Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1879-12-25

NClO oHCCt duu tIdI tlo Sun suOle OI
the waves, There was no thought O.
disloyalty in either heart. He was above
all man of honor, and she of all else
a loyal woman. Yet how charts delude
themselves. In the very pride of his
strength Samson was shorn of his
Ocks.
| One quiet evening in July DR.. Paul
ding had taken tea at Bonny brook, and
Constance-his "hostess" only, she call
ed herself-strolled down to the gate
with him. His impatient horse was
biting the rough old hitching-post and
throwing up clouds of dust with his fore
feet. He had been kept there foul
hours, and he seemed more eager than
his master to leave B0nnybrook behind
him. The doctor idly plucked some hell
otrope as they strolled down the rose.
oordered paths, and mingled with the
flowers some dainty mignonette and a
pale bud or two of the tea rose At last
he placed the bouquet in her hands and
said dreamily:
'Read the emblems, Constance-you
who are priestess in Flora's beautiful
temple"
She quickly looked them over.
"Ah," she said, "you choose we'll. Sir
Botanist. Here you have beauty in re-
tirement,' 'constancy'-that is good
and L am not summer friend'-that
Is better than all. But you fatter with
your flowers nevertheless"
"Not you" he replied eagerly, almost
tenderly, and in voice that frightened
her.
She replied almost coldly-although
her heart was strangely beating and
warm, unusual color was in her face:
"My friends will tell you doctor, that l
am ugly and commonplace. Believe
them, [ beg of you, and do not let your
imagination invest me with charms.
He seemed all at once to be carried
away with his passion. He leaned over
her and replied warmly: 81 say you are
beautiful Constance Owen feel your
beauty IN my very SOUL" But he said
no more:
The face of Constance was study;
the flush that had before crimsoned her
cheeks had died out, and she became
gh0stiy pale. Her fingers, which clasp
ped the flowers, slowly opened and they
dropped to the ground at her feet A L at
once the vision of the dead woman
seemed to present itself to her mind
and the trust she was violating struck
cold to her heart: Was this the "For-
ever" she had spoken? She staggered
and would have fallen; the arms of DR.
Pauldlng were,about her; butshe waved
him away in q moment with such a pit
eous, dispairing gesture that he obeyed
her without a word. She only had
strength to falter:
"Go-and remember Edith"-and
she staggered back toward the house,
leaving him standing there, bent and
trembling.
She did not know how she reached
her own room; the strong woman had
learned at the same moment that she
loved and must sacrifice and renounce
She stood for hours white and motion
less, looking out at the sunset and the
gathering gloom of the evening, with
wild thoughts chasing themselves
through her brain and dumb aching
pain in the heart, every hope trailing
IN the dust, like those sweet flowers he
had given her. She laid her head upon
her hands, and wept softly through the
long, long hours, until she heard the
village bell strike the hour of midnight.
She had prayed and wrestled with her
grief and agony, and rose up at length
quiet and calm. She had yielded to
duty and her promise to the dead.
Somehow Constance Owen seemed to
grow prettier as the months passed by;
there was some refining change which
was softening her rugged features and
rounding every line in her stately form.
The summer into autumn had flown,
and still Edith Ormond had not return
ed to Bonnybrook. Her aunt had died,
and letters came from time to time Say
ing that ere long she would be home,
yet she came not. Could she suspect
the disloyalty of her lover.
1t was late in the fall when the woods
had put on their pomp of glory and the
chill winds sent the fallen leaves through
the valleys near Bonnybrook, when DR..
Paulding rode up to the house and
asked for Constance. She had only re-
ceived him twice before since the sum.
mer evening, and had then contrived by
womanly tact not to be alone with him
although she no longer doubted her
strength. Constance, on this occasion,
received her guest alone; there seemed
strange embarrassment in his man
ner. After the first greetings were over,
he said:
Constance. have much to say to
you to-day. Do you think you can lis
ten to me calmly?"
eyes," she replied, eff it is upon a
subject on which you speak she
added tremblingly-"to which 1 should
listen"
"Both," he said. "When first saw
Edith Ormond [ was captivated by her
beauty aud girlish graces; I thought 1
loved her"
Constance would have stopped him
by gesture, but he begged her to lis
ten-"for you can do so now," he said,
sin all honor and reason"
He continued:
81 had never had my heart stirred by
the full knowledge of love, however I'M
til [ knew you and discovered the
breadth of your sympathies and the
womanllness character. | never re-
spected you more than when you re-
jected me, knowing I was the engaged
husband of Edith. But fate has been
kind to us BOTH" His voice was trem-
bling with emotion. Read the last
part of this letter."
He had handed a folded paper to
Constance, who took it as one in a
dream.
From Edith ?" she said.
eyes"
The portion read thus:
so you see, dear DR.. Paulding, it is
better should tell you now that [ have
met one here-my cousin Ray-whom
Il frnI j, - L. j