Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1879-12-05
Continued from First Page

but he gulped N down, anu WIN on ehoi'
forced himself Ia answer quietly, II cold
ly:
Frank Edwar,ls-dd | call You broth
er ! should give yen sacred name oil
love, and that you have disgraced-you
ask me where | am going. answer away
from here where. | do not know. 10
not care Why Because did not know
that when had believed found happi-
ness here, was standing in the way OF
YOURS. | am awakened now, and though
YOU break my peace. am glad that YOU
You. at least, gain your own. | go be-
cause the promise of my boyhood is in my
mind now | keep that promise yield
to you; | leave this place forever. he
happy in your new love, but not IN my
sight. ! say good bye for the sake OF aud
lang syne?''
lie spoke quietly, but he spoke quickly,
and before Frank had recovered from his
surprise sufficiently to reply, Gerald was
on bis horse. As he took the rens. Frank
started forward to seize the horses head,
but Gerald drew his whip across the ami.
mails back; il bounced forward and
Franks cry, Gerald. come back " went
after him upon the breeze. He was gone.
These are the memories of the past that
come over him in his solitude and weari-
ness of spirit. the memories of his Christ
mas time. which was Christmas indeed.
The face of the fair being he has loved,
whom he still loves he feels. with all the
strength of his soul, seems to look upon
him from every bush that grows about
his hut Her voice seems to call him
and cry, Forgive ~ Home and friends
seem to pass before him and say. ''Come
back and Christmas is no Christmas to
him there.
In the bitterness of his thoughts he cries
aloud. Brother Not, him; unworthy
thought-still more unworthy name -
His words come back to HIM in the
dreadful stiffness of that place. and seem
like voices making his great misery. He
cries aloud in his sorrow and filings HIM
self upon his couch of skins. There he
fights his battle alone, there the happiness
of the past comes dancing before his eyes.
Sleeping or waking, his fight goes on.
Forget he never can. but he must forgive
his brother and-her, In Eng
land again, when the autumn is drawing
to close, and dead leaves falling tell the
the fading year.
Into cosey sitting-room of Rutland
Hall the rays of the October sun are fall
ing really bright. They rest unshadowed
upon the form of fair young girl half ly-
ing, half sitting, upon couch near the
deep embrasured window, through which
she gazes upon the brightness before her
Her face, so sad so thin and white, is very
painful to see. and the great sad eyes, I'M
naturally brilliant, tell too plainly pain
full tale. The thin hands move nervously,
and as if seeking some object which they
never reach. as if holding out welcome
t. one who does not come.
Ida Rutland, for it is she, is changed in
deed. We saw her last that day of brok
en- hopes, OF peace destroyed, offoresworn
faith and broken plighted troth. On
the terrible night when the news ofhis de-
sertion had come to her. her life had died.
Proud for self, she had gone about hiding
the wound open in her heart. but she had
pinned then as she is pining now. She had
resisted long, but had to yield at last to the
fever which was burning up heryoung life.
What had she to live for ? she asked her.
self. Nothing kind friends, friends who
penetrated her secret grief preached the
proverb, where theirs hope" and told
her he would come back. No, she said /;
there was no hope. He believed her
guilty, and for her the lamp of love was
out.
And there she sits now, in the fading
red sunlight, the glare subdued by the
closing year, and looks out upon the still
green life of earth, upon the fresh green life
life of lawn before the window, and watch
es the dead leaves falling. Yet who shall
say what she sees? All that passes be-
h.. lo To, har
Nor is it.
Thoughts, heart and mind are far away
and the bright death-telling eyes are fixed
on vacancy.
Besides the couch stands small table,
and upon it are two articles. One a pic
ture drawn in water colors, the other a
handkerchief, white and torn at one cor
ner. Sometimes these two objects seem
to bear great interest to the far, fragile
girl, and she will turn her head from the
window and seem to gaze at them. She
moves her hands toward her handkerchief
and passing here hand over it as though it
were something with life, and with ma
ture to be caressed. She does it dream
lily. unconsciously. and touches it always
at the same ragged edge.
What is the story of that rento Is it that
she1 felt how frail and slender are the
threads which hold its parts to-gether?
Does she find there an analogy to her own
life. now, like those threads, rudely torn?
And the picture? Does that bear his
tory, that it is always before her? Like
the handkerchief, it is her constant com.
panion. But she never looks upon it, 1t is
there, and she will not have it moved, but
its face is covered. 1t lies within her
reach yet she never touches it. What is
the ecretthere?
Only one thing now served to rouse the
unhappy Ida from the dreamy languor in
to which she had fallen, and in which her
life is passing quietly away The sight of
her father will call up a smile to her face,
but it is faint and quickly gone.
And the Squire, the once jolly, hale
Squire, how is he? Changed. sadly
changed. No more is he seen making his
way across the fields to the poor laborer's
cottage home, to cheer or help the sick
man. Even the smile with which he sick
man. Even the smile with which he seeks
to greet his daughter comes forced and
painfully The great blow has reached
him through her. aud as day by day he
sees her pine before him. and fade and
drop, a curse rises to his lips, good old