Macon beacon. [volume] (Macon, Miss.) 1859-1995, 1878-08-17
for it, 50 we drew lots to see who should

want TO 90, besides the uncomfortable
life, but ! would not tell Rob; for |
could not drive him off TO the mines, and
/ knew his generous heart 50 well, that !
was sure he would insist on going, if he
were aware OF all.
But-well the truth is,in word, | was
in love, and ! couldn't bear to leave my
dainty Susy to fight the world alone
she was music teacher, poor thing -
nor for the other fellows to fall in love
with,
However, l submitted, of course, to the
lot, and made nay preparations to 60. 1t
was a sad heart that | bore around to
Susy' rooms that night, and | couldn't
bear to tell her; but, bless you she no
sooner saw my face than she knew some
thing was coming, and she braced her
selfup to meet it before she asked me a
question. After we had spoken of the
weather. and the book / had brought her
the day before, at last she said, quietly:
"Well, Ralph, what isit? | know you
have bad news for me-"
"It's bad for me, Susy, and Pm afraid
it will be bad for you; though you
know"
| couldn't 60 on, and she spoke again,
brave az she always was.
"Ralph, you know Pm used to mis-
fortunes. Tell me at once"
So told her, and she bore it nobly--
as | knew she would-tbough I was the
only friend she had in San Francisco,
except her pupils.
But had thought of another plan to
make MY going a little easier. That was
to make her my wife before | left SO as
to leave her in the care of Rob, and
relieve her from the hard lie she was
living.
After some persuasion she consented to
it.
So, day or two afterward, we three,
i had told Bob-went into quiet
little church, and Susy was given to me
to cherish and protect.
Brave little womanl how trustingly
she gave me her heart, and how basely l
failed her! How ready ] was to be-
lieve---
But let me go back. took her to our
cozy boarding place, which was indeed a
home to us, installed her as its mistress,
made every provision that love could
suggest for her comfort, enjoyed the
bliss of few hours honeymoon, and then
left her.
Ineedn't speak of that. 1t was bard,
| tell YOU.
All, well I'm an old man now-older
by sorrow than by years; but | never
shall forget the fresh, dainty look OF my
darling, ss | left her on the steps that
bitter day--a bride in the morning, a
widow at night, And never did forget
it through all the black years, though it
seemed as if the verymemory of it would
drive me mad.
Well, | went TO the mines, and | tried
faithfully, eagerly, for my heart was
longing to 60 back to her. But I could
not succeed.
Mails were not then established, so
did not hear from my two dear ones; but
all the harder / toiled, for never a
thought Of doubt entered my mind
was only too glad to have my dear
brother to care for her, and save her
from all rough contact with the world
Finding no luck in the mines, de,
termined to push on into the Indian
country, and try a little hunting and
trapping; ior that was good business
then. succeeded a little better At
that, but wandered on, ard finally came
out at Frazer river, where the gold ex-
element had broken out fiercely.
| don't know now whether it was
months or years-days and weeks we're
alike to me for q long time-but at last
was successful, and got together five
thousand dollars in yellow dust. OF
course, my only thought was of my wife,
and ] seized the first opportunity to send
off my treasure.
A miner, going home, willingly took
charge of my little pile, and soon began
to look for letters.
Rob's ! could easily imagine noble,
manly, like himself Susy's l thought
of, and tried to lancy, hundreds of times,
for I'd never had a letter from her.
knew it would be delicate and dainty,
and like my pretty snowdrop.
Well, well, tancies may do very well,
bat they won't ieed a hungry heart
Day after day passed by and no let
ters. My soul grew sick, l made all
sorts of excuses for them. imagined
all sorts of delays. But the long, dreary
days went by with leaden feet, and not a
word came to the wanderer.
grew morbid and bitter, and at last
wrote to an acquaintance in San Fran.
cisco asking for tidings OF my brother
and wife.
The friend was not so neglectful as the
wife and brother
Soon-too soon-I got reply. |, car
see it now, in letters of FIRE. "My dsal
fellow" it ran, 'I have made inquiries
as you requested, about your vile and
brother, and l can only find that they
disappeared from here few months ago
telling no one whence they were going
but evidently having plenty o money
What more the letter contained
/ never knew; that much of it was burneC
into my brain, and at that point 1 los
myself. They do say WAS ravin!
maniac. Perhaps so; | don't know.
only know | found myself an OLE
man, blasted before my time, like a tre
struck by lightning.
Yet, | could not feel angry. How
could blame him? Wss | not mad t,
leave him, with his tender heart, to car,
ror tender beauty like my Susy7 Hoy
could he help loving her? Wasn't sh
all that was lovely? He was not t.
blame, poor fellow.
And she ? Did she not love me, an,
was he not my twin brother? What $
strange that, seeing his love, she shoul
grow to return it p?
What should do? Should | scare
them out, and blast thei- lives forever
Should leone with my ignoble revenge
and tear her from his arms? Would sh
love me for it? Should get back m
wife and brother?
Oh, no! l had been gone long enoug
to give her divorce-she had undoubt
edly got it, andeven now was his wife
His wife Oh, God and | could live
Weeks, months, years dragged on.
scarcely knew they passed. Mechanics
ly | worked on. Fortune, no longe
sought, showered gold on me. l care
naught tor 1t. but instinct prevented m
from throwing it away, Gambling ws
utterly repuguant to me. No form {
dissipation lured me. ! was an old, oil