Catoctin clarion., 1881-05-26

quarters, now III Sotue uuii oou'''!
town. Our surroundings We're of lit
tie moment while we had each other
and our child. We were almost
equally alona~in the world. had
never known mother or father, and
the old aunt who brought me up died
soon after my marriage. Franks
people had cast him off on my account.
They were proud, and younger son
though he was, could not forgive his
brides having neither purse nor ped
iigree. Indeed some mystery had
hung over nv parents, into which l
had never cared to inquire; but my
aunt's silence and reserve on that
point had been highly unsatisfactory
to my new relatives. They were not
rich themselves; but there was an old
uncle whose wealth and estate were
the heritage Of Frank elder brother.
Two years after our marriage that ell
der brother died and Frank becam"
the heir. It made no difference to US
at the time. Mrs. Eyreton was so
stricken by the death Of her favorite
son that they took her abroad; and
there she and her daughters are now,
travelling about seeking for her the
health that will not come Ofcourse
Frank was forgiven after fashion;
but no word Of kindness was sent to
me or the child, and our quiet life
flowed on as usual ill., just one fort
night ago, the news came that the reg
iment was ordered at once to the
Cape.
Ny husband was a man and a sol
der. Without any special desire to
butcher his fellow creatures, he loved
his profession, and gladly welcomed
the chance OF seeing active service;
but that which weighed on hi. mind
and made the summons nnpleaslng
was the perplexing question how to
dispose Of his wife and child during
an uncertain period Of absence We
had talked it over together, we bad
turned it over in our brains separate
". 1t had been more heavily On
| Franks mind than mine, for to ME all
cousi lerations of personal welfare
were swallowed up in the black, ter,
rible prospect Of parting..'l had tried
not to worry him with frnitless tears
and lamentations; but night and day
had been haunted by the PRESENT.
ment that when he had left me
should see his face no more. 1t was
but folly, the fancy Of any young wife
at such a time, but it pressed sorelv
on my heart, and made me jealous Of
Franks every look and word through
those swft-tlving days.
The feeling might have been les
, sened had there been home to which
might have returned for the time Of
) Franks absence-an old life to take
up, with the prospect, having left it
to Join him once, Of the possibility Of
| dong so again. but l was homeless
Our parting would send me adrift
upon that sea Of loneliness from which
his love was my ark of refuge four
years ago, and if l had none to whom
: | could 60, Frank had none to whom
he could send me,
To join the Red Cross nurses
, bringing the baby Of course-was my
first wild scheme. Frank shook his
head over that, and also negatived
my next.
"a small cottage in the country
Baby and I could manage"
f Scarcely upon our income" said
my husband-"not as / could bear
the thought Of your living; and, be-
, sides, my darling, you are too young
and pretty to be alone"
Putting aside the last as unworthy
/ nv dignity az a malron Of over TWEEN.
= tv years Of age, / was obliged to ac-
J knowledge the force Of the first obj
} ton Franks heirship did him no
good now, and, though his mother
his only surviving parent, on whom
he was quite dependent-bad not car
risd out her first angry threat OF de-
priving him Of his allowance, that al
lowance had been barely sufficient to
exc out his pay and keep us in neces.
sares while we lived in barracks.
Lodgings were beyond our means.
II tell you what cried my hus-
band suddenly. There's my uncle
We never thought Of him. Why, OF