The Sentinel. [volume] (Trenton, N.J.) 1880-1882, 1880-09-25

will come when, even in the zenith O
your success, you will be willing to bar
ter it all for heart that is tender and
true"
Your prophecies are certainly like
Cassandra's in one respect, viii, al
least, for l don't believe a word o.
them; but if 1 am erring, ard they ever
come true, why, I'll come back to d
with the aforesaid wreath and key, and
you shall teach me to love. Is it bar.
gainp"
81 will wait for you ALWAYS, my dar
ling" said Willard, solemnly.
1t is unkind in you to say all this,
said the girl, with sudden resentment
"just when / had boosted in my diary
that we were a living Illustration o.
dear old Plato's theory; but you always
were thoughtless."
you are coming to see grandmaP'
she added, presently, as the supper. bel
sent CHEEKY invitation through the
orchard; "she will never forgive you i
you slight her." and, seeing that hel
companion hesitated, "if you do not
come shall think you are offended and
angry with me-"
Would you care, Marjorie, dear?'
Willard asked, eagerly.
"Of course it would make me very
unhappy to think that we, who have
been friends from our cradles, should,
on the eve of my departure, be estranged
about such tri6e as love; something
that you will forget before this fruit
bushes meath August's kisses; and, be-
fore apple-blossoms come again, there
will be a pretty. blue-eyed wife at the
parsonage-Annie Leigh, perhaps-who
will fill the position so much more
WORTH y and gracefully than l."
Stop, Marjorie. interrupted Willard
almost sternly, Heaven knows | have
borne great deal from you, but can
not endure this unkind testing when you
well know that as long as life hath
shadows, as long as the heart hath woes,
l shall love you, only you"
"Of course. that is the proper speech
to make just now, Will dear, but pre-
dict you will console yourself very soon
with Annie Leigh. AS old Mrs. An
drews would say, I feel it in my bones"
Marjorie gained her wish. A few
months after her arrival at her uncle's
Fifth avenue home, she had, like Byron.
walked to find herself famous Oh the'pub-
lication of her first prose work. Two
others followed in quick succession.
But just when my heroine felt she had
almost climbed the height OF literary re-
nown, when the praises of an admirin Q
public were waited to her like incense,
with only now and then criticism,
which she insisted only spiced the other
wise insipid ovation, that eccentric
young lady suddenly declared her inten-
ton OF deyoting her time to American
politics. So thorough was her study of
the subject that she now (six years after
you first met herr virtually stood at the
head of her uncle's wIdely-circulated
and influential daily. She had indeed
climbed to dizzy height where few
women ever ventured. Her editorials
were copied everywhere, her opinions
quoted from "Dan to Beersheba," but
was she happy? some one asks. Was
the mountain as purple and beautiful as
when she gazed longingly at it from the
sweet valley of youthp or did she find it
but common earth after all, and the
mysterious beauty lay in the misty val
ley of girlhood she had left behind?
Marjorie dropped her pen with a
short, impatient sigh. cit is strange
that little Nell's words should haunt me
SO tonight, ringing in my ears, and
waking echoes of that still, small voice
l had hoped was forever stilled. What
does that child of eighteen know of the
the heart, that she should assert so con-
tidently. Ambition, even gratified am
bition can never satisfy the inner sane
tuary of your soul; you will never be
happy till you love- Are the words OF
child to undermine the foundations Of
my theories of life, love and happiness
that six years ago l boosted were built
on the solid rock Of reason instead of on
the shifting sands of human affection
And yet-bave they brought peace to me
after all? | would freely give power
fame and ambition for the look in Nell's
blue eyes as she talked of her husband
All! child, with only your trusting heart
to guide you, youshave found and gath
cred the little wayside flower, happiness
which in my selfishness and pride ]
have missed. Across the chasm O.
Years, comes faint yet never-dyin
echo of the same words. s
Willard, you at least truly loved
me. and would have saved me from my
self, and / would not, and now it is for
ever too late, for the fire in my hear
has burned so low that there is now lief
only a faint, tender strain of regret, ant
the white ashes OF memory. / have in
deed passed the Rubicon of youth ant
hope, and for me there is 10 redemp
tion."
Little Joe Harris, Marjorie's specia
errand boy and devoted slave, after ar
ranging to his satisfaction the furnitur
and papers in her private sanctum il
l. - L