love
was hopeless. She told me her story.
Her wedding day had been fixed. In
a year she was to have been married to
a man she loved with her whole heart;
when the war with Russia broke out,
and Gordon Frazer's regiment was or
| dered to the Crimea. He and Mary
wished to be married before he left, but
family reasons prevented it, and so they
parted. He had never returned to
England. A soldier brought Mary a
! little lOcket which she had given Cor
don. The ribbon it hung upon was
! thickened here and there with deep,
dark stains; and the man said Gordon
Frazer had given it to him to take to
Mary, when the officer lay dying after
the charge at Balaklava. 1t was only
the story of many an English and
many Russian girl during that dread
full time. When a strong, selfcontained
nature breaks down, it is almost utter
collapse; SO it was with Mary. For
months she lay silent, fearless, listless,
unable to make the slightest exertion
to take the smallest interest in life. Her
friends thought her brain had suffered
/ from the shock; and when she recov-
cred sufficiently to travel, Mrs. Nereker
had taken her abroad. where they mad
been moving from place to place ever
since. Her body regained health; she
was now quite strong; but the girls
heart and soul seemed dead: as she
said, dead. and buried in Gordon Fra
zer's grave. Yet as [ listened did not
despair. had no living rival; he was
dead, this man she loved; while my
heart was beating, living, and strong
with its worship of her. If could
only win her to be my wife, the dead
love would pale and faint before my
real and passionate devotion. So
hoped, as day by day [ watched her
every look, forestalled her every wish,
until she grew accustomed to my pre-
sence and to re y upon my care. My
hopes were answered; ere long [ won
her reluctant consent to be my wife, but
on the condition that our marriage
should not take place until their return
to England next year.
The rosy clouds were fading into the
deep purple of Italian night. Silence
fell around us as a mantle; only the
throb of the sea below the terrace broke
the intense quiet Out on the sea shOne
the white sails of little yacht. Nearer,
within the harbOr, rose the masts and
spars fmany ships, mysterious, spectre
like, as ships always look at night. As
we were seated in calm enjoyment of
! the scene, q small boat shot out from
the rocks beneath our feet, where Law
some hidden cave or landing-place. 1t
was rowed by two men; a third sat
wrapped IN large cloak in the stern.
They rowed well, and the boat was
nearly a mile from us, leaving a bright
line of light upon the shining water,
when cry broke the calm of the night
a wild, weird cry, with agony in its
/ tone. "GOrdonr [ meyer have heard
its like since, and [ never shall again.
In its agonized tone | could scarcely
recognize the voice of Mary, so changed
was it, so shrill with long pent-up yearn-
ing, as it walled out that one word
"GordOnl" The cry seemed to be re-
peated again and again, though soften
ed by the echoes, while the little boat
sped on its way, and its passengers
! n, owl i. I.