Connecticut western news., 1880-09-22

train showed up a few miles beyond Little Crampton. She had been to the city to give music lesson he was com ing home to look after some property that had fallen to him in Little Cramp- ton. Though they were but five miles from the station, yet the storm was so cold and binding that only few under took the walk into town. There was but handful of passengers altogether, Little Champion people mostly, who did business in the city, and returned at night and it so happened that Rose was the only woman among them. They spent the night out there among the drifts, there being, fortunately, plenty of wood on board the train to keep them comfortable; and under such circum- stances people make acquaintance with comparative ease. MT. Throckmorton, not wishing. to travel on foot in the storm, and rather enjoying the novelty of the situation, had yet ventured out a mile or so, and foraged at farmhouse, returning thasupply of dainties which he begged Rose to share. He had ob- served that she was bored, sleepy and miserable he sympathized with her as man invariably does with pretty wo- man. Why is it that beauty in distress is more appealing than ugliness? Though for the matter of that, perhaps MT. Theodore Throckmorton would have folded his wrap for her weary head, have braved the storm for her refreshment, and beguiled her tedium with anecdotes and nonsense, all the same, had she been the plainest old maid in Little Cramp- ton but then his conduct would have proved an exception to that of his sex, no doubt. By daylight Rose and Theo- dore were as intimate as if they had been born neighbors; and an acquaintance begun thus, in snow-drift had drifted into more tender relation. In spite of Aunt Jane, Rose and Theodore were married, and set off in the early winter for his Southern home and what new world it was which Rose had discovered! She used to wonder, during those days, if 1t were really herself, poor little over- looked Rose Thornton, who had right to all this splendor, to all this love and devotion ; if she should not wake up to find herself in her dingy little room at Little Champion, in her black delaine, trying to make dime do duty for dol lar, with nobody kinder than Aunt Jane to look to, with all this happiness only a dissolving dream. "My life is like a poem," she said, almost daily.
 "I hope it will never become plain prose-" Theodore would answer.
 MT. Throckmorton was called away on business affairs for week or so when they had been married little more than a year, and at first it seemed to Rose as if the sun had gone under cloud. She tried to occupy herself with thousand trlties; the very roses in the garden ap. peared to hang their heads and dror their petals pensively; the mockine
 birds sang out of tune the atmosphere was oppressive as before thunder. storm. Rose wandered about the house and grounds aimlessly, not knowing how to pass the time without Theodore. She reminded, herself of the ghvst of Mrs
 Ir1stram Throckmorton haunting the corridors with her lighted taper to look at her husbands portrait she turned
 over the rare prints in the library sh,
 opened the old-fashioned novels, writer for dead and gone generation sh,
 drew melancholy strain or two iron
 Theodore's violin, like the wailing of
 banshee. One afternoon she bethough
 herself of Theodore's diary of the war
 which she had promised she shouldre
 whenever she wanted to descend to plail
 prose. "It is hidden in a drawer of m, ) private desk, he had said. ssRead it Rosamundi, when you wish to be bore, within an inch of your Ife" She opene,
 the desk and began her search but tn
 dairy was not so easily found. A frien l had borrowed it, not long before, il ! order to fix the date of some politica ! events in his mind. But while she turne
 over his papers and opened the drawers her fingers must have touched acci dentally the spring of secret compart ment, which, flying open, disclosed tn ; picture of woman in a case bedded wit pearls and emeralds-a woman wit great velvety eyes like a panther's, ; rich color on the swarthy cheek, an 7 a tense expression about the scarle t curve of the lips 8 face to haun l and perplex one. Rose shuddered be r fore this appar1tion. "Death is in he l beautiful eyes," she cried. "Ho, g she must have hated to die, and leav 6 this pleasant world-and Theodore B How did he ever forget her and love me e And then her eyes fell upon shabb l little diary pushed out of sight beneat 0 the picture "This must be Thet n dore's," she thought; and she seate d herself in a Sleepy Hollow chair { b enjoy it, yet feeling as if that face wou] n always come between herself and The, h dore, unless she could lose herself i d these pages and forget it. In fact, Il penetrated was she with thoughts of tn
 beautiful dead woman, whom Theodo J. had once loved, that she had been req d ing the diary for an hour or so, hs .- turned the leaves, and had tried mecha o ically to follow the thread, before sl |. awoke to the conviction that it was h. ,f novel she held, nor 8 record of u 1T war, that it was not written in Theodore e hand, but that it was record of inten D. feeling and agony-the diary of Jul |? Throckm ort on.
 r. "20th.-And this is revenge, indeed B. You starve both body and soul, The