The Portland daily press., 1880-03-20

The Dark Corner.

1t was a brown house, square and spa
cous, closely surrounded by tall, dark Fir
trees; while heavy vines. honey-suckle and
prairie rose chung to its walls, and closely
twined about the windows. Fir trees cast a
shade above the house and around it; no
thin shimmering shadow with light foliage
outline, but dark as pail, through which no
slanting bar of blessed sunshine ever pehe-
trated. The house was near the street, but
IFS occupants were as securely removed from
observation as though it stood in the heart
Of dense forest. It was comfortably fur
nished within: and tidy, though not taste
full hand, had arranged it with minute ex-
actness.
For years but two persons had lived with
in its walls, the owner, Paul Geary, and his
housekeeper, Charity. The former was a
widower, of perhaps two score years, tall and
pale, with dark gray eyes, and hair slightly
sivered. Charity was some ten years older,
prim and square, with stiffly starched caps
and style of dress whose fashion had passed
away with her girlhood.
Fifteen years before Paul Geary married,
and brought his bride to his home. After
one year of happiness, he one morning
awoke to find his idol turned to clay; his
wife had broken her marriage vows, land fed
with man he believed to be his friend.
The exact particulars no one ever knew; for
they dared not question Paul, and Charity,
like that benign quality whose name she
bore, covered multitude of sins.'
Five years afterward his wife returned, a
pale shadow, and after a weeks illness,
died. She was quietly buried in the village
cemetery, but further than this no one could
tell.
Time passed, and the green trees cast
longer shadows across the lawn, but seemed
to bring no change to the inmates of the
house. Rumor said that a little girl, on re-
turning from school one day, found the gate
ajar, and spying some pale roses in bloom,
entered noiselessly, and after plucking few
that climbed over the porch, she glanced
timidly about, cXclaiming with a shudder,
go, what dark corner!' while Pau, hidden
bobind the vine, exclaimed, ga fitting name,
but more descriptive of my hearth
Terrified by the deep voice, the child ran
down the path and escaped, and thereafter
the place was called the ozark Corner"
One day when Paul rode down to the vii
lage, he accidentally heard that stranger
was dying at wayside inn. He gave little
heed to the report until he heard the name
of Robert Kingston.
Can it be little Robbie kingston he
asked himself, 'my schoolmate and friend?''
The thought weighed upon his mind, until
determined to satisfy himself upon the sub
ject, he entered the inn and asked to see the
dying man.
Great was the surprise of the attendants
as Paul, with noiseless step entered the SEX
room. His fears proved true Pale and still
at the gates of death lay the companion Of
his boyhood, whose face he had not looked
upon in years before. Kneeling by the bed
side was young girl, her face buried in hel
hands, while thick, clustering curls of colo
fell over them, bright hair SO like Robbie's
when boy.
| Bending over the bedside, and tenderly
| touching the locks of his dying friend, hi
| said:
Robbie, don't you know Paul Geary?'
| A smile lightened the features of the dy
ing man. "Paul'', he spoke family, 'syor
have come in answer to my prayer. FATE
| has dealt hardly with me since we parted
and now l leave my child, my little Lily
| almost penniless, and without protector
He was too weak to say more, but lool
of cntreaty entered his fast glazing eyes
The strong tide of early love swept ovel
Paul's thirsting heart, and he said tenderly
.! will be her protector, Robbie, fear no
| for her future"
| So the man died peacefully, and when hi
was buried Paul took his sorrowing Lily tt
his home. 1t was a "nine-days" wonder il
the village, though all Landed Paups actor
| in the matter.
| s'His age renders it entirely proper sale
Mrs. Hanlon, the oracle of the town.
"And his good character, too," chimet
her echo, Miss Low; and she was the nearer
right OF the two. Paul bore on his forehead
and in his whole demeanor, the mark which
nature stamps upon all her noblemen
There might be more popular men-me1
l ~ H., &c A.
none who saw him could fail to be impressed
by his calm dignity, and his sacred sense O.
honor.
His heart naturally warmed toward the
child of his friend, but he had been so Ions
| accustomed to solitude, and quiet, gloom,
ways, that the days seemed sad and long tt
| poor Lily, who had been almost the sole OBJ
ject of her fathers love She soon learned
| to view Paul with dread, she is so icy an(
strange" she thought.
Paul spent the greater part of his time il
the library, which was neatly fitted up ant
| contained fine collection of books. He wa
contributor to several popular magazines
now sage treatise, and now touchin,
poem, emanated from his pen, but as b.
wrote under a nom de plume, Lily. knew
nothing of the nature of his productions.
| One day of she was practicing in the par
lor, and the door from the library opened
and then Paul came out, pen and pape
in hand. She stopped her music, thinkin:
it might disturb him, bat he requested he
to resume, She took up the strain she hat
| left and Paul commenced writing.
II am afraid will disturb you,'' she sale
length.
| go onr' he exclaimed, somewhat impa
tiently, sit inspires me-"
So she played for hours, and he wrote on
but at last he arose. "Thanksr' he said alb
ruptly, and he left the room, leaving Lily tx
| wonder more and more at his very strange
| ways.
AT another time he asked her to sing; bu
she had only commenced, when he broke
| out in LYNN of an entirely different char
acter from the song she was singing Hur
riedly finishing. she left the room to indulge
in hearty fit Of laughter, while Paul sans
on, and apparently obvious to anything
around him.
"What singular man, thought Lily. 90
wonder if it is possible for me to thaw hin
out and to make him at all companionable. ,
So she tried in every way to draw him out
but he was almost uniformly taciturn, and
| discouraged at last she left him to his soil
tude.
Charity did not prove so unbending She
hunted hens eggs with Lily, picked out he
| largest apples for her, and made little fancy
pies ana CAKES IOr ner, though Lily was sew
| enteen she seemed to Charity mere child
One day when Paul, who never missed his
ride, rode out, Lily went into the library
and leaning her cheek against the window
pane, stood watching the storm. She felt sc
lonely and weary that the tears were soon
dropping down her cheeks as fast as the
| raindrops fell without.
Paul, returning unexpectedly, found hel
thus. She hastily wiped her eyes, thinking
he would not notice her as she passed out
| but he paused in the doorway. saying, "Whai
| have we here-tears?''
| Lily turned and faced him.
| "Yes, tears" she said.
''Sit down, Lily, and tell me the cause OF
this"
II can tell you in a few words, sir ! am
tired of this idle. lonely life, and wish to GO
out and earn my own living. can teach,
sew, or cook, and scrub if necessary, but
| cannot live in this Manner
"Your father gave you to me, Lily; do you
consider his judgment at fault? Are you too
| proud to accept home from the guardian
! appointed by him? Do yon wish to take al
most the sole pleasure from a life whose joys
have been but few?"
Lily's tears began to fall afreSh