The Morristown gazette. [volume] (Morristown, Tenn.) 1867-1920, 1880-04-21

/ =
| Of these awakening hearts. But they
| glided on the treacherotls stream, and
/ seemed only conscious that the hours
| were sweet and that the sun shone on
the waves. There was no thought of
! 1isloyaltv in either heart. He was,
above all, man of honor, and she, of all
else, a loyal woman. Yet how hearts de-
| lude themselves. In the very pride Of
his strength Samson was shorn of his
| locks.
One quiet evening in July DR.. Pauld-
| ing had taken tea at Donnybrook, and
| COnstance-hise hostess only she
called herself-strolled down to the
| gate with him. His impatient horse
was biting the rough old hitching-post,
| and throwing up clouds of dust with his
fore feet. He had been kept there for
| hours, and he seemed more eager than
his master to leave BonnybrOok behind
him. = The doctor idly plucked some
heliotrope as they strolled down the
rose -bOrdered paths, and mingled with
| the flowers some dainty mignone tteand
| a pale bud or twoo the tea-rOse. AT
last he placed the bouquet in her hands
and :said dreamily ri.
Tread the emblems, COnstance--you
who are priestess in Flora's beautiful
temple" t'l"1 -... =.
She quietly looked over them. z7di
"Ah," she said ''you choose we'll,
Sir Botanist. Here you have Sbeauty
| in retirement, 'cOnstaney that is
! good-and am not "a summer friend
| that is better than all. But. you
! fatter with your flowers nevertheless, y
"Not yoU," be replied eagerly, al
| most tenderly, and in a voice that sone-
how frightened her. ss7 a.4 .Hmgs
She, replied almost coldly, although
her heart was strangely beating and
warm; unusual color was in her face.
I" My best friends, doctor, viii tell you
that am ugly and commonplace. Be
lieve them, | beg of you, and do not let
yOnr imagination invest me with any
charms" .. ... ...r.r eg....- !;
He seemed at once to be carried away
by his passion. He leaned over her and
replied warmly. " l say you are beau
tiful, Constance Owen. I feel yor,r
beauty in my very soul.' But he said
no more. a- sr r.r. .aI
The face Of Constance was study:
the flush that before had crimsoned her
cheeks died out, and she became phostiy
pale. Her fingers which had Clasped
the flowers, slowly opened and
they dropped to the ground at her feet.
All at once the vision of the dead
woman seemed to present itself to her
mind, and the trust she was violating
struck cold to her heart. Was this the
: " Foreverp she had spoken? Shestag-
gered, and would have fallen; the arms
of Dr. Paulding were about her; but she
waved him away in a moment with such
a piteous, despairing gesture that he
obeyed her without word. She only
had strength to falter: sar. a1r.sa E.
"Go-and remember Edith "-and
she staggered back toward the house,
leaving him standing there, bent and
trembling. s.sr-
She did not know how she reached
her own room the strong woman had
learned at the moment she loved she
must sacrifice and renounce, .-... r.-
She stood for hours white and mo-
tiOnless, looking out at the sunset and
the gathering gloom of evening, with
wild thoughts chasing themselves
through her brain, and dumb, aching
pain in the heart, every hope trailing
in the dust, like those sweet flowers he
had given ber. She laid her head after
a while upon her hands, and Wept
softly through the long, long hours, un-
til she heard the village bell strike the
hour of midnight. She had prayed
and wrestled with her grief and agony,
and rose up at length quiet and calm.
She had yielded to duty and her promise
to the dead . N 7.9a.".
Somehow Constance Owen seemed to
grow prettier as the months passed by;
there was some refining change which
was softening her rugged features and
rounding every line in her stately form.
The summer into autumn had flown,
and still Edith Ormond had not re-
turned to BOnDybrook. Her aunt had
died and letters came from timeto time
saving that erelong she would be home,
vet she came not. Could she suspect
the dislOyalty of her lover?
It was late in the fall, wnen the
woods had put on their pompOf gloFF,
and the chill winds sent the fallen
leaves through the valleys at Benny-
brook, when DR.. Paulding rode up to
the bouse and asked for Constance. She
had only received him twice before
since the summer evening, and had
then contriyed, by womanly tact, not to
be alone with him-although she no
longer doubted her gtrength. Con
stance, on THIS OCCASION, received her
guest alone; there seemed a strange en-
barrassment in his manner. After the
first greetings were over, he said:
constance, have much to say to
you to-day. Do you think you can
listen to me calmly?'
"Yes," she replied. 4" If it is upon
subject on which you speak''-and she
added trembling" to which l should
listen" -.e.-..~-gs .s.g5..-. q. rs
'Both," he said. When first I saw
Edith OrmoEd was captivated by her
beauty and girlish graces; thought |
loved her" ...-s...
Constance would have stopped him
by gesture, but he begged her to listen
% for you can do so now," he said,
Gin all honor and reason"
He continued: ..aeE z@
"I never had my heart stirred by
the full knowledge of love, however, un-
til / knew you and discovered the
wealth of YOUR sYmDatkies and the
wOmannness or your character. L
never respected you more than when
you rejected me, knowing ] was the en-
gagged husband of Edith. But fate has
been kind to us both" His voice was
trembling with emotion. q" Read the
last part of this letter" sss.a Is
He handed a folded paper to Con- |
stance, who took it as one in a, dream. |
8 "From Edith?'' she said.
: "Yes.n sal 8. .mI Eaa i-
: The portion she read ran thus: e
$50 you see, dear DR.. Paulding, it is
better Ishould tell you now, that have |
met one here-my cousin Eay-whom / |
feel that I love better than anybody. in |
the world. I have promised to be his
wife and am sure you will forgive me,
for you are SO noble and grand and all |
that, and ] should feel, | know, that !
never could fill worthily the exalted |
sphere of DIR. Paulding's WIFE