Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1881-02-25

was long dream of idleness and ease
he was, go3d husband. am glad kno v
He never allowed hi,nsef to feel that
A lele. had done him an injury; he forced
himself always to look at the other side
| AMI value the advantages he. reeei q
through connection with her father She
| was a gentle little being, always beautiful
never altogether perfectly strong in mind
OF VIII again, but lived and breathe
through him for twenty-five years. He
could only ,be,proud of her, in a certain
way, atjSouthern Springs, in COMPRESSION.
" lifes as they went through Europe: her
exquisite grace .her dark, large-eyed love-
i'ness, the simplicity Of her always perfect
iadyhp od, if one may use the word, were
things always to admire, and crowds fol-
lowed her. He also admired her; he had
bender care for her, a gentle attachment
to her, and it. he never loved her, she new
er knewfhe did not. She hardly remem-
bered that he had ever had his poor pale
passion in the North She died at last.
thinking of him as only her own, and
thanking him for the bliss he had given
her in his long faithfulness. But his poor
pale passion had become an ideal thing to
him, sort of pole star round which his
soul revolved so entirely as to be automat-
lc and unconscious in it's motion. He did
not actively and all the time remember it.
but it helped to shape his course, and it
was always there.
And at last, then, Maskelyn was his
own master once more But Of me in his
freedom it did not occur to him to think
as an actual possibility in flesh and blood.
He had never heard of me; he had never
dared to ask for me; he took it for granted
that was long since another mans wife.
And when, after some years more. in a
manner unawares to himself, the memory
began to work in his heart, he came to tie
old town again as pilgrim visits shrine
and without dream of finding me.
And in all these years, after the first
one of unbearable suffering, 1 had staid
there in my home, doing the duty that
came first to hand, both since it was duty
and since it might prevent my pain And
the pain had passed at length, had left
only soreness and sorrow, had become
sublimated, as it were, into something L
would not lose for all Its pang. One by
one, father and mother, brother and sister,
had left me; but still dwelt IN the sweet
old house, and sat of summer evenings on
the porch among the honeysuckles.
At first | had thought I could never
breathe their breath again; but at last it
had grown precious to me; it was all of
the love, of the life, had hoped for. But
the score and more of years had not been
unhappy to me; my daily routine had taken
much thought; the poor children that /
taught, and Belle and Alice and the rest,
served in some degree to keep nae young;
for, as 1 said, L hated to grow old; and ii |
any one was kind enough to say they
would hardly know me For more than the
elder sister of the young girls about me,
my skin still so smooth, the color on my
cheek so delicate, the pale gold of my hair
still untouched by silver, it was apt to
mlve my heart with little pulse of pleas
ure, although I knew, in truth, and for |
all, that fifty years must always count for !
fifty years. Now and then l heard of |
Maskelyn in his public life-I had not
thought it wrong, once when l went to a |
large city, to buy photograph Of him
with those of some other public people; |
but kept it locked away, and allowed
myself to look at it but once every year.
And when did look at it it was only with |
one hurried glance of the eye, one thrill |
and spring of the heart, lest sinned, lest
[ made him sin, and wrapped it the clos
or away again. But the day after I had
seen that face was always day of mourn
ing. And at last knew that he had no
longer wife; and year went by year and |
year, and he had not come. Sometimes, |
in wandering and thinking, my heart |
would beat so loud that it seemed as if |
only fasting and prayer would still it, and |
I blushed and burned to think l wasted !
throb on one who had long ago ceased to
care, who never came to see; and one day |
I took his picture, that of the boyish beau
ty and that of the stalwart man, and !
burned them both to ashes, and prayed |
that my love might burn to ashes with
them, and my heart be cold and at peace
in that my fftieth year.
But if had not learned every line of
the latter picture by heart, whether 1
would or not, might have not known
Maskelyn when he camt sauntering by the
gate that night, and gave look at the
porch, and started as if bolt had struck
him, and stopped and leaned hi, folded
arms on the gate, and stared at me as sat
there.
He knew me. In the softly beginning
shadows of the twilight, my face seemed
hardly changed, and air and attitude were
still the same. He knew me but did not
believe in me; he thought something had
happened to his brain or else that he saw
a vision in trance. He lifted his hat and
rubbed his forehead; he half turned to go
away, then he wheeled about, opened the
gate. and came slowly up the path, with
his solemn gaze still fixed upon me-. All,
how sweet the honeysuckle breath came
stirred by his advancing motion.
"Livia!" he said.
''Maskelyn!'' replied. And | felt as
he Impossible to say whether I was
dead or alive. whether it is this world or
the next. whether I really saw him, or it
was as it had been many times, before,
that dreamed did. And then said to
myself: "The worst has come. ! shall
hear presently that Maskelyp is dead
But he was saying to himself-and yet I
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