Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1880-05-30

So" My little girl made the best selection,
after alln Mr.. Hawthorne would often say,
on receiving congratulations on the efficiency
of his young aid.
Occasionally he would read him scrap
or kind message from his daughters letters,
bat Alex received them all in silence. He
had lost the little golden-haired child for
ever. She would return woman, grown
cold, naughty and proud, perhaps, refusing
to cast even smile across the vast social
gulf yawning between them.
One morning-he had been absent few
days on business-he returned to find q
difficult piece of machinery about to be adj
| justed in one of the mills which required
his superintendent Directing the men,
he saw that not only his eye but his hand
could do better work than the others, and so,
seizing workman's blouse hanging near,
he slipped it on, and in another moment had
bis shoulder to the wheel.
A half-hour later, soiled and begrimed, he
heard the rustic of silken dress, and the
silvery ripple of a woman's laugh.
He glanced up quickly. A gay party
were passing through the works, with one
among them seeming princess surrounded
by her followers. The gold still flecked her
hair, and the dark lashes swept the cheek of
purest ivory. Time had but made her moro
beautiful
She glanced idly, indifferently, among
the little group of men, of which he formed
one.
81 see no one here I recognize" she
said, in the old, sweet, soft voice, and passed
on
She had come home, then. during his alb
sence He had seen her. The seven
years waiting were over What had they
brought?
The machinery slipped into its place, but
Alex Vernon, with a strange pallor on his
face, went out silently from the mills. Not,
as once before, to find relief in tears. He
was man now. He only knew that some
thing was bursting within nina bitter dis
appointment, to which he could give no
name, but which he could only bring out
into the air and sunshine, lest it stide him.
Far out into the open country he walked,
with great strides, knowing neither fatigue
nor consciousness that it was unnatural that
he should not tire.
Suddenly, on the road behind him, came
horses quick hoofs. He stepped aside
for it to pass, but the rider drew rein at his
side
''It is Alex" said sweet voice, close in
bis ear; 81 know that am not mistaken"
And, as in dream, he saw held out to
him tiny gauntleted hand. He looked at
his own. Not even had he washed away
the traces of his recent toll He would soil
by his touch even her glove, although the
fair wilderness of her skin was thereby pro-
tected.
She SOW the hesitation, and drew back
cam wrong?" she questioned, in
little hurt surprise. 81 thought you would
be glad to see me-"
pardon me " he answered; ''my hands
are stained"
"OhI" she said. Then, after a mo-
ment's pause, she added: ''When you have
washed them clean, come to see me-"
And, cutting her horse with her silver
handled whip, she dashed past him out of
sight
The next week, he was invited to dine at
her fathers table Mr. Hawthorne would
accept no excuse.
cit is in our country an honor to be a
self-made man. I have no guests of whom
shall be more proud"
But when he entered the elegantly-ap-
pointed drawing rooms, Miss Hawthorne
gave him simply courteous bow of recog-
milton, and made no effort to approach
him.
Once or twice during the meal, he found
her eyes fastened on his face, as he was
drawn on to speak on this or that topic, as
it was presented, while one and another
mingled in the discussion, deferring to his
opinions as to those of man who under
stood himself
The ice once broken, ne met her often,
but never once had their hands touched.
He was admitted even into her circle now.
He went only that he might see her, listen
to her voice.
With her, he never forgot the cold night,
the driving snow, the senseless, inanimate
form, she had brought back to life, and
light, and consciousness. He gave no name
either to his pain or his exquisite happiness
Of being near her. He was in the mael-
strom; let it whirl him where it would.
The summer came, and on its wings il
brought the whisper that Miss Hawthorne
was to be married In the autumn
The day he heard it he went out, as once
before, to walk off the sharp pang that made
his former pain seem nothing. Was it fate
that, as he turned into q path leading
through the woods, he deserted ahead the
slight, willowy, graceful form he knew but
| too well?
She was coming toward him. In another
minute they must meet; but even in that
minuta Sometbino came between There