American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1879-05-03

so. L have promised to let nothing
come between me and her. l should
forget her in my love for you, Roger.
Wait until she is grown; then 1 can
leave her behind, and come to you with
an undivided heart"
1t is only woman who can love and
wait. A mans love means possession.
The object of his passion must be his
IS to have and TO hold absolutely, else
the love wanes and goes out. 1t is
woman only who can keep the tender
fire burning, famed by the breath of
her almost divine patience. For few
months Roger Merton yielded to the en-
treaties of his bride to be, and bowed
his head meekly to the situation. But
he fretted and chafed at length; and
so, when pretty, sly, little Bertha Lloyd
made her gracious attempts st condol-
ence and consolation, he found them so
agreeable and satisfactory that he for
got his promises TO Myra, and decided
he would grant to Bertha the privilege
of sympathizing with him in his
troubles the rest of her days. When
another May morning frightened the
skies, Bertha Lloyd went home over the
hill with Roger Merton as his wife,. and
Myra Wylde sat in her lonely room,
and rocked her baby sister on her
bruised heart. But the tune upon her
lips was hushed.
Many May days came and went in the
years that followed. Roger and Myra
seldom met. He had his wife and chill
dren in his grand new home on the hill;
she devoted her days to her father and
her little sister in the old home down in
the valley. In the solitude of his drives,
over the old haunts they had trod to
gether in the bright springtime of their
youth, sometimes he would think of
Myra tenderly, and wonder if she had
forgiven him his faithle5sness, and re-
proach himself bitterly for the mistake
he had made, for Bertha, though q good
mother to his children, was not the wife
he had hoped to find in Myra. While
she, when the May blooms were hang
ing On the trees, would often dream of
her boy lover, and of her girlhood's
choice-but of the husband of her
neighbor, she never thought. If she
had forgotten the man, however, she
had not forgiven him. There was q
heart-a wound that bled when touched.
When Hope, for SO had Myra called
the little one, grew to be q maiden, she
came one day to her sister, and hiding
the blushing face upon her shoulder,
confessed that she loved and was be-
loved.
Miss Myra suddenly felt, with shock
that startled her, that, her baby was no
more; was this, too, to be taken from
her now?
"You, my baby! you, my child, my
Hope! Who has dared to speak of love
to you, yetP' she cried. holding fast the
golden bead upon her bosom.
"It is Roger-Roger Merton,'' came
the trembling reply.
As if stupg by serpent, Miss Myra
flung off the tender arms about her
neck.
"Again,' she muttered, s'does he
again thus seek to break my hearth"
"We are both young, know, sister,
but we can wait. Rogers father says we
had best waltz
"Tell your lovers father for me, that
1 know what his child's waiting would
be, and, as long as you live, never speak
to me again of loving or being loved by
one of the name of Mertoni"
Every one noticed how Miss Myra
aged about this time her smooth brown
hair glistened with gray, and her pretty
blue eyes grew dim, and set deep under
the brows., Roger Merton's wife sick
ened and died, that same spring, and,
notwithstanding Miss Myra was no
longer of an age to set gossips' tongues
wagging, the country people in the
neighborhood nodded their heads and
wove romantic little theories and spec
ulations concerning "the widower on
the kill and the old maid in the holler.''
Whether it was because Roger senior
wanted consolation again in the person
of q young woman at the head of his Ia
BILE, or because Roger junior, like his faith
er, would not wait " for his love, not
long after Mrs. Merton's death, Hope
Wylde wrote pathetic little letter Of
adieu to her sister, and went over the
hills with her lover, as his bride.
Many vain attempts We're made by
both Hope and her husband after, to
meet Miss Myra and obtain her pardon,
but she was obdurate to their petitions,
and kept herself so sedulously within
her own grounds, that it was imposSi-
BILE to obtain either hearing or an in
terview. Two years passed in this
way, and it was May once more. The
moon was mp, AID the shadows of the
vines at TIE windows made tremu-
lous BITS of mosaic on the pale gray pa
per on the wall of the little parlor
where Miss Myra sat. The old tune
still fingered on her lips; there seemed
to be faint echo of the melody in. the
air; she paused to listen, but all was
| quiet; there was no one in the house
but herself. A gentle sound as though
some one cautiously turned the handle
of the door, reused her again. She rose
and walked out on to the verandah,
and discovered hanging upon the door
knob a curiously-shaped basket She
lifted it off and found it heavy. Quickly
she brought it into the parlor and light
ed the lamp, and kneeling down beside
it read upon card attached:
GA May basket for Myra, from low