The People's vindicator. [volume] (Natchitoches, La.) 1874-1883, 1880-11-13

nlNlScll. At euCU Wines she WOuIu niEul\
speak to him, and the slightest gayety OF
even cheerfiiness on his part was received
as downright heartiessness. He made a
practice, therefore, Of Withdrawing at once
whenever he found her in this frame Of
mind.
One day they had been sitting long to.
gether. 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 f.,chsias.'
She stood still and held out her hand for
them.
II thought You might be meaning to let
me keep Them" said Putnam. Iii, heart
beat fast and his voice trembled as he con-
tinued: perhaps YOU thought that what l
said while ago was said in q joke, but
mean it in real earnest.'
"Niean WHAT" she asked, family.
"DOn't you know what mean" he said,
coming nearer and taking her hand. "Shall
| tell you, darling:'
"Oh. please don't! Oh, think know.
Not here-nOt now. Give me the tlOwcrs,'
she said, disengaging her hand, "and will
put them OH ilenry's grave
lie handed them to her and said, 81 won't
go on now if it troubles you; but tell me
irst-l am going away to.morrow,a land shan't
be back till October-shall I find you here
then, and may speak then" N..
81 shall be here till winter.' .
And may l speak then"
EYES,"
"And will you Iisten:"
AYES 80
"Then can watt" =
They moved on again along the cemetery.
walks. Putnam felt an exutation that he
could not suppress. In spite OF her Ian
gttage, her face and the tone OF her voice
had betrayed her. He knew that she cared
for him. ...t.. ...t....
On the morrow he was to start for the
mountains. lie 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. a.
It was early October when Putnam re-
turned to the city. He went at once to the
cemetery, but on reaching the grave hts
heart sank at the sight of q bunch OF wither-
ed flowers which must have lain many days
upon the mound. The blossoms were black
and the stalks brittle and dry. "Can she
have changed her mind and gone South al.
ready!" he asked himself. a f.
There was a new sexton in the gateh0use,
who could tell him nothing about her. He
wandered through the grounds, looking for
the old woman with the wateriny.pot, but
the season had grown cold, and she had
probably ceased her gardening operations
Tor the year. He continued his walk be-
yond the marshes. The woods hal grown
rusty and the sandy pastures outside the
city were ringing With the icccssant creak Of
grasshoppers, which rose in clouds under
his feet ~ he brushed through the thin
grass. The blue.curl and the life.everlast-
ing distilled their pungent aroma In the au.
t,lmn sunshine. pft Sc t,
Soon after arriving at the hills he had
written to Miss Pinckney long letter Of ex-
plantations and av0wals, 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.
MANS life.e On returning to the city, thor.
oughly restored in health, he had opened an
office, but found 1t impossible TO devote
himself quietly to the Duties Of his profess
sion. He visited the cemetery ut ali hours,
but without success. He took to wander.
ing about in remote quarters and back
streets Of the town, and eyed sharply every
female figure that passed him in the twf.
light, especially II II walked quickly or wore
1 vetl. He, slept little at night, and grew
restless and irritable. He had never cOnfided
his experience even to his mother: 1t seemed
to him something apart.
One afternoon, toward the middle of No.
vember be was returning homeward weary
and detected from walk In the suburbs.
His way led across On uninclosed Outskirt
Of the town which served ~ . common to
the poor people Of the neighborhood. It
was traversed by = 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
q boiling establishment. Around this
was . elpmp Of Old pine trees, the remnant
h / GROVE w3ic4 ha6 oNse fialtshed in the
sandy soil. There was something in the des.
olation Of the place that 1attered Putnam's
mood, and he stopped to take it In. The air
was dusk, but embers Of an angry sunset
burned low in the west. A cold wind made
4 sound IN the pine.tops like thebea:ing Of
surf IN : distant shore A flock Of little
winter birds ilew suddenly up from the
ground into one OF the trees, like tight Of
gray leaves whir|ed up bxa gust. As Put.
nam turned to look at them he saw, against
the strip Of sunset along the horizon, the
slim figure Of a girl walking rapidly toward
the opposite side OF the common. His heart
gave great leap, and he started after her
on run. At . corner Of the open ground
the figure vanished, nor could Putnam de.
eide into which Of two or three small streets
she had turned. He ran down one and up
another. but met no one except few labor
ers coming home from work, and finally
gave up the quest. But this momentary
glimpse produced In him . new excitement.
He felt sure that he had not been mistaken:
he knew the swift, graceful step, the slight
form bending In the wind. He fancied that
he had even recognized the poise and shape
Df the little head. He imagined, too, that
he had not been unobseryed, aud that she
had some reason for avoiding him. For
week or more he haunted the vicinity Of the
common, but without result. December
VAS already driving to On end when he re.
ceived the following note: 40.
DEAR Mn. PUTNAM: You must forgive me
Tor running away from you the other evening:
ann right-am not?-fn supp0sing that you
saw and recognized me. ioJt WAS rude I'm me
not to wait, but. I, had not courage to talk
With any one Just then. Perhaps should
have seen you before at the cemeiery-if you
It'll walk there-but have been sick and have
not been there for q long time. was only |
nut for the ilrst time when saw y0p last ri. |
iay. NY aunt has sent for me, and I am going
;Onth in few days. shall leave directions
o have this posted to you o soon as Tam I am
y0nc. ''' 49, -
promised to DO here when you eame back.