Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1881-07-23

1t IS hopeless now. Ii IN Inc future
you ever know of my wife and
child I trust them to your care and
generosity.v "When we were in
Paris,u he said, 81 had a bracelet
made of Myra'S hair and mine
woven together; she has the COM
panion one. This tiny coil of gold
in the clasp was cut from the baby's
head, when she was but three
! months old. 1t must have been
some lingering love that made
Myra still keep the bracelet like
this, which she wore constantly.
What is the matter, Hilton? You
are as white as DEATH"
"Nothing. Is your wife's picture
in the locket ?"
j "Yes. See how beautiful she
was.u
81 see more than that,v said Hill
ton; ''and / dare not tell you what
/ hope. Will you give me one lit
tie hour to see if"
IF what ?'
tOnly one hour-I will be back
then"
',Stop p Mr.. Hilton cried, shak-
ing with excitement.
But his nephew was gone. Hop
ing, fearing, not knowing what to
hope or fear, Mr.. Hilton watched
| the clock until the hour should be
over. He walked up and down,
tried to read; he lived over again
| that past, whose remorSeless MEM
ory had been so vividly recalled.
With Myra's picture before him, he
thought over again of that wild,
] fierce love that had been his happi-
ness and his blight.
Why was / not calm, reasonable,
as became my years and position
he asked himself bitterly. Why
did.I give a boys love to woman
who had lived in society and re-
spected all its requirements? |
lived an idle life-Myra the one
around us. Where is Hilton
What can he know? What has he
discovered Only three minutes
gone, and it seems a day since he
was here.
But before the hour was over Hill
ton returned. In his eagerness to
question him Mr.. Hilton did not
notice that he came through the
drawing-room to the library, where
he waited, leaving the door a little
open.
"Where have you been ?" Mr..
Hilton inquired.
"To procure this ~ Hilton an
swered, gravely, placing in his un-
cle's hand the duplicate to the
bracelet on the table.
The same braid of sunny-brown
hair, with here and there some
raven black, streaked with gray,
the same small! clasp with a wee
coil of baby curl under the glass T;
the same lettering, to0-George and
Myra twined together with fantas-
tic scroll and twists. For several
minutes there was deep silence. |
The old man could not speak, and |
the young one would not break in |
upon what he felt to be sacred emo |
ton. AT last, lifting his head,
George Hilton asked:
"DOes Myra live? Can she for
give me?"
"It is years since she died." Hill
ton answered, "but in heaven she
has surely forgiven you. She never
spoke of you to your child but in
words of respect and affection,
though she spoke of you as dead"
"My child? Do you know my
child?''
81 know and love her. Do you
not guess, Uncle George, where l
saw that bracelet, whose duplicate
1 saw and recognized at once, whose
face is the living copy of dhe one in
your locket? Must / tell you that
the child Mrs. Willet rescued from
poverty and adopted for herown is
my cousin and your daughter"
'tAda Smith ?"
''Smith is the name that her
mother thought most probably
would best conceal her identity,
and Ada is the name of Mrs. Will
let's only child, who died in infan-
cy."
"But why have you not brought
her to me?" asked Mr.. Hilton,
with almost a sob in his voice.
And, as he spoke, the door which
Hilton had left aiar, opened, and
across the threshold stepped IL tall,
girl, with sunny-broWn
hair and large blue eyes, who wait
ed timidly until her father came
quickly to meet her.
Gamma ~ he said, softly. "Can
this be my baby-my wee daugh-
ter? 1t must be, for it is my Myra,
who has not grown old and gray, rs
[ have, but lived in perpetual
youth. My child, | wronged your
mother, but have sorrowed and re-
pented of that wrong. Canyon for
give me ?"
The tears were falling fast from
Anna Hilton's eyes and her voice
was trembling with sobs as she
said:
"My dear father !"
That was all but as George Hill :
.on folded his child in his arms, he
knew he was forgiven, and for him
1t least there might be happiness in
others happy.