The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1880-03-11
losite; IeastwaYs, / don't in Maegie's. ;,

posite; Ieastways, 1 don't in Maggie's,' y
said the farmer, simply.
Z" Perhaps that is because YOU see the
youth still there; you remember it, YOU
see. But if you had grown old far
apart, it would perhaps have been diff
ferent.' EC ~
''Maybe, replied Mr. Sisted, doubt-
fully, apparently little out of his
depths. g But come, it Is time / was
back atthe farm. Perhaps You would
ike a bit of breakfast with US, sir?
Therell be but little doing in the village
yet awhile, and my wife will be glad to
see you.''
The stranger accepted the proffered
hospitality, and he and the farmer
turned away together.
Maggie proved quite as hospitable as
her husband had predicted, and when
breakfast had been partaken of, and
Mr.. Sisted had gone out to his work,
the stranger found himself lingering on
still, talking to sweet, placid-faced Mar
CARED Sisted.
He had half mind to ask her about
this village tragedy that was occupying
his mind this morning; but 'sbetter
nOt,' he decided, better wait now y
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" p" 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 Bythorpe 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 q NO,'' he murmured, Sc she comes
first. We will 90 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, a carriage
drawn by two fine chestnuts.
Before it the village children fell
hastily back, and, standing on one side,
gazed with mingled awe and admira-
ton. And assuredly it was a sight to
caA 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 a wayfarer standing by the
roadside gazing at them, the sun seemed
of sudden to be darkened in heaven,
the earth to have lost the beauty of a
summers morn.
'Heleni" 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 a moment, and
when it cleared away the vision had
vanished.
g Who is itP'' he questioned, when he
could command his voice, turning to a
villager standing by his side.
g Yon lady? Lady Edmeade. She's
goin' to LunnOn. She was daughter of
the old Squire's,'' - he added, ssand mar
ried Sir Wilfred Edmeade'' -
''Has she been married lOngP''
f" Let us see, now. Twill be fourteen
years come August, for it was the same
day, l mind well, as my youngest was
born. Eh, but she has bonnie chill
dren," he murmured as he turned away.
And Robert Sutton found himself
alone in the bright early sun, scarcely
four hours since be saw it rise for what
was to have been the happiest day of
his life, aud already the end had come
He waited thus, reviewing this ending
to his romance, for few seconds; think
ing of the sunny-haired, broken hearted
girl, who had clung to him those long,
long years ago, the tears streaming down
her cheeks.
stI believe in you, Robert. Whatever
the world may say, / believe in you
Only swear to me that you will credit
nothing against me that you may hear,
for i qCiy be true to you. And oh, Rob
eTt, directly you are free, come straight
to me. I viii wait, thought it be for
yearsir - ..r...
And he had kissed her and sworn it.
Now the oath was fulfilled-his part
of it, at least; he had come back.
Then, those few brief seconds over,
he crossed the little dusty road, passed
the village school, whence issued the
sound of many chiIdren's voices singing
/ the morning hymn, and entered the low
cottage opposite, and knelt with great
fearless sob at the feet of an old blind
woman, who, putting out a withered
hand, and stroking softly the curls so
thiekly strewn with gray, murmured,
= My son, my son! Have you come,
then, at last? All! it has been weary
waiting; but I lived on, for 1 knew the
truth must be known some day, and
that then you would come home. -
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