The Benton weekly record. [volume] (Benton, Mont.) 1880-1885, 1880-07-02
A M oaFaer's Sacrifice.

Il \
ce first time in her two years of widowhooe
she Laid off the widows cap, which ha
ut for 20 long served to conceal the ti1ic
d, auburn braids, SO artistieally coiled abou
O. the small head. Perhaps for this sam
+. reason she had dismissed the butler, whe
4. he entered according to custom to ligh
l. the lamps, or perhaps because the sloy
Or ticking OF the clock upon the mantel re
e vealed to her sufficiently the lapse Of tim
Z. without compelling her to distinguish tht
hands upon the face of the dial drawing
l. nearer and nearer the hour whose cost
!. approach dissipated the calnness she vain
d ly strove to gain.
# Eighteen years had passed since she
! and Arthur Mainwaring had met. They
\ had been lovers in that far-otf time, but
he was poor then, with no whisper in the
r. air of The rich inheritance to which he
j, afterWard fell heir, just too late for it to
bring happiness to either. Not that they
! cared for wealth, either of them, but then
there were older, wiser minds to judge for
both, and so, each yowing eternal VOWS,
they were torn apart.
Six short months later she married Ed
ward Wingfeld. lie was, fortunately, not
a man to look for love and sentiment III
his young wife-only wifely duty and
obedience. In these she never failed him,
and after his death the world found proof Of
his esteem in the fact that to his widow
reverted all his fortune, untrammeIled by
q single reservation.
She had married very young. She was
but thirty-five now. Would he find her
changed, she wondcrcd-hc for whose
coming she waited here tonight?
Simultaneously with the thought came
the sound of carriage wheels and horses
hoofs on the grayelled walk. She started
to her feet, pressing both hands upon her
fast-beating heart. Only that morning
she had received the telegram announcing
Arthur Mainwaring's coming, and already
he was here. She was glad, @, so glad, |
that the room was dark, when she heard !
the quick, firm tread she had sometimes
heard in her dreams during these long
years of dutiful living; SO glad that he
could not see the quick blush, which put
her matronhood to shame, when the door
was thrown hastily open, and three or
four swift strides brought him to her side.
s'Barbara!'
0, how his voice thrill ller-half with
pleasure, half with pain.
TIic foil forp, ho1-c bor
in the olden times; but he held close in
his own firm, tender grasp her two little
trembling hands.
care you glad to sec rne:" he question
ed.
\ She strove to answer, but her lips quiv-
cred, and no words came.
Barbara he said then again, and he
bowed his handsome head lower, sis it too
soon to speak,"
g, Arthur" she answered, ''can / yet ::
atone?''
And then the bridge of years was swept !
away, and she sobbed out her happiness
upon his heart.
"Let me sec you," he said, at last. 81 :
nave not seen the face for which have
all these years. =
He struck light, then turned and look :,
ID at her.
"My dariing." he said at is still my
beautiful Barbara. What have I done to
Ieserye this hour?'
Mamma, where are you?' called ont a
resh girlish voice at this instant.
The nexz moment young girl OF scarce :,
eventecn summers sprang into the room. :,
''Fhis is my daughter, Arthur-nly only !.
HID, Dora, let me present you to one Of
our mothers oldest friends
The gentleman indicated look from one :,
. the other--from the mother to the
back again. Now he
ould realize the lapse Of time--now he :.
ould appreciate the changes years had :, !,
'rought. 1t was as though he had brought "
he past and present face to face, forcing :,
i'm to acknowledge the impossibility of y.
ature's standing still.
The daughter was fair counterpart of -
le mothers beauty. As she looked now, y
lyly extending to him her hand, as if in !.
eprecation Of her nnccremonious entrance,
} had Barbara looked, when extending
er hand in farewell, as though she would r, r
ave said, 81 am forced into it by a strong =
r will than mime y,
An uncomfortable sensation rose up in :. =.
is breast,-l dumb warning against the !,
lcvitable-an unacknowledged desire to
,tracc lifes pathway and conquer time. =,
Meantime the young girl pouted the -
III, rcd lips, as she thought her mothers =
st forced himself into 4 few words of -
rccting, they fell upon dull, unheeding -
ars.
Then she had gone. The lovers were
one again, but he no longer opened wide ". "
is arms, but instead drew a chair to her -
de, that they might discuss more ration /.
ly. =
s.You must teach Dora to love YOU, .
le said to him next morning. II want Es
rst to reconcile her to my second marriage
efore startling her will, its probability.
ell me--do you think her like me?''
our second SELF sc
'Ah, | am SO glad! You will love her, j,
len, for my sake:'' III
To love, and to be loved, Ger easy M
sk set by frail woman III her blindness. WI
must be Mr.. Mainwaring who must be il
ora's companion in her daily ride: Mr. co
who must teach her TO man ca
&c the cockle-boat--for which he had 50
mt to town--in these first early spring ty
ays. The lovers were seldom alone now to
Dora looked upon their guest as her
roperty. She had long ago laughingly
Id him how unceremoniot1s had been cs
IS welcome to her, and he had wood and To
on his absolution. III
Sometimes Barbara sighed as she watch
| them together, while she sat alone, but to
lc gave to the sigh no name, and thought LEI
a tribute ID the vanished years. He
One day came her awakening. Dora th
Id Mr.. MainWaring had gone for their th
ternoon ride, but it had extended beyond T,
s wont, and she had grown anxious and iii
me out to meet them, striking into the th
rest path which was their fayorite way. al,
alf a mile from home she met Dora's ba
orse, riderless. Pale with terror. she ev
astened on, when suddenly she stopped, en-
'oted 70 the spot. Almost at her feet !
lelt the man her heart had loved always, 4 !,
I'd in his arms be held Dora's ,llaeon- St
ious form. sci
MF love. my lie ne saltt, EACH WORD Iat