The Emporia news. [volume] (Emporia, Kan.) 1859-1881, 1879-07-18

to remain with her mother. The triC
had not been talking many minutes be
fore servant called away the mistress
and they tcefe alone
She was knitting a stocking, and lit
tie ball of cotton lay in her lap. He
stopped forward from his chair beside
her, and possessing himself of the little
ball, began slowly unwinding and re
winding the cotton. He had not imag.
med the words would be so hard to
speak, but now, with those clear ewes
and that uncOncerned expression before
him, he found it difficult to begin. ali.
ma, came here tonight to ask you to be
my wife" Better not to beat about the
bush; now it was done, and he sat up
straight and looked at her. "Will YOU
marry me?''
A faint blush spread over the pale
cheek, and slight start accompanied it,
that sent the little ball upon its travels.
After STOPPING for a moment to recover
1t, she turned upon him face white as
If the moon shone upon it. mo! / can
not marry you" Then rising, she con-
tinued very quietly, but with tremu-
lous voice: 81 am very sorry, but can
not marry you," and would have left the
room.
AT first he had seemed stunned; but
when he saw her going he sprang up
and intercepted the movement.
Lima, you cannot leave me like this.
AT least, explain your conduct"
Then she stood passively before him,
very pale, and, as he now saw for the
first time, very worn and sorrowful look
ing:
II have nothing more to say. can
only repeat that can never marry you"
why not? do you not care for me 90
Then came the answer that frOZe the
very blood in his veins, it was spoken so
calmly and sadly. mo, Edwin, not 1aOao.
But" she added, with deep sigh, ''if l
must speak, had better tell you the
truth"
Here she looked at him with faint
smile, and clasped her hands tightly to-
gether. 'If you had loved me enough
to make me your wife before you became
rich, we might have been happy. God
knows, loved you then. But the years
that have followed have altered me so
that sometimes / scarcely recognize my
self. have grown old in heart, and no
longer desire to form any ties beyond
those have already. l loved you once
very dearly, but through all these years
it has been dying, and it is long now
since told myself that, though we might
always be friends, my love was dead"
mo, not dead. Oh a! my darling, new
er dreamed of this, or that your life was
really hard, as your words imply. For
give me, Lima, and don't look at me with
that still look. My own, my only love,
l shall go mad if you cast me off"
flush! there is some one coming.
Goodbye, you will soon forget this. l
have learned to forget. l am sorry you
have spoken now; the hope that you ev-
1 al VpnI1l6 6iaH lnnn hafONa hn Of
which it was born You will find some
woman younger and fairer than 1, who
am no longer young; she, perhaps, will
| love you now as l once did. Good-bye' -
She held out to him her little, cold,
white hand; he mechanically took 1t,
dropped it, and she was gone.
When mamma returned from her visit
to the kitchen she found poor Edwin
"all abroad" AT first, being short
sighted, she noticed nothing, but after
some vague conversation he rose, and,
complaining of not feeling quite "up to
| the mark" took his leave. Mamma af-
forwards described his appearance as be-
ing that of one walking in his sleep.
She had refused him. His first feeling
was one of surprise; intense, blank sur
prise. He had so often pictured this
meeting, but so differently, that, now it
was over, the aching surprise seemed
more than he could bear. Next came
sorrow, then anger; then he thought of
all she had said, which came evidently
from her her heart of hearts. He felt
how selfish his conduct had been; why
had he not been by her side all those
years and shielded her from this hard
life? She had called herself no longer
young, and he had noticed lines In that
brow which had used to be so smooth
and fair. In his despair he groaned
aloud. His love for her was greater than
ever; he could not bear this punishment
No! he would write to her and beg for
giveness: she used to he SD loving years
ago: he would write a letter that no
woman could Withstand. And with this
grain of comfort in his ocean of trouble,
he went home thoroughly tired out by
the long walk he had taken.
| The best part of the next day he spent
in composing the letter that was to do so
much, and before it was finally folded
and placed in its envelope the floor of
his chamber looked as if a snOwstorm
had passed over it. The letter contained
deep contrition for having allowed her
to work as she had done, and many sim
cere regrets that he had not asked her,
when they were both younger, to share
| life with him, but (and then came the
part about which, unconSciously to him.
self, blinded as he was with self, there
was false ring) he chad waited till he
had name, such as it was, as well as a
home to offer her." etc.
The five years which by him had been
spent in comfort and affluence had been
spent by her in hard, uncongenial work,
and her heart had died within her; all
girlish ideas of love and marriage had
flown forever; this last he saw, hut he
quite forgot the cause. However, there
was still faint ray of hope, and with the
| first feeling of comfort he had expert.
enced for two long days, he turned his
back upon the post-office into which he
had dropped the all-important letter.
III.
AS soon as it would have been posi-
BILE for him to receive an answer, sup
posing she wrote Immediately, he watch
ed eagerly for the postman, and that was
the following day at breakfast time. He
was not exactly disappointed at not get
| ting one then; of course her answer
would take little time and thought;
probably she would write through the
day, and he would get it at night, On
his return in the evening he did feel a
pang when he found nothing awaiting
him. Hope, however, again told a fiat
tering tale" he must not be impatient; a
dozen trivial things might have taken
Il up ICIS HCIC lldLIQS llldk al
ways found work to do. doubtless her
answer would reach him on the follow
ling day. But alas the next day brought
1.-THE same result, and the next, and the
next, and he had just begun to admit to
himself that the letter was a failure,
Ewhen another ray of hope UNEXPECTEDLY
frightened his dark prospects.
He gained from conversation he
fOverheard between his mother and sis
tiers that Angelina had left her home to
nurse q sick aunt in the country; a
maiden aunt, who lived alone. She had
gone the day after that on which he had
made her the offer, and had not received
his letter, therefore, before she went.
Dying hope now sprung up almost as
strong as ever. Herhaps the letter had
never been forwarded, or not until now
lperhapS it had been mislaid; perhaps
the aunt had been so ill that Angelina
could not even find time to write him a
line. He resolutely turned deaf ear to
the voice of his heart, which began,
Love would have found time" Per
haps fifty things; bat oh, heart close
thy dcoys against The cold, dreadful
IfeeIjng of despair, the certainty that his
tappeal was vain. So the next week
stole away, and the next, and the next,
and his sorrow, now a month old, was
growing heavier every day.
p nna VnOrainR mat q the fifth xyaalx