Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1879-04-29
ing beside the wreck of broken ideal.

DOC T0luTu 10 N1drRory'S CHECK anu Ill
old light to her eye. His stern natur
might bear with the first shock of grle
and dismay, but he felt it now high tim
that she should forget all vain regret
for an unworthy object. UnconsciOusl.
his manner betrayed his disapproval
and in proportion her own grew coli
and reserved. From her mothers weak
er nature she had never looked for help
full and comprehending sympathy.
Only John Butler, with the keen in
sight of love, read the poor child's heart
He had given her little more than al
occasional smile Of pleasant greeting IL
all these months. yet his whole sou
yearned toward her in an agony of pity
ing tenderness. Slowly and trembling
ly the hope dawned in his heart tina
she might be won to begin with him {
new life, in which his great love shoule
atone to her for the cruel suffering sh'
had endured.
Allan Wilde had lain for eighteer
months in his dishonored grave, wher
Deacon Gray called Margery, one day
to speak with her alone.
"Child," he said, II have something
to say to you which deeply concerns
your welfare. John Butler has spoken
to NE of you to-day. He would scarce
ly expect me to repeat to you what he
has said, but I have thought best to dc
so, that you may know beforehand my
own opinion in reference to the subject
He has asked my permission to seek
you for his WIFE"
Margery started violently.
His wife !" she cried, with bitter en-
phasis. "Does John Butler think that
[ can" She stopped suddenly, and q
wave of color swept across her cheeks.
Her father had risen.
"Margery =" he said. in voice trem
ulous with passion, 'listen to me-! On
the hillside yonder are the graves OF
three of my children. Better for the
only one left me that she were laid
beside them than to waste her life in
wicked repining for scoundrel who, il
he were alive to-day, would be serving
out the penalty of his crime in the pen
He paused, startled at the calm white
ness of her face. She put up her hand,
and her lips moved for moment with
out sound. At last she said
Father, it is enough Send John
Butler to meW
II cannot, Margery. He gave me no
message for you"
''Then I will go to him." she answered,
turning with swift, resistless motion to
the open door.
"Margery, come back!" he called, but
she was gone.
John Butler sat alone in his school
room. There was quick tap on the
door, and scarcely waiting for his an
swer, Margery entered Startled at her
pallor, he would have led her to seat,
but she gently resisted.
"JOhn," she said, still standing before
him, "my father has told me what you
said to him."
He told your
HE told me. Yes, it was better so,"
she answered. 81 have come to tell you
that I will marry you if you wish, but
there is one thing you should have
known. [ have never cared for any
one in that way; but-but-" The
strain had been too great. She sank
into chair and burst into storm OF
passionate weeping.
He bent over her in an agony of self
reproach, soothing her like little child.
my child, know, know" he said.
Then when her sobs were still:
Ibid you come to me of your own
will, Margery ?"
'Of my own will"
"And could you trust me, then, to
cherish and comfort you, and some time,
may be, teach you to love me as I-Oh
my darling, I have loved you always y"
II will try" she answered.
He took the little cold hands in his
own and kissed them reverently, in seal
of the strange betrothal.
He had had other dreams-this strong,
self man-of the little bride
that slowly, but surely won, might
creep some time with smiles and bushes
to his sheltering breast, but he put them
by, and closed the book of memory up
on the unmarked page.
His home had been very lonely since
his mothers death. and Margery herself
seemed to wish for no delay so, in the
early autumn, they weIe married.
With fond secrecy he had fitted all
the belongings of her room to her spe-
cial tastes and fancies. The colers she
chose-the books and flowers she loved
best-were there. He had pictured to
himself over and over how the old sun
shine would light her face at the sight.
"You are very kind" she said simply,
only that.
II am too Inpatient" he thought,
crushing his disappointment. II must
wait-she must have time!n
How patiently he waited only God
knew! Her smallest wishes were con-
suited; she was irked by 10 unaccus-
toned care; she dwelt in an atmosphere
OF watchful care and gentleness. Yet
he looked vainly for anything beyond
the quiet, grateful response which might
have been made by any honored guest.
At rare intervals an almost petulant
manner replaced her usual calm, and he
found her sometimes, after long walks,
by herself, with traces of tears upon her
cheeks. He ceased the small caresses
which she received so passively, fearing
to give her pain. His love never wav-
cred, but slowly, slowly hope was dying
from his heart.
She came to him one day, and stood
silently beside the desk where he was
apple of Latin exercises. Sud
denly, with her old impulsive motion,
she swept her hand across the paper.
Are you never tired of it all ?' she
cried. This ceaseless monotony-the
boys with their creaking boots and blot
ted exercises and endless conjugations ?
Does this life satisfy you? Do you want
nothing?
Long afterward she remembered the
pain in his face. He felt for a moment
that he must open his arms and cry to
her, "You-you-it is you I want
CemeW But he only wiped his pen
and laid it down.
"You are tired, my child.u he said
he always called her "my child' now
II have been selfish in keeping YOU to
my dali ways. We must have some
change for you. Stay have the very
plan. You remember my aunt Olivia
Rande, whom you met here with hel
daughter three years ago. 1 had letter
from her this morning from her country
house on the seashore. She asked us to
come to her for long visit I cannot
well leave, you know, but I will send
you for both of us. Would you like it.
Margery ?"
He had not seen SO bright look upon
her face for months.
II am sure should like it ~ she an
swered. Then, with sudden compunc-
ton, 'You won't be lonesome
II shall be busy. you know, and old
Elsie will take famous care of me"
He lifted his eyes to her face If she
had said but one little word how Joy
fully would he have pushed aside all
obstacles to follow her where she would.
l am writing story of to day. 1t
was In last July that Margery went