The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1879-04-28
WHO SHE MARRIED.

Evening in the Island of Jersey, and
the sun already set. Rising out of the
have, a sort of natural embankment like
a bridge, dividing the valley in two.
Hanging somewhat perilously over one
edge of the bank, fallen trunk; and
resting upon it Mizpah lie Feuille, young,
beamy-eyed and beautiful; her feet buried
in tuft of Guernsey daisies, basket of
ferns on her knee, her hands clasped over
the fragrant burden, and partly hidden
in dainty emerald fronds.
By-and-by there was a sound of foot.
steps trampling over the stones down the
hill-path. Out of the shadows comes the
figure of mana man before whom
Mizpah rises, letting basket and ferns fall
unheeded to her feet; man who catches
her hands in his, and holds her with a
passionate force.
1t is some seconds before he hears what
Mizpah is saying--some seconds before
any words are Ineligible between the
girls heavy, painting breathing, that
sounds like sobs.
Let me go! let me go" she says,
twice; and at last he understands.
Loosing her little, he puts one hand
under the little chin, turning il toward
him, and says, half reproachfully:
Let you gol Why, my darling, | have
only just got youl Is that your greeting,
Mizpah, after three years waiting for
this one momentT'
He is going to kiss her as he speaks,
His brave blue eyes and h0ndsome face,
bearded and Drowned under suns more
burning than these, are very near her
own; and she is as a little bird in his
hold. in the desperation of the moment
she thrusts his hand away with all the
strength of both hers, and gasps out:
Gerald, don't---for Heavens sake
don't! am married"
Then he lets her go-drops her as
though shot TO the heart by some unseer
bullet; and all the glad blood dies out Of
his face.
With q sound like long, gasping sob
with voice, hollow and broken, of dy
ing man, he asks, at last;
"Mizpah, what are you sayingT
"The truth" she answers, forcing back
the tears burning in her eyes, the agony
striving for ut erance in her heart. 81
am married, Gerald--six months ago"
"MarriedW he says, slowly. 'It-it
can not be true. And your promise tc
me"
Broken" she answers, almost fercely
but her limbs are shaking like an asper
leaf. Gerald, l hav told you. For heav
ems sake, go away, now, and forget me
| am not worth remembering-not worth
grieving for, or siehng over"
lie does not believe it. Looking into
thai fair young face and blue, innocent
eyes, it would he difficult. Almost pit.
eously he tells her so begging some ex,
cuse, some explanation. She has never
bid him meet her here to tell him, after
three years waiting, that she is utterly
false and worthless.
avn is the good of more?" she
asks. her voice dead now with sort of
weary despair. To have been false is
enough. Would excuses make it better?
| would not have met you at all if | had
been brayer more unselfl5h. / ought to
have written; and | tried, but-could
not"
81 do not wonder at it" he breaks in
harshly. "Gou were not cold-blooded
enough for that, it seems"
at would have been better" she an.
swers, finching under his tone, at would
have spared you pain; and since ] could
not receive you in my husbands house,
| doubt if | should have met you
here"
"And whyT'
ale might be angry"
"Angry! Who has the better right to
be angry, he or II Mizpah, do you love
this man, or are you afraid of himH BY
heavens, | believe you are, and that you
were forced into this treacheryp
"No one forced me, and / am not
afraid of him. He is most kind and low
ablc-oh, Gerald" as he interrupted by
an oath wrung from him in sheer dc8
peration-"for heavens sake, for PITY
sike, go What talking can undo The
wrong that has been done you7 | only
ask you to forget me, nothing more; no
even forgiveness, unless--nnless wheI
you are happy with some one mort
worthy of YOU, you may caro-"
"Nevc'w he breaks in; "not if I wer'
dying would | forgive you-you whit
have deceived me for so lCng, and brough
me back across the vide Atlantic II
fiud you married to anothcr--false to me
Forgive you! No; but l forgive you
husband"
Then Gerald Dacres goes. Withou
another word, without last glance a
the girl who has wronged him, he turn
from her, and strides away among tn
trees.
Night in n sick r0om--a room wher
the heavy damask curtains are draw
closely across the windows, as if to Shu
out all sound of the rain beating Wild
against the panes without
"Mizpah, are you therer
eyes, dear"
"NIizpah," i" he says suddenly, "do yo
remember why you married meT
"Why talk of that now, John" sh
asks, flushing timidly.
because now is the only time I have
You were only nineteen, Mizpah, an
you married because your parents dealt
had thrown you on my care; because tn
world said ill-natured things of your liv
ing with a guardian of forty-cight; be
cause you wanted to keep delicate lit
tie sister with you, and could not do j
unmarried; because-chiefest reason 0
all--the man you loved, and who wa
away in Canada, had proved false to you
because you saw his marriage in a
American paper"
"And because you were the best an
truest friend had in the whole world,
,k brnlo ,y;th o,,;vor;,o, l;ne. Oh,