The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1880-10-07

and perhaps IN a years time lorSet tnaC
1 ever existed. l ought to hope so, l
suppose, but all me !" and the deep sigh
with which Albert Cushman ended his
soliioquy was hardly an indication that
such a hope was very deeply rooted.
Clara did not appear at the tea.table /;
"she was not WE'LL" her mother said,
and tie old lady's face wore an anxious
look that went like a knife to Altert's
heart.
Will she not see me once more, just
to say 'good-by," the young man Won
dered the next morning, as the time for
his departure approached and Clara still
appeared not. At the very last mo-
ment she came, and standing by her
mothers side in the low doorway, she
held out her hand.
"Good-by, Clara. God bless you =
said Albert, tightly clasping her cold
hand.
"Good-by, Mr.. Cushman," she an
swered simply, never raising her eyes to
his face, and then drew back the little
hand, and Albert sprang into the wagon.
Looking back, he caught n last look
from the sad blue eyes of Clara Moore
that haunted him for many years after
wards.
y +
Grace Church is thronged with a gay
and fashionable assemblage, gathered to
witness the marriage Of Albert Cushman
and Eliza Vaughan.
A hum Of expectation, and then, as
the organ joyously peals forth the we'd
ding march, the bridal train sweep up
the broad aisle and stand before the al
tar. A few moments later the bright
December sun throws his golden beams
upon the kneeling couple, as the veneer
able, white-robed bishop solemnly IN
vokes Gods blessing upon them as mar
and wife.
The same golden beams fall upon
another far different scene. Far up
among the Catskills, under no fretted
roof and to no sound Of pealing organ,
but with the winds signing a sad requi-
EN- through the ~leatless trees, a little
band of mourners with tears and sobs
bear Clara Moore to her resting place
under the old oak tree, where, in the
long, bright Summer days so lately gone,
she had spent such happy hours, and
there tenderly they lay her down and
leave her to a dreamless sleep.
=
"See, Eliza, there is the little farm
house where | spent last Summer.
Would you like to get out and visit it y
no, Albert; but if you like to do SO,
pray DO not hesitate"
And waiting for no further permission,
Albert Cushman sp.ang from the car
riage, and, promising to be back in a few
moments, fastened over the well -remem-
bered ground.
81 wonder if Clara has forgotten mel'
he muttered to himself, as he approached
the house, which seemed more quiet than
he remembered it before. His knock
was answered by Mrs. Moore, paler, and
with deep lines Of sorrow on her kindly
face.
"Do YOU remember me y cried AL
bert, taking her hand and looking into
her eyes.
"Mr. Cushman, you have come to a
very changed house, replied she with
qulyering lips. "Poor Clara p and her
voice was lost in tears.
Albert Cushman's heart stood still.
with a guilty fear.
".Where is she 3 he whispered.
There :" and the withered hand
pointed to the grave.
With unsteady step he sought the IA
miliar spot, and, under the tree where
he had uttered the words that had
broken her young heart, Albert Cush-
man found and believed with tears of
~unavailiag remorse the daisy covered
mound under which lay all hat was
left of sweet Clara Moore.
fn--pNNrNr or Srnt-tNrS Saryantc