Dodge City times. [volume] (Dodge City, Kan.) 1876-1892, 1880-03-13

4
He had half mind to ask her about
this village tragedy that was occupying
his mind this morning; but "better
not" he decided, "better wait now"
And he had waited so long. that little
longer could not make much difference.
So he just dawdled on about the farm
and the pleasant farm-garden long
enough for the days work to be well in
/ hand, and then he wished his hostess
Goodbye" and with quick, impatient
steps took his way to the village.
Once there, he walked straight to the
footpath across the meadows that led up
from Bythorpe Village to Bvthorpe Man
or; but at the entrance gate he paused,
and gazed with tender eyes at the little
house on the opposite of the road, that
exactly faced him-the little creeper-
covered cottage where the Doctors
widow lived.
He even made one half-step toward it:
but NO." he murmured, "she comes
first. We will go there together" But
still he fingered, as if longing to pierce
the mystery of those drawn blinds; and
even as he thus paused there was the
sound of horses feet, and there came in
view, down the narrow street, carriage
drawn by two fine chestnuts.
Before it the village children fell
hastily back, and, standing on one side,
gazed with mingled awe and admiral
ton. And assuredly it was a sight to
call forth admiration, for every thing
seemed so perfect; the carriage itself,
the prancing horses, the fair-haired girl,
so like the young, lovely mother by
whose side she sat, the two little golden
headed children opposite. There was
surely no fault to be found anywhere.
Only, to wayfarer standing by the
roadside gazing at them, the sun seemed
the earth to have lost the beauty of
summers morn.
"Helen!" he cried, in tones of an
guish wrung from breaking heart, but
she did not hear.
She saw him, of course, for she was
looking at him, wondering, maybe, who
this stranger was in familiar little By
thorpe. But that was all.
The dust from the carriage wheels
made thick the air for q moment, and
when it cleared away the vision had
"Who is it?" he questioned, when he
could command his voice, turning to
villager standing by his side.
"Yon lady? Lady Edmeade. She's
goin' to Lunnon. She was daughter of
the old Squire's," he added, "and mar
ried Sir Wilfred Edmeade."
HAS she been married long?''
"Let us ee,now. Twill be fourteen
roo - aap,o Anr,,cf Go, x,-,S %la ea,,o
day, l mind well, as my youngest was
born. Eli, but she has bonnie chill
lren," he murmured as he turned away.
And Robert Sutton found himself
,lone in the bright early sun, scarcely
iour hours since be saw it rise for what
was to have been the happiest day of
his life, and already the end had come.
He waited thus, reviewing this ending
% his romance, for few seconds think
ng of the sunny haired, broken-hearted
yirl. who had chung to him those long,
ong years ago, the tears streaming down
Ter cheeks.
" believe in you, Robert. Whatever
he world may say, | believe in you
)nly swear to me that you will credit
tothing against me that you may hear,
or | viH be true TO you. And oh, Rob-
IT, directly you are free, come straight
me. will wait, thought it be for
earsi''
And he had kissed her and sworn it.
Now the oath was fulfilled-his part
I it, at least; he had come back.
Then, those few brief seconds over,
e crossed the little dusty road, passed
he village school. whence issued the
ound of many children's voices singing
ne morning hymn, and entered the low
ottsge opposite, and knelt with great
sarless sob at the feet of an old blind
oman, who, putting out withered
and, and stroking softly the curls so
lickly strewn with gray, murmured,