The Brookhaven ledger. (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1875-1883, 1881-11-24
A Woman's Story.

A W0man's story.
1t had rained all day, dull. de-
pressing down-pour; bat now, just
as the day was ending, the sun saw
fit to burst out from behind pile of
jagged black clouds. and food the
little planet below with crimson glo-
ry. The faf-spreading sea shone
like an ocean of flame; and all the
western windows of the old farm.
house were hecked with the crimson
glory.
Janet Stuart stood looking out at
the radiant western sky, her heart
in her eyes. The red light went
shifting infiery glances through the
thick masses of her blue black hair,
and flashed back from her deep
strong eyes. She stood there look
ing fixedly out at the lurid light,
her back turned to the pair at the
piano, talking and singing softly in
the April twilight.
One Of these was Miss Ingcstrc,
their New York guest, delicate
fairy figure, hot at all like Janet's; f;
a delicate rose bloom face looking
out at you through a halo of pure
gold hair; tie other, Mr.. Etheridge.
Now the pair struck out into a
duet. Softly and sweetly came
across the room the Italian song, q
song full of passionate pain. Out
of the western sky slowly faded the
crimson sun burst, grayly creeping
up the twilight, palely gemmed with
stars.
'Darkeniug" Janet thought, with
weary eyes, that never left the
steel blue sky. "Darkening-like
my life.'
It faded entirely out, the last flush
of the dying day. The stars swung
in the blue-black concave; and a
pale young crescent moon sailed Sc
rene up to the zenith. And still,
while the day faded and the night
came, the twain at the piano never
stirred. Their low laughter, their
half-whispeied words, their soft
singing, came to the listeners ear
but she never looked at them. She
sat colder and whittier than snow,
her still hands folded.
He promised to love me, and be
true to me- always her heart kept
crying, e. and see how he keeps his
In the dark?' called Mr.. Ethe-
ridge in cherry voice.
He was the owner of all the broad
acres that spread right and left;
and his nephew Ernest was his sole
heir; for his wife died nine months
before, and there were no children.
Janet Stnartwas his adopted daugh-
ter, of course, but she was to marry
handsome Ernest, and reign in the
fine old homestead, where all her
happy girl-hood had been spent.
In the dark, you three young
owls! called Mr.. Etheridge. 'Jen-
ME, lass, where are youY Leave off
billing and cooling and ring for the
lamp
He looked over at the piano, and
the two heads SO close together there
separated suddenly. A tall dark fig
ure rose from the window.
I'm not cooling and billing, uncle
Janet rang for the lamp as she
spoke this; and Miss Ingistre fut
tered off the piano stool.
'Oh, SO it was you, little Eva, and
not Janet. i won't have it. want
a wedding in two months; and you
mustn't cut Jennie out.
The red blood mounted guiltily
to Ernest Etheridge's face, but Miss
Ingestre's musical laugh chimed
softly through the room. Janet sat
by the table ixedly pale, her eyes
bent on a book; but the printed
page danced hafore those eyes; and
Miss Ingestfee's faint, sweet voice,
chattering pretty nonsense, with her
blue eyes fixed on the old mans
face, sounded in her ears like the
rushing Of q waterfall. By and by
some neighbors dropped in, and
there was more singing and some
dancing; and Janet played redowas,
waltzes and qaadrilles, until mid
night; and she tolled up to her
room, too tagged in body and mind
even to think.
But she Was up early for all that
up with the April birds, singing in
the scented trees outside, and down
on the seashore, staring with dreamy
eyes over the dancing sea-. How
bright ii was, all sparkling in the
sunlight, with the saline wind strong
and sweet, and the fishermen sing
ing as they cast their nets, and the
noisy children, rolling in the warm
sands, filing the air with their glad
shouts.
Oh she thought, what happy
creatures there are in the world
Men who love and are false; women
who trust and are never betrayed.
And Ito think / should have
staked NIL ~ one throw and lost!'
"A man. step came crunching
over the saAd--a mans clear voice
singing. sO'er the muir amang the
heather, on the shrill wind. She
knew both step and voice, but she
never turned.
Janet, cried Ernest, 4 thought
should find you here! I avow what
heathenish hours you keep. and
what heathenish places yon fre-
Equent.'
She never answered; her eyes
were fixed on the far sea-line, hel
lips closed in nameless pain. He
threw himself on the sands at hel