Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1879-11-05

uo"h ou u Cualr by the Stove, cold
and shlyerlng on that warm August even
ing.
She was not one Of those fortunate ones
upon whom Inconsistencies falls easily,
shutting out for the time all sense of pain
and terror. Keenly alive were reason,
thought and memory, as she sat there, her
head upon her hand. Aunt Rachel moved
about quietly, stealing plying glance
now and then at the averted face. lonuing
in some way to tighten the terrible burden
of sorrow, which her woman's heart told
her she must calmly understand, not speak
Of Her own heart was sore too-that
kind, motherly heart that had long ago
opened to give Robert Kensett place
that had seen into what the childish init
macy was ripening, and had grown to look
upon the brave and noble-hearted Robert
rs Kezzie's husband of some day, long
before the girl herself had dreamed of
such a thing. She longed to tell her this
now; TO let her know how well she under
stood and sympathized with her great
anguish. But the sorest pang that ranked
in that young heart she did not even
guess. She could not hear the words that
sounded so plainly in Kezzie's ears
"Y You called his love Il chain to bind
you here; you wanted to be free, and God
has given you your wish!"
She had never thought of this. In all
her selfish dreams of pleasure and pride
she had still planned that they should be
friends in the olden way. What would
her life be to her with Robert Kensett
gone out of it forever? What to her was
a world that did not hold him anywhere?
Empty-desolate Oh, if she could only
forget the wild, foolish-nay, worse than
that-the mad, wicked thoughts that she
had been cherishing all day She felt like
murderer now, with just their burning
memory.
Slowly the gray of twilight deepened
and darkened, and the stars came out. 1t
was so terribly quiet; no one came to
bring them any word, and the suspense
grew intoerabc.
" Let us 60 down to the mill, Aunt
Rachel, just for little while. to see if we
can learn anything" she pleaded. at
seems so dreadful staying here"
And glad to have her speak at last,
Aunt Rachel consented. There were MANY
there before them. Men digging steadily
and rapidly, while others stood by, ready
to take their places as fast as they grew
exhausted, that the work should not stop
for moment. There were women, eager
and anxious, gathered in little groups, and
talking in low voices. A little apart from
the others Kezzie saw the wife and daugh-
ter of the old well-digger, and. Just beyond
them, the pale face of Robert Kensett's
mother. She did not 90 to her-what
could she sayP She SAL down upon
large stone. where she could watch the
busy workmen, only hoping that no one
would notice or speak to her.
The whole scene seemed so strange and
unreal-the old mill lying in grim, dark
shadow on the river bank; the steady
workers bending to their toll. as for life or
death; and the circle of men around them
holding up lanterns and flaring torches
she might have thought it all some terrible
dream but for the crushing weight at her
heart and the mothers white, still face.
Poor mother Something in her look
brought back that other face, little like
hers, as Kezzie had seen it that morning.
Was she blind, mad, that she had parted
from him so coldly, speaking not one ten
der word9 She had promised to answer
him -morrow-to-morrow! She might
answer as she would, he would never,
never hear her!
After time the moon showed its gilt
tering rim above the hill tops, on the OPP
posite side of the river, rising higher and
higher until its light took in part, the
place of the torches. Aunt Rachel had
gone TO speak with Mrs. Kensett, and
kezzie, with no one to watch or question
her, rose and walked away. She gained
the side of the mill, and, concealed by its
shadow, paced slowly to and fro. The
spot was familiar to her. 1t was y pretty,
quiet place, the river bank around the old
mill, and had been iavorie walk Of hers
always. She had been there often with
Robert, too.
Only the other day they had stood to-
gether little farther up the bank by the
old well, and he had pointed out the new
one to her.
She started then with II quick thought.
lie had told her something of pipe that
connected the two-the old well and the
new one. She turned and walked rapidly
to the spot where they had stood. There
was no one to notice; all were too busy at
a little distance from her. She kneeled
down by the opening, that was partly
covered with boards, and bent her head to
listen. All was still for moment then
she heard, Or fancied she did, a low moan.
"Oh, Robert, are you living? Can you
hear mel" putting her mouth close to the
opening. "Speak to me, darling, just one
word" she cried in the passionate way in
which we say such words over new-made
graves.
Again she listened long and eagerly,
but there was no answer, no sound, and
| she turned sadly away. Aunt Rachel was
looking for her
Where have you been, Kezia?" she
/ We amt of no use here"
True, it is Of no use TO stay" Kezia
replied, sadly. There was nothing to wait
for or to hope, she thought, as they walked
slowly homeward.
The long hours wore YEARLY away.
Kezzie sought her room, and pressing her
aching head upon its pillow waited, sleep.
less and fearless. With the first gray
dawn Of morning, her father came. She
heard his step and ran to admit him. He
met her eyes and answered. their question
before she could put it into words.
Yes. they have found them. Robert
is living"
Not dead' But he is hurt-dying?"
she questioned, the pallid calm of her lips
suddenly breaking into culver.
"Not dying no; he is hurt, but not
dangerously. He will live, Kezzie. But
poor Milman must have been killed in
stantly. shall never forget how his wife
! looked when he was taken out. Poor
creature! She never left the spot the
whole night through" The farmer turned
away with sudden moisture in his honest
kindly eyes.
Aunt Rachel had heard his voice. and
came down; and leaving them together
Kezzie stole back to her own little room.
OF that hours thoughts and feelings, its
penitence, gratitude and solemn awe, who
can write? When the sunlight, streaming
in at her window, aroused her, it was with
II thankfulness too deep for words that she
remembered it was upon the old, sweet
life, with its quiet home duties and pleas
ures its peaceful, even ways, that she was
to enter; not the new, strange, terrible
life that might have been, but for the ten.
| far ,,ornv which eha had en u,urn,urol