Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1878-08-16

for several days and Magdaen would not go
to her or leave the house till after the funer-
al neither had the heart to urge it,
you are here, and you do oil that l want
or that any one could do for me. | am much
happier alone" she had said with pitful
quiyer about her beautiful mouth and took
her hands in mine and answered
"Iy dear, you shall do just as you like. If
being alone is comfort to you, no one shaH
disturb you, and certainly did not. l had
to be there every day on business but very
often l did not see her at all. was busy
with the papers | have mentioned aud she
rarely left her own room. The little garden
on the leads was gay with spring flowers, and
the ivy was putting forth all its fresh green
shoots; but she never went into it now and
it had lost all its beauty for me.
was over at the house one evening turn
ing out the old oak cabinet, where her father
had once told me he kept most of his private
letters 1t was a wearisome task enough, for
they all had to be looked through before be-
ing destroyed; but was glad to do it, for
knew that many would have panied Magdalen
sadly; and in course of time came to one, set
aside in an old pocket-book by itself, and
without an envelope. / had glanced through
it and had seen the signature before | realized
that it was not written to Mr.. Robarts at all,
but to his daughter from one Guy Latham
had never hcen suffered to reach her. l don't
know mucL about love-letters, and / suppose
this was not different to the generality; yet
felt that l would rather die than that she
should see this, the passionate appeal of n
young man desperately in love, and furious
at the cruelty which had separated him from
its object. II know you love me" he wrote.
BE true to me and neither time nor absence
shall shake my fidelity. Your father has be-
t1.g fxsru nj tf,t hut
only wait for me, my angel till / can make a
home for you, and we shall be happy in spite
of him" and l reading it, wondered whether,
If she had seen it, she would have granted the
prayer and gone on waiting for him TIL then.
1t was question which was very terrible to
me, and | shut the cabinet, and sat down to
ponder over the letter The doubt was what
| should do about it even now.
Her father had kept it from her, and had
never intended it to reach her eyes. 1t had
been written six years ago. when she was on
ly young girl. The young man had never
been seen or heard of since. The prObabili-
ty was that he had long since forgotten her
and sho-wel, she had wcpt for him, and had
dried her tears and grown happy again as she
had been before he crossed her path. What
earthly end could showing her this letter serve
now, save to upset her peace of mind add
cruel tnge of bitterness to her grief for her
father, and perhaps stir up some morbid scru-
pie us to her right to accept the new love
which was waiting to be offered to her! l
thought Of it all night and all the next day,
and in all ways and lights, but this was the
result to which | invariably came and III
| the end resolved to abide by it. | did not
| destroy the letter, however; something with
in me made me averse to doing SO and |
! locked it up again with other papers which
were to remain in my keeping.
The funeral was on the following day.
Magdalen would 60, though l tried to per
! suRde her to the contrary for 1t was cold, raw
day, and | was afraid ior her health but
though pale as death, she was very calm and
| even at the grave-sdc made no moan or cry
| ing: but stood there with locked hands, and
| head little bent, tall, slender figure, all
| black from head to foot, cut out against the
| faint red color of an afternoon sky-a figure
so solitary and pathetic in its voiceless be-
| reavement, that 1T comes back to me even
now with the longing had then 10 take her
| in my arms and SO show her that love had
not left her alone in the world after all.
But tomorrow, said to myself, rs put
| her and cousin Jane, who had arrived in time
| for the ceremony, into the carriage. only
| till tomorrow We shall both know then
! Was it some mOcking tiend which whispered
| to Inc that if she cared for me she would new
er have kept her face so steadily averted from
mine. and answered me so briefly and coidly
| as | fancied she had done all that day-the
day which saw the completion of the last SER
vices that | could do for her But what did
it matter, | would have served her all my
| life long, even if had known l could never
have so much reward as a smile from her.
| Young men, when they make love, do 1t as
! they run and leap, for the prize they hope to
win. With men of my age 1t Is different
| When We love n woman, il is not what we can
| get from her, but what We can do for her that
We think about
/ went to see her the following day. She
was in the dining room, the servant said, and
alone and there 1 found her had gone in
unaunouuced and l must have startled her
for deep crimson spot came into her check
as she rose to greet me- and | felt her
hand trcmble in mine, 1t had never done so
| before.
Il did not expect you" she said a little for
| mally. 1T is kind of you to come. when |
have been taking up so much of your time Of
late. Cousin Jane has only just gone up
stairs. | will ring for her and she was
reaching out her hand to the bell when l
stopped her.
''Do not ring just yet" l said, Il have
something want to say to you first. Doyou
mind? 1t is not good time perhaps but |
will not keep you long, and have waited"
My voice was husky and | broke off. l did
not tell her how long | had waited Her
| sweet, soft eyes met mine with a Questioning
glance Somehow she must have guessed
that it was no tri1o that l had come about,
for her face had grown very white again yet
even then the trouble and yearning which l
could not keep out of mine touched her. She
answered very gently;
''You may keep me rs long as you like. Do
you think that have forgotten what you were
to papa and that he left me to your care
What is it you want to say to me 7"
She was still looking up Mt me. The late
coldness which had so distressed me had quite
gone from her manner. 1t was grave and
full of trust l had got my opportunity at
last, and how did use it ! Why, | let go her
hand, turned away from her sweet eyes, and
crossing the room, unlocked the oak cabinet
in the corner and took out Guy Latham's 5
letter. had decided that it ought never to
be shown her My mind was quite clear ON
the subject My reason and my conscience
We're alike convinced, and Well, well ]
dare say | am laundering, inconsistent tel-
low but couldn't help it. ! could not take
advantage of an absent man when it came to
the point, no, not even if | We're to win Mag
dalen by so doing; and SO | just put the let
ter in her hand and said:
Il have something to show you first.
found this among your fathers papers 1t
was written oNerslN years ago mt hethouSht
it better not to give it you then You will
not blame him even if he was wrong; for he
meant it for your good. Do you know the
handwriting"
For the moment-one glad moment-l
hardly thought she did for she looked up at
me, and then at the paper with puzzled,
wondering glance. Then l, looking on with
what a sore wrung heart no man can know,
saw the blood suddenly rush M into her face,
dyeing throat and cheeks and brow with
one vivid crimson glow Her lips parted with
quick shivering gasp, her great eyes diated
with look half fierce, half tender and yearn-
ing and then a cloud came over them,
there came mist and a driving rain, " and
down came the tears in n binding torrent
bowing the fair head and shaking the slen,