St. Landry democrat., 1880-10-02
For the ST. LANDRY DEMOCRAT.
A Sketch.
A Tale of Love and Duty.

summer night. SO thought her mother,
as she glided gently in, to give her a
silent, good night blessing. Her long
dark hair lay in masses about her neck
and shoulders smile played about
her red lips, and the mother bent low to
catch the indistinct murmur. She starts,
at the whispered name, as if a serpent
had stung her; and as the little snowy
hand is tossed restlessly upon the cover
lid, she sees, glittering in the moonbeans,
on that childish finger, " the golden
signet of betrothal." Sleep sought in
vain to WOO the eyes of the mother
that night. Reproachfully she asked
| herself
Chow could / have been so blind
(but then Edith has seemed to me only
child y But he! oh, no; the wine cup
will be my chld's rival; it must not be.
Edith was wilful, and Mrs. Raston knew
she must be cautiously dealt with but
she knew, also, that no mother need
despair, who possesses the affection of
her child.
Edith's violet eyes opened to greet the
first ray of the morning sun, as he
peeped into her room. She stood at the
little mirror, gathering up, with those
small hands, the rich tresses so impa-
tient of confinement. How could she
fail to know that she was fair? she
read it in every face she met but there
was one (and she was fastening to meet
him) whose eye had noted, with lovers
pride, every shining ringlet and azure
vein, and fitting blush; his words were
soft and low, and skillfully chosen, and
sweeter than music to her ear; and so
she tied, with careless grace, the little
straw hat under her dimpled chin; and
fresh, and sweet, and guileless, as the
daisy that bent beneath her foot, she
tripped lightly on to the old trysting
place by the willows.
"Stay" hand is laid lightly upon
her arm, and the pleading voice of a
mother arrests that springing step.
Edith, dear, sit down with me Oh this
old garden seat; give up your walk for
this morning; slept but indifferently
last night, and morning finds me languid
and depressed
A shadow passed over Editl,'s face;
the little cherry lips pouted, and a re
bellious feeling was busy at her heart; j;
but one look in her mothers pale face
decided her, and, untying the strings of
her hat, she leaned her head caressingly
upon her mothers shoulder.
"1ou are i'll, dear mother; you are
troubled;" and she looked inquiringly
up into her face.
"Listen to me, Edith, l have a story
to tell you Of myself:
"When was about your age, formed
an acquaintance with young man, by
the name of William. He had been but
short time in the village, but long
enough to win the hearts of half the
young girls from their rustic admirers.
Handsome, frank and social, he found
him self everywhere favorite. He
would sit by me for hours, reading our
favorite authors; and side by side, we
rambled through all the lovely paths
with which our village abounded. Ny
parents knew nothing to his disadvan-
tage, and we're equally charmed as my
self with his cultivated refinement of
manner, and the indetinabie interest
with which he invested every topic,
grave or gay, which it suited his mood
to discuss. Before knew 1t, my heart
was no longer in my own keeping"
"One afternoon, he called to accom-
pany me upon little excursion, we had
planned together. AS he came mp the
gravel walk, l noticed that his fine hair
was in disorder a pang-keen as death
shot through my heart, when he ap-
preached me, with Teeling, unsteady
step, and stammering tongue. could
not speak. The chill of death gath
cred round my heart. Tainted. When
/ recovered, he was gone, and my
mothers face was bending over me,
moist with tears. Her woman's heart
knew all that was passing in mine. She
pressed her lips to my forehead, and only
said, God strengthen you to choose the
right, my child y"
81 could not look upon her sorrowful
eyes, or the pleading face Of my gray
haired father, and trust myself again to
the witehery of that voice and smile.
A letter came to me; dared not read
it. lAlas my heart pleaded too elo-
quently, even then, for his return.)
returned it unopened; my father and
mother devoted themselves to tighten
the load that lay upon my heart; but
the perfume of a flower, remembered
strain of music, struggling moon
beam, would bring back old memories,
with crushing bitterness that swept all
before it for moment. But my fathers
aged hand fingered with blessing, and
mothers voice had the sweetness of an
angels as it fell upon my ear
"Time passed on, and Ihad conquered
myself. Your father saw me, and pro-
posed for my hand my parents left me
free to choose, and Edith, dear, are ,ce
not happy"
"Oh, mother said Edith (tlen look
ing sorrowfully in her face1 did you
aerer see William again?'
"Do you remember, my child, the
summer evening we sat upon the piazza,
when a dusty, travel-stained man came
/ -, tro ctanc aud baorad For q simmer