The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1880-06-11

sworn that, come what would, 30 power
on earth should ever separate him from
her. 1t could be easily. settled, she
thought; he. rs she, would feel very sad [
and disappointed, but he, us she. must
see the impossibility OF her going now. A
They could be married, and, rs soon as
Aunt Ruth was decided out OF danger, I
she would go TO him.
All this in full trust and faith she con-
fidcd 10 Wilfred HIRE. She was i'll pre-
pared for the reception her words met,
the impcrious workings of this mans |
will. What right had she, without con-
sulting him even, to make promise to |
any one that conilicted with her own to |
himP His love gave him the right to |
command her; if she loved him she |
would obey. She must marry him and |
and go away with him, else their |
present relations must cease.
In vain she pleaded her promise, her
tender affection for Ruth; he would |
yield nothing to an old woman's whim. |
SO he remained imperious, persistent; |
she troubled, yet hopeful. thinking that
finally he must yield, neither believing
that separation was possible when the
testing time should come.
Saidcc strove to smile; she took up
her ,yursteds and continued sorting
them, us il thus to begin disciplinine
herself for the burdens of her new life.
IL could not be otherwise, she thought
she could not break her promise TO Aunt
Ruth. she could not leave her rnow. Ana
MS Wllfrcd willed she must submit.
Amid her pain arose II sudden, keen
feeling of disappointment; il vanished
alm,st Immediately in realization tia
was born from il.
81 am so glad" she said, softly, "ehat
/ am not one of those VINO think a per-
feet object is necessary for loving; | do
not think a perfect object Is n test of love.
l am not blind; Willred is very tyran-
nical, selfish, very, very unkind, but, as
never till to-day have fully realized it,
so never has he been so dear to me-"
This realization awoke tender re-
solve
Il can never let him go away so; /
must ever be TO me-"
From this came the tender note that
found its way next morning to Wilfred
Hare:
Il cannot let you go away, dear,
without one little word. / know you
are angry with me, and am very, very
unhappy, for never, since our engage
ment, have / loved you as to-day. My
little word is that must always, always
love you, and that l will never marry
any man but Wilfred Hare. Perhaps
some day you will understand and for
give me, and then you will be glad TO
think of this"
Very sadly she dropped the tender
little note in the mail-box, very drclriy
she went back the familiar road TO her
home.
1t seemed but yesterday that she had
walked here with Wilfred. so happy
and confident. How sad and dark the
road seemed now So absorbed was
Saidee, that she did not see the man
walking ahead, who suddenly turned
and paused, as if awaiting her. She
started rs she drew closer and perceived
him, her first impulse was to flee; she
shrank from tho sad face that she felt
now was so like hers.
But it was too late. lie had rctraced
his steps to meet her, and was now
walking at her side.
"Saidee," he said, softly, "there are
not many days now. Do not send me
away from you"
He made no effort TO cloak his tender
ness, either in word or look. He had
loved her from the happy time when, as
children, they had walked this road
together; she knew it, and it had once
been the great sorrow of her life that
she could not return this love.
Despite the sting of his words, there
awoke in her heart pity for him, such
us she had never known before; wild,
regretful longing that she could not
have loved him; q sudden, strange
realization that she had wasted her
affection, that this mans stanch, loyal
heart was worth an hundred such rs
Wilfred Hare's.
This last she battled quickly down,
not so the pity or the longing.
Strangely moved, scarcely knowing
what she did. she placed her hand on
his arm, and answered, gently:
"There will be many, many days tor
us to walk together, Mark"
He could but have presentiment of
her meaning, so sadly earnest was her
tone.
"What do you say, SaideeP" he
asked, with pity for her, and a joy he
could not repress mingling oddly in his
look and tone.
"That am not going to be married,
Mark-that is, not yet awhile. Wilfrcd
is angry with me; but / must not tell
you'll do not know why 50 forget my
self. 1t is only that / am to stay with
Aunt Ruth for the present that is all,
Mark.
She truly said she did not know why;
she felt very traitress thus openly to
blame Wilfred Hare. She did not real
ize, poor Saidee! how pleasant Mark
Vale's devotion had suddenly become TO
Lher-how plain she was making this.
But he could not see. He walked on
beside her silently, little dreaming he
was aught TO her to-day beyond what
he had been before. Never had life
seemed so dreary to Mark Vale-not
even that black morning when he
learned she was to marry Wilfred Hare.
Then his unselfish soul found solace in
the thought that she was happy; now
he stood in presence of her misery-he,
who, had he the power, would not have
permitted the winds TO blow roughly on
her-and could not save her its least
pang.
lie understood Wilfred Hare better
than she; il would have been easier,
perhaps, TO resign her to any other man.
1t was not strange, that in this hour,
!. realizing his own loyalty and tender
, ness, he should rail at justice and the
vwiest Of myths.
} "Come what will, no power on earth
shall separate me from youW
, Morn, noon and night Ghese words
I came back to her, and with them hope
to feed upon. Surely all would be right.
she thought. He cou d not give her up
he was only angry with her; he would
come to understand and forgive her, and
! then all would be well again.
! These were uneventful days, till, one
morning, the news was brought TO Saidet
/ that Aunt Ruth could not live; that
/ contrary to expectation, the peculiar
troubles that had resulted from her in.
juries were developing fatally. Her
gentle heart smote her. for often. often
! this later time, she had regretted hei
, promise; in her anguish, wished she
had broken it. A while remorse ban
eished all else from her thoughts; but
love is n mighty king, and poor Aunt
, Ruth had not been long under the sod
ere 1t regained the mastery.
He would surely write. now that Aunt
( Ruth was dead; he would surely under
J stand.
: So she was musing one twilight, wher
, there came a knock at the door, and q
} letter was handed into her. At the sight
OF the familiar writing che could not re.