Fayette County herald. [volume] (Washington [Washington Court House], Fayette County, O. [Ohio]) 1860-1???, 1880-11-04

I won't bring any more, Of course, II It
troubles you, and thank you very much for
letting me come. Good morning, Miss
Pmckney" He bowed and walked away.
Putnam aVaiIed himself discreetly Of the
permission given. He came occasionally Of
IN afternoon, and sat for an hour at a time.
Usually she said little. Her silence ap.
peared to proceed not from reserve, but
from detection. Sometimes she spoke OF her
brother. Putnam learned that he had been
her only near relative. Their parents had
died in her childhood, and she had come
North with her brother when he entered the
medical school. From something that she
once said Putham inferred that her brother
had owned an annuity which died with him,
and that she had been left with little or
nothing. They had few aeqtaintances in
the North, almost none in the city. An aunt
In the South had offered her a home, and
she was going there in the fall. She looked
forward with dread to the time OF her de-
parture.
One day the two were sitting, as usual, in
silence or speaking but rarely, 1t was a day
in the very core of summer, and the life OF
Nature was at its flood. The shadows Of the
trees rested so heavy and motiOnless on the
grass that they appeared to sink into 1t and
weigh it down like palpable substances.
81 feel, said Putnam, suddenly, as
though should live for ever"
"Did you ever doubt It," she asked.
"Oh, mean here-ici basin the body.
can't conceive Of death or Of a spiritual eX-
istenCe on such day as this"
'Ihere is nothing here to live for, she
said wearily. Presently she added, ''Ths
hot glare makes me sick; wish those men
would stop hammering on the bridge,
wish | could die and get away into the
dark. "
~ hope" he began anxiously, "that
you are not feeling sick; you spoke just now
of being oppressed by the heat. Excuse me
for staying so long"
'FOh nO,D she answered, 'EI'm not sick.
l reckon l need a little rest. Good even
ing.N
Putnam fingered after she was gone. He
found his way to his old bench under the
Cedars and sat there for while. He had not
occupied this seat since his first meeting
with Miss Pinckney in the summer-hous
and the initials which he had Whitfield on its
edge impressed him as belonging to some by
gone stage of his history. This was the first
time that she had questioned him about him
self. His sympathy had won her confidence,
but she had treated him hitherto in an inn
personal way, as something tributary to her
brothers. memory, like the tombstone or the
flowers on his grave. The suspicion that he
was seeking her for own sake had not, so
far as Putnam could discover, ever entered
her thoughts.
But in the course of their next few inter-
views there came change in her behavior.
The simplicity and Inconsistencies OF her
sorrow had become complicated with some
other feeling. He caught her looking at him
narrowly once or twice, and when he looked
hard at her there was visible in her manner
a soft Notwithstanding which in girl
of more sanguine complexion might have
been interpreted as a blush She sometimes
suffered herself to be cOaXed little way into
talking of things remote from the subject of
her sorrow. Occasionally she questioned
Putnam shyly about himself, and he needed
but slight encouragement to wax COnti-
dental. She listened quietly to his expert
ences, and even smiled now and then at
something that he said. His heart beat high
with triumph; he fancied that he was lead
ing her slowly up out Of the Valley of the
Shadow of Death.
But the upward path was a steep one.
She had many sudden relapses and changes
of mood. Putnam OWNED that she felt her
grief loOsening its tight hold on her and slip
ping away, and that she Clung to it as a con-
secrated thing with a morbid fear Of losing
it altogether. There were days when her
demeanor betokened a passionate selt-re-
as though she accused herself secret
Iy of WrOnging her brother and profaning his
tomb in allowing more cheerful thoughts to
blunt the edge of her bereavement. He re-
marked also that her eyes were often red
from weeping. There sometimes mingled
with her remOrse plain resentment toward
himself. At such times she would hardly
speak to him, and the slightest gayety or
even cheerfulness on his part was received
as downright heartlessness. He made
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
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, g You have not asked me for
your flIchsias.'
She stood still and held out her hand for
them.
"I thought you might be meaning to let
me keep Them" said Putnam. His heart
beat fast and his voice trembled as he con-
tinued: "Perhaps you thought that what l
said while ago was said in joke, but l
mean it in real earnest"
"Mean what?" she asked, family.
"DOn't you know what meanW he said,
coming nearer and taking her hand. Shall
[ tell you, darlingY'
"Oh, please don't! Oh, / think know
Not here-not now. Give me the flowers" "
she said, disengaging her hand, sand | will
put them on Henry's grave"
He handed them to her and said, 81 Won't |
90 on now if 1t troubles you; but tell me
irst--I am going away tomorrow, land shan't |
be back till OctOber-shaH / find you here |
;hen, and may / speak thenW
81 shall be here till winter"
Sand may speak thenP'
Yes"
"And will you listenS"
AYES
"Then can wait"
They moved on again along the cemetery
walks, Putnam felt an eXultatiOn that he
could not suppress. In spite Of her Ian
yuage, her face and the tone OF her voice
lad betrayed her. He knew that she cared
or him.
On the morrow he was to start for the
mountains. He visited the cemetery in the
morning, but Miss Pinckney was not there.
lie did not know her address, nor could the
inform him; and in the afternoon
le set out on his journey with many misgiY-
ngs.
IL was early October when Putnam re-
urned to the city. He went at once to the
cemetery, but on reaching the grave his
leart sank at the sight of bunch Of wither-
d flowers which must have lain many days
lpon the mound. The blossoms were black
md the stalks brittle and dry Can she
rave changed her mind and gone South al
eady" he asked himself.
There was q new sexton in the gateh0use,