Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1880-06-03

one. 1t is, I think" said she, though blush
ing deeply, as she always did when speaking
on the forbidden theme, "a perfect deligh
and repose in the object of our affections, will
the knowledge that he has the same deligh
and repose in US, and though time or chang
might discover many or grievous faults, ye
we know no knowledge will ever make US falte
or doubt in our calm trust?"
"No knowledge, Ellen ?" said he, eagerly
"What, not if honor, if principle were con
cerned ?"
Her clear eyes met his wonderingly.
"Honor and principle! That we're impos
sible."
"But if it were so, Ellen if you had beer
deceived ?"
"Then would I wipe him from the page o.
my heart I could not love one destitute o.
either. My ideal would still be there, but h
would no longer giveit life"
"And you would love again p he almost
whispered.
eyes, when the marble of my petrided ideal
decayed."
"And that would be-Ellen ?'-
"In the grave" she answered, in her clear
firm tones.
And from that moment every thought Of
righting Leonora died in his heart, crushed
back by the more terrible grief of Ellen's
widowed sorrow He did not again vex her
by his patience, or startle her with his pas
sion, but firmly and calmly, he insisted on a
speedy union. Every objection was over
ruled, and though Ellen was sometimes pro-
voked with the urgency, she could not but
respect the cool determination that would not
suffer her to gainsay him. Mr.. and Mrs.
Willoughby, too, urged it, and were his warm
advocates, so that scarcely three months after
his return, Ellen Campbell became his wife.
If delirium was happiness, he was for awhile
happy, but only to be racked by the fercest
torture when calm reason regained her seat.
His only hope now was in Mr.. Monckton,
and the preservation of the secret which
made him to Leonora still, as only Howard,
the Englishman." He wrote to Monckton
Immediately, detailing the violent opposition
of his parents, and charging him to cherish the
secret, and not to attempt passage until ne
warned him. For awhile these letters satisfied
Mr.. Monckton, but Herbert was at length al
most maddened by receiving one from him in
forming him of the birth of an infant son,
and Leonora's determination at once to seek
him of his acknowledgement of Herberts
being in America, though still preserving
the secret of his name and of his home. Fran
tic with terror though he was, he could yet
calmly deliberate on the means for prevent
ing the dreadful and shameful discovery.
While yet arranging these plans, news Of Mr.
Mockton's death reached him, and he gave
way to the widest emotion. He upbraided
himself with per6dy, with cruelty, nay even
with murder, and Ellen, shocked and panied
at the wild grief, found it necessary to rebuke
him with harsbness she had never before
ventured. Stung to the heart by her scorn of
an unmanliness she could understand, he
strove to check his passionate selfreproach
But his secret and bitter repentance he could
not so easily subdue, nor the intense longing
to see his only child. His life had been in
deed one of misery, not the least Of which
was his knowledge that Ellen had suspected
a secret and hidden cause of misery, and
though too generous, too trusting ever to seek
to divine the cause, yet he knew his want Of
confidence had embittered her life.
X
Respect for her memory had sternly forbid
him seeking his child after her death, as the
knowledge of the discovery of it, involving
her in shame, had forbidden it during her life
So the years had passed, till Graham had
been brought, pale and wounded, to his house.
The dread of retrbution had haunted him
like fearful ghost, during all these years,
and when Graham appeared so suddenly be.
fore him, he at once recognized the wronged
Leonora's child, and bowed to judgment he
had long considered inevitable He was not
long in discovering the young Englishman's
love for Ellen, and Immediately his heart
greeted this as atonement for his sin, and he
vowed to accomplish the union. Graham's
impetuosity ardent love- carried him
back, in fearful reality, to his own passionate
youth. He sympathized with every emotion,
and Ellen's GOODNESS maddened him as much
as it did Graham. Every taste, every fancy
of the boy, was his own. How he loved the
proud, passionate, impulsive youth how he
yearned to claim him as his child. Alas! it
was part Of his punishment that he should
not. Every thoughtless word of the high
souled boy forbade it; every emotion, every
tone, taught him how he should be despised.
1t was bitter punishment, day after day, to
watch the youth, who never gave thought to
the old man, save as the uncle of Ellen to
know that his yearning love, his almost wor-
ship, was accepted in careless courtesy, which
courtesy grew sometimes impatient at scru'
tiny he could not understand, tenderness
often deemed oficious. And more bitter than
all, to have his deep sympathy, his eager in
terest, his paternal love, construed by his boy
into an incipient madness where caprice chose
him as its subject. And now he was dead
and the old man was desolate and heart. bro
ken. No other one could 6ll the void that
had ached for so many weary years to grasp
the child who perished in the possession. His
days, he knew, were numbered, and he but
asked to see the child he had so long loved
whom merciful God had prevented his ma
king her also miserable happy and blessed
and he would welcome the death that he had
so long waited for.
Thus ended the unhappy record and Ellen
no longer wondered at the fierce passion that
would have sacrificed her, nor at the mute
despair, the shuddering terror, they had some
| times called-madness
CHAPTER XIV.
"Stand
Firm for your country and become man
Honor'd and lov'd." JOHNSON.
| HTbaro Ellon vou houa dresce6 thot for