Weekly Chillicothe crisis. (Chillicothe, Livingston Co., Mo.) 1878-19??, 1879-09-25
MisreHaH,g.
A STRAY LETTER.

A STRAY LETTER.
beg your pardon, dear Kate, If nj,
long silence has wounded you. That
have not written you since-let me see
nearly two years ago now, is it not?-hai
been as much grief to me as it could pos
sibly have been to you. We were so hap
| ny in that long ago, Kate, and are so hap
py still, trust, that | could not break IN
upon you with my sorrows and griefs. II
seemed such shame that anything will
rueful tinge should dot the sky of oul
lives; the lives that were apart from all
the world-all, did | say ? Yes, from
what has since happened to me. | know
the perfection Of the past lay only in youl
heart and mine. How pregnant with
events have the past two years been-yes,
the past four. 1t is four now since you
babe me good bye, at the side of the river
bank where the willow nearly touches the
waters, and as you held me in your arms
you said-with kisses, do you remembcr?-
God keep you under his protecting
wing, EloiSe! You are too ftail to suffer
mucn."
To-day laugh at your words. Suffer!
Great heavens What have lnot suffered I
Arther came there, too, to bid Won
Godspeed. He was there when you EN-.
braced me, and, taking my hand in his,
he said:
"Do not fear, Kate, trust Eioise to me-:
she shall be shielded from the least
breath Of harm"
| pause to collect myself; am growing
toe excited to write you. Let me com.
mence again and give you plain, un.
vanished statement of the years in which
| have not seen you.
You gathered from my letters, written
after you left us, how happy | was. Ar.
thur never said, "Eloise will you be my
wite?" But he said, over and over again,
"My darling! how | love you! Surely we
were intended for one another, when cv-
cry thought, hope or pleasure runs in the
same channel for each of u.s." Was it not
enough? ? and was so drCadiully happy.
That is not schoOl-giriSm, it is what !
mean. Oh, the moonlight nights when
we strolled through the village to the hill
top and, looking down, saw the peaceful
light shading the quiet household heard
the laughter OF the merry children who
were not content to go indoors. or per.
haps the sound of older voices. One even
ing we straycd into the little graveyard
you remember it?-and sat down beside A
new-made grave. Sober thoughts came
stealing over rs, and Arthur said at last:
"Eloise, | curse the fate that kept me
away from you last year"
"Dear Arthur" said IN answer, "do
not talk in that strain; let us forget the
past, and live in the present"
Forget itp Great heavcnsl if | could
blot it out of my life torever-but 1t comes
before me with sepulchral figure and
warning, uplitted finger, saying, "Rc-
member" And he bowed his head be-
tween his hands.
You know that | know rothing what
ever of his past life, so could say moth
ing, but | placed one arm around him
and drew him toward me. Suddenly he
clasped me in his arms.
"Eloise, ! would have been far better
man had met you years ago, but now
there is little good in me. am miser.
able, degraded wretch.
Ask your own heart, Kate, what you
would have done had the man you loved
humbled himself before you and confessed
himself a wretch! Would you have done
as every woman would, disbelieve him,
and tried to drive away his dependency
with your caresses.
He never returned to that subject again,
and all that long, long summer we were
as happy as we could be, and then a sum-
mons came to him to return. His mother
was i'll, dying, and he must hasten home.
Our parting was sad, too sad, | thought,
for the short time we were to beseparated;
but Arthur was filed with gloom.
At last he left us, and had to be con-
tent with stroll to our tavorite trysting
places, or an occasional glimpse into the
great world where | knew Arthur was
through the medium of some stray city
paper that found its way into our humble
little town.
One day, Arthur had been away but
few days, month at farthest, when
read this notice in a New York paper
that came wrapped about some article
Aunt Ellen had bought at the village
store, the notice of the death of Arthur's
mother, and above it this notice:
MARRIED.-At the residence of the groom's
mother, by the Rev. DR.. Andrews, Arthur
Hoyte to Fannie, only daughter of Rurus S.
Symons, all of New York.
You may believe me, it gave me fear
full shock-not that believe it, oh, no! |
thank Heaven that / have always been
able to believe-to know-that Arthur
loved me and me only; but the similarity
of the name, although Hoyte is common
one, startled me considerably.
wrote to Arthur, telling him how il
had shocked me at first, but that | never
for moment doubted him or his love for
me, and he wrote mel have the note
yet, blotted and yellow with tears:
Darling, darling, darling, never for
one moment doubt me or my love for you
1t is the only thing that sustains me in
other grief. Love me always, darling.
Love me, love me, love me-"
1t seemed to me like the cry Of drown
ing man. "Save me, save mel" and 1t
haunted me through the day and trou-
hled' my dreams at night. It was Six
months after that before | saw him again.
Then he came unexpectedly. | was so
when saw him would not
have recognized him with any eyes save
Loves, so haggard and old had he grown.
There were hard lines about his mouth,
his eyes were bloodshot, and his hand
unsteady, His first words were:
'tHow pure you are, Eloise-how fresh
and pure-the sight Of you gives me new
to me like breath of air from
a foreign sweet-scented shore.
After while / spoke to him Of his
mother. He raised one hand to Heaven
ali, mel how thin it had srown-and