The Jasper weekly courier. [volume] (Jasper, Ind.) 1858-1922, 1879-05-02

wrongs. She's worth dozen like Lou
Aston, any day"
" Yes, he wrote the truth. surely,
when he said he was not worthy Of
her,
But l believe his descrtion viii
grieve her life away. She is no more
like the pretty rosy girl he brought here
than white violet Is like rose," and
the tender hearted woman wiped her
spectacles 10 take look over at the
tasteful dwelling Of the lonely sister
woman, for whom her kind heart ached
daily.
"Poor, lonesome child.- she sighed.
II Lou Aston thinks he has found a
better love than hers, lie is Mistaken
There was never an hour of wakeful-
ness, in which she did not remember
him. Her soul never lost its longing
for him. And the springtime coming
again, with its beauty and music. drop
ped none Of the old-time life and joy for
her, from its perfumed wings, as il pass
ed, for the snow Of chill despair still lay
over that year-cld grave, where her
hearts fondest trust had been laid, and
on the turf over that little mound ia the
village cemetery, so precious to her, the
grass had never been green.
~ must 90 away from here" she
thought, as the summer deepened. 81
must find work 70 do. I am wasting
time and losing energies that might be
OF use 10 Others. l must 90 away and
see if the world has any place for me. y
But one day there came to her door a
weird old creature, who called herself
forture-teller-one Of those strange
women who gain livelihood by going
about the country begging the privilege
of telling - fortunes = for quarter.
Plying the old woman, Mrs. Aston
gave her seat inside the door. The
wandering eyss fell on the handsome
painted likeness Of Louis Aston that
hung on the wall opposite them
!" Is that your husbands picture ?" she
asked, with sudden interest
" Yes,- was the low reply.
"Poor child! poor child" muttered
the woman; and she glanced again
sharply st the portrait. Then she turn
ed to the pale wife.
:" He isn't happy, nUw,r she said
'he isn's happy now. I've seen that
man, ard / know he isn't happy now
Msyte be will come back to you; ~ and
refusing 70 say more, the old woman
went her way.
No one could tell whether the stranger
spoke truth or falsehood. No one knew
where she had been in her wanderings.
She might have seen thst guilty fugi-
tive She might thus have learned
what she professed to know of him.
Resale Aston waited there where he
had left her, not hoping, only dreaming,
OF . possible return.
In the autumn came an unexpected
summons:
VIII Mrs. Aston come al once to
wrote the clergyman who had
otiiciated ut her marriage service, from
one Of the great cities Of the land a \
friend lying dangerously III here would
be grateful for her presence
With trembling hands she made \
ready for her journey, dread and fear
halt crushing the hope that had sprung
up within her; hope that The unknown
friend was that lost one for whom ner
heart was breaking, fear that she might
be mistaken, dread of being too late.
The morning train bore her away, and
an evening train left her in the city TO
which she had been called, where she
was met by the clergyman who had bid
den her come. He was large hearted, \
noble man, and whose sympathies were
never deaf TO the cries OF suffering hu-
mainly. and. with supreme pity and
he unfolded the story he \
wished her 70 hear--a story q wrong
doiEg that had met its Just reward
then, when she could bear it, took her
70 the room where the dying friend lay.
II found him alone, utterly alone,
and ILL.," he said, in conclusion Of his
na rative; "there was no one near to
care for him, and brought him here TO
my home. He needs only you now,-
and he left her alone in the death-cham-
Der.
She bent over the pillow Of the sick
man, over the face Of the only man she
had loved, and his feeble arms, reaching
upward, clasped her trembling to his
bosom He was true, true to her to the
asst, and throb Of almost oyerwhelm-
ng Joy thrilled through the clinging
'hroud Of despair numbing her heart at
ne thought. She took her place by the
'edside, TO wait the coming Of that 9TH
y visitant, whose cold hands were even
low stretched toward her idol. The
ong night vigil was scarcely broken BY
yords- The sick man could not talk.
There was only . murmured prayer Of
forgiveness, which was answered by the
enderest, truest assurances Of love:
here were no reproaches, no unavail-
ng utterances Of repentance, and the
yife's tears Of anguish fell in silence.
"Darling." he whispered, when the
darkness was giving place TO dawn.
She laid her white face on the pillow
'eside his.
Darling, the moment Is at hand.