The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1879-09-17

1t broke my heart! ana as 1 Satnere(
thoseIroses that morning I rememberet
that we had been going to make grand
mammals pot-pourri together. But
gathered them with my back turned t.
that garden across the high box hedge
and the dew on those roses was salt
John, the old house servant Che had beer
dead and gone this many a year, came
Juggling out the big Chelsea jar--tht
same jar, Rosamond. 1t has never hac
a nick. ] wonder if you can say as mucl
for it after half a century! John left it
with the spice boxes and the dish of salt
on the marble step, to be handy for me
and | began to shred the roses into it
And as l scattered the velvet petals, il
swept over me in surge that just so tho
days Of my life had gone, and | too wa
a withered flower; and as l knelt before
the jar, all at once my arms fell across it.
and my head fell between them, and ]
was crying such n storm of sobs that ]
wonder no one heard me. But SOME
one did hear. Directly a shadow fell be-
tween me and the sunshine, and a voice
made my heart stand still and my sobs
cease
"'What does it mean p cried Paul.
l demand to know. l will have no
more of this. What are you unhappy
about ? Because you have abused me,
because you have outraged all my feel
ings, because you have refused even to
answer my letter.
"'What-what letter p I stammered,
throwing back my head, with the tears
streaming all over my face.
"'What letter p he cried. Are you
playing with me still? Have you re-
ceived no letter from me-no letter that
l gave John? Do you pretend to say
81 pretend to say nothing l re-
turned, in a storm and fury o~firreprcssi-
bic tears, springing to my feet, and start
Ing to run away ana l q nv face out OF
sight and pray that every fresh flood of
tears might drown out my very being
/ pretend to say nothing but that you
have broken my heart
but he had caught me, and he held
me by the arm, and got my hands and
kept them and would not let me hide my
face.
81 have broken your heart ?be said,
in such 4 grave and tender voice: L
have not broken your spirit. Tell me
why you spurned my letter p
"'1-1 never had your letter. L
sobbed.
"'Never had a letter telling YOU
telling you all you knew without it, but
assuring you that, grandfather or no
grandfather, only you should be my
wife: and if not you, then no one?
What, never had that letter, little one?
1t is mislaid, then; and we have had all
this misery for nothing-we, who wor-
ship each other And and well,
never mind about the rest. There was
nobody to see us two young creatures
standing in the garden as the first young
lovers did. / don't know that we should
have cared if there had been. And all
in 4 breath, as if the earth had rolled
round under a new heaven, the sun
seemed to be shining as it never shone
before, the birds to be singing, flowers
were full of life and fragrance. the world
was the most beautiful place, and we
were on knees shredding roses to-
gether over the old p~ot-pourri jar. and
the garden ringing with our laughter.
And every once in q while Paul was
lifting my chin with his finger to make
me look him in the face with my eyes
that all at once dared not, and saying
my mouth was the sweetest rose ofthem
allah, yes, you did, Paul-and then he
was plunging his hand into the jar to
stir the petals. And suddenly his
fingers were touching something like
no heap Of rose leaves, and he was
bringing up a paper, a lrttcr-that very
letter which he had given John just rs
the old fellow was coming in from
emptying the jar of last years leaves and
spices; and he had dropped it there and
forgotten it. John is so forgetfulvl
mean, Of course, he was. All me! whot
q day that was! We trod on air, we
walked in the mid-heavens. Have you
CONT sound asleep, Paul? To be sure.
And, Rosamond, if you want that other
rule for pot-pourri-the English, you
know, call it hotch-potch- All! what
music that isl" and she paused to listen.
'Gathcr ye rosebuds Us ye may,
Old time is still a-hying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day
Tomorrow will be dying,'"
sang Beltran, stepping through the long
window into the low light of the rising
moon, the rich strain of his tenor SEEM
ing to roll upon the dusk sweet as frag-
rance from a flower.
Rosamond fingered to loosen her dress
from Miss Efingham's chair which de-
tanned it. Miss Effingham was crying
softly to herself. "Ah, see," she MUIR
INJURED, working the knobby fingers in
the lace mittens. and forgetting whose
contemporary she Was-"see how selfish
g is! She remembers all her own part
n it: she forgets mine. For i also-it
is so long ago-I loved Paul."-Harper's
BnzGr.