Ashtabula weekly telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1880-1886, 1880-11-05

uufks ~
~ hope, hc began anxousiy, "thnt
you are not feeling sicE you spoke just now
/ otbelng oppressed by the heat. Excuse me
for staying 90 lOng.W
"Oh no. she answered, ''I,m not sick.
! reckon need little rest. Good even
Putnam fingered after she was gone. lie
found hiH way 10 his old bench under the
cedars and sat there for while. lie had not
| occupied this seat since hls first meeting
Win Miss Pinckney in the gummer-hOuse,
and the initials which he had whitfield ON its
edge impressed him a. belenging 10 some by.
| gone stage Of his history. This was the frat
time that she had questioned him about him
sell. His sympathy had won her confidence,
but she had treated him hitherto IN an i'm
| personal way, as something tributary 70 her
| brothers memory, like the tombstone or the
flowers on hlf grave. The suspicion that he
was seeking her for own sake had not, so
iar as Putnam could discover, ever entered
! her thoughts
But In the course OF their next few inter-
views there came a change In her behavior.
/ The simplicity and unconsciOusness OF her
sorrow had become complicated with some
other feeling. He caught her looking at him
narrowly once or twice, and when he looked
hafd at her there was visible In her manner
soft gitatiOn-sOmething which I'm girl
| OF more sanguine complexion might have
I been Interpreted as blush. She sometimes
suffered herself 10 be COaXed little way into
talking OF things remote from the subject Of
her sorrow. Occasionally she questioned
Putnam shyly about himself, and he needed
but slight announcement to wax COnh-
dental. She listened quietly to his eNperl-
ences, and even smiled now and then at
something that he said. His heart beat high
with triumph; he fancied that he was lead
ing her slowly up out Of the Valley Of the
Shadow of Death.
But the upward path was a steep one.
she had many sudden relapses and changes
OF mood. Putnam OWNED that she felt her
grief lOOsening It's tight hold on her and slip-
ping away, and that she clung TO 1t as a con-
secrated thing with a morbid fear Of losing
1t altogether. There were days when her
demennOr betOkened a passionate self-re-
proach, as though she accused herself secret
ly OF wrOnging her brother and profaning his
tomb In allowing more cheerful thoughts to
blunt the edge Of her bereavement. He re-
marked also that her ewes were often red
from weeping. There sometimes mingled
with her remorse plain resentment toward
himself. AT such times she would hardly
speak TO him, and the slightest gayety or
even cheerfuness on his part was received
as downright heartlessness. He made
practice, therefore, Of Withdrawing at once
whenever he found her in this frame OF
mind.
one day they had been sitting long to-
gethcr. She had appeared unusually con-
tent, but had spoken little. The struggle In
her heart had perhaps worn itself out for the
present, and She had yielded to the warm
current Of life and hope which was bearing
her back into the sunshine.
Putnam stopped talking abruptly, but
presently said, - You have not asked me for
your fuchsias.''
She stood still and held out her hand for
them.
81 thought you might be meaning to let
me keep them,' said Putnam. His heart
beat fast and his voice trembled as he con-
tinued; " Perhaps you thought that what !
mean 1t in real earnest.'
Mean WHAT" she asked, family.
"Don't you know what meany' he said,
coming nearer and taking her hand. "Shall
tell YOU, darlingF'
"Oh, please don't! oh, think know
Not here-not now. Give me the flowers, -
she said, disengaging her hand, "and will
put them on Henry's grave.'
He handed them to her and said, 81 won't F.
90 on now il il troubles you; but tell me
iirst-l am going away morrow, and shan't
be back till October-shall / find you here
then, and may l speak then"
- shall be here till wiuter.p
And may speak then"'
Yes"
And will you lsten?'
"Then can wait"
They moved on again along the cemetery
walks. Putnam felt an eXultatiOn that he |
could not suppress. In spite of her Lam !
guage, her face and the tone OF her voice
had betrayed her. He knew that she cared
On the morrow he was to start for the
mountains. He visited the cemetery in the !
morning, but Miss Pinckney was not there.
He did not know her address, nor could the |
gatekeeper inform him; and in the afternoon
he set out on his journey with many misgiv- /
ings.
1t was early October when Putnam re-
turned to the city. He went at once TO the |
cemetery, but on reaching the grave his |
heart sank at the sight of a bunch OF wither- |
ed flowers which must have lain many DAYS |
upon the mound. The blossoms We're black |
and the stalks brittle and dry "Cun she |
have changed her mind and gone South al
readyP' he asked himself.
There was new sexton in the gatehOuse, |
who could tell him nothing about her. He |
wandered through the grounds, looking for |
the old woman with the watering-pot, but |
the season had grown cold, and she had |
probably ceased her gardening operations 1
for the year. He continued his walk be- |
rusty and the sandy pastures outside the |
city were ringing with the ncessant creak OF |
grasshOppers, which rose in clouds under |
his feet as he brushed through the thin |
grass. The blue-curl and the life -everlast-
ing distilled their pungent aroma in the au-
tumn sunshine.
Soon after arriving at the hills he had .
written to Miss Pinckney a long letter of eX- |
plantations and ayOwals, but he did know the /
number Of her lodgings, or, oddly enough,
even her Christian name, and the letter had
been returned to him unopened. The next |
month was one of the unhappiest in Put
nam's life. On returning to the city, thor I
oughly restored in health, he had opened an
office, but found it impossible TO devote
himself quietly to the duties Of his profess
sion. He visited the cemetery at all hours,
but without success. He took to wander
ing about in remote quarters and back
streets of the town, and eyed sharply every
light, especially If ii walked quickly or wore
a veil. He slept little at night, and grew
restless and irritable. He had never confided
his experience even TO his mother: il seemed
to him something apart.
One afternoon toward the middle of No
vember he was returning homeward weary
and detected from walk in the suburbs.
His way led across an uninclOsed Outskirt
OF the town which served rs common to
the poor people Of the neighborhood. II
was traversed by a Score OF footpaths, and
frequented by goats, and by ducks that dab
bled in the puddles Of rain-water collected
In the hOllOws. Halfway across this open
tract stood what had formerly been an old
fashioned country house, now converted into
a soap boiling establishment. Around this
was a clump of old pine trees. the remnant
Of grove which had once tlOurished in the
sandy soil. There was something i'm the des-
olation OF the place that flattered Putnam's
mood, and he stopped to take 1t in. The air
was dusk, but embers Of an angry sunset
burned low in the west. A cold wind made
a sound I'm the pine-tops like the beating OF
winter birds flew suddenly up from the
ground into one OF the trees, like flight OF
gray leaves whirled up by gust As Put
nam turned TO look at them he saw, against