The Newtown bee., 1879-05-06

they feared, forever. When her lover found that no arguments nor prayers could change her purpose, that she had solemnly recorded her VOW to the dead, and was fully prepared to perform it to the uttermost, even to the sacrifice of her dearest hopes and most cherished wishes, he disappeared from the neigh borhood without a farewell to any who had known him.
 After a. time letter came to. the par ish clergyman to tell that he was safe and about to sail for foreign land, and from that hour, for all those twenty years, no tidings of John Francis had fallen on Elsie Raymonds ears. When she knew that he was gone and would not return, she very carefully gathered ogether every little memento of chap py season of her happy love, and locked | them in the casket he had given her. thencetorth to be the shrine of her af- factions. Then, sternly and uncom- i plainingly. she turned to her life-task. fear after year roIIeu on. Elsie spun and wove, and directed her maidens and her farm-laborers, and taught and nursed her brothers and sisters, and in all things strove to supply to them the place of the parents they had lost 1 In time the wounds of her heart healed, at least they ceased to bleed at every touch, and she learned to find solace in the affection of her children, as she called them, while habit ma le her duties light, and almost pleasant.
 
 The midnight hour had already passed when Elsie rose to retire. Her long, lonely vigil had made her timid and nervous, and she could hardly re- press shriek of alarm-as just at that moment heavy knock was heard at the outer door, and resounded through l the house.
 But Elsie's only thought was of summons to some sick or dying bed, for in that quiet neighborhood people were seldom abroad at night on less urgent errands; so smiling at her causeless alarm, and still trembling in spite of her bravery, she undid the fastening of the door, and threw it open.
 A tall man, wrapped in a long, dark riding cloak, stood upon the threshold. 1 By the light of the faring candle Elsie held, she could not distinguish his fea- | lures. She only saw the strange eager look of a pair of very bright eyes, as the | stranger bowed in answer to her salu- tation.
 Madam" he said. II am benighted, as you see, and in trying to reach the | npyt vi 1lann houp lnct I drenched to the skin, and my horse is too weary to go further through these miry roads; and seeing a light here, I have i ventured to crave a shelter for him and l for myself, for the remainder of the night l assure you that you will find me no ungrateful guest"
 "Sir," Elsie resumed, simply, "the doors of Raymond farm have never been closed to the weary wayfarer. Enter, and a servant will care for your horse."
 The stranger bowed again, and passed her ntly, as she held back the broad | leaf the door. What was it that, at the fight of that tall muffied form caused her heart to beat so wildly? She put up the bar that secured the door. and then preceded her guest to the apart ment she had left.
 She stirred the smoldering embers, and threw on fresh wood, which caught the flames that soon leaped cheerily up 1 the broad chimney. Leaving the stranger covering over the blaze, she went and called the gardener to take charge of the
 orse that was neighing impatiently at he outer gate. 1 When she came back she busted her self, silently, in preparing refreshment for the stranger, who still sat beside the hearth, casting curious glances at her as she moved about Thrill after thrill shot through Elsie's frame, as she met those bright, strange glances. She had begun to feel almost frightened at his r singular manner, when he suddenly ad- dressed her:
 Madam" he said, pointing to the TOW of little shoes, and the overfowing basket of toys, ''I see that lonely as is this house, it is not desolate Human 1 flowers, that brighten so many homes, bloom here. You have little children, beautiful and loving, and doubtless a good husband. Pardon me, madam,n he added, observing Elsie's emotion i've who are lonely wanderers up and down the world are wont to notice, with somewhat of Jealousy, the tokens of domestic happiness that are denied to us. ,
 He was silent, as if waiting for an answer, and Elsie, conquering her emotion, answered quietly:
 "There are children here, but not mine. have neither husband nor chil- dren," and faint sigh struggled up from her heart, as she thought of what might have been.
 Just then the gardener came stamping self, shaking the water from his gar ments. Elsie turned to the stranger
 sYour meal is prepared she said !; "when you have partaken, the servant will show you to your room. :"
 And bidding her guest goodnight, she went away to her room, and lay down upon her bed, but not to sleep. Through the long hours, until the late autumn dawn, she tossed restlessly upon her couch, thinking much of the strange guest, and marveling why his image mingled so continually with her visions ofsthe past.
 The next morning, when the breakfast hour was passed, the stranger spoke of his departure,
 Before I go, madam" he said, ''I ought to inform you who am, that you may, at least, know you have not be- slowed your kindness on one unworthy.
 For twenty years have been a. wan derer in other lands, sad, lonely, dis appointed man. Yet I have eyer kept