Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1881-11-17

The vein of icy-fond sarcasm sud
denly ceased-even the correct, elegant
handwriting changed into hurried half
illegible sorawl
Isabel, what have you done? My Cod
tchat have you done? Could you not
have waited little while? You have
ruined my hope, my happiness, my
faith and trust in woman. You have
killed me-killed me! May God forgive
you, and, if ever prayed, | pray now
that | may forget | ever loved-yes,
that | love more madly than ever.
Such letter-such despair, and such
hopeless bitterness, such anguish of mis-
sery, such pain of anger-and Mrs. Van
Verst crushed it in her hand, till the
paper was n mass of broken fragments.
II ,ciU forget him--I will not go to
my husband with such thoughts i'll my
heart! My God, | will be true-I must
be true! Oh. make me-make me true
to him, and don't let me swerye! Heaven
help me!'
And with hands clnsped and lovely
eyes uplifted, she stood one moment.
until loving Father laid His blessing of
endurance and patience, and earnest
resolution and consciousness of His own
strength and presence, upon her heart,
that was sick unto despair.
Half an hour later she looked up into
her husbands face, rs they sat alone III
the coach that was conveying them to
the depot-such a good, grand face that
accompanied the character, no woman
could come in contact with and fail to
thoroughly revere and admire. And II
sudden little thrill OF humble content
warmed in her eyes and quivered into n
peaceful smile, as as she laid her hand
on his.
81 mean to be such good wife,
Horace, she said, gently.
"My darling, know it," he answered
her. "And | am most blessed of any
Lldll OI1 NHbu Sdi III to-ttt
So their welded life began.
Two years afterwards, and half city
i'll mourning, because of the pitiless
scourge that the hot midsummer days
had swept relentlessly down upon it.
And in a nearly deserted hotel, where
fashion, and beauty and wealth had fled
before the grim oncoming of the pesti-
lence, two people lying dead young,
handsome even in death, with refine
ment and nobility on their marble faces.
And the death-roll, that morning,
telegraphed to happier Northern cities.
contained these names: "Mr. Horace
Van Verst, and his wife, Mrs. Isabel
Lisle Van Verst;" while in an adjoining
room, rosy, healthy, Joyous and un-
conscious of her awful loss, their baby
girl, a year old, watched over by one
careful nurse, while another, gray-halr
ed and fearful, was hurriedly making
preparations to leave the accursed fever
striken city.
Theo. Edmerton had taken up his po-
sition at the foot of the grand stair case,
and was rather enjoying looking on at
the gay crowd that was fast filling Mrs,
Wyllard's parlors, and especially look
ing, as not for the first, or the second,
or the dozenth time he had looked Just
so eagerly, at lovely Vivian Gwyneth.
Of late, Edmerton had been passing
through strange experience, and fair
haired Vivian was very intimately con-
nected with it-so intimately that, dur
ing these past few weeks, Edmerton had
come to know that had happened to him
he had thought never could happen to
him again, after the desolate, waste time
in his life, when Isabel Lisle had mar
ried another.
He had thought never to renew his
faith and trust in woman. He had no
hope nor wish that the week that he had
believed himself in love and passion
should ever be made anew. And then,
right into all the debris of his affections
Vivian Gwyneth had come with sympa-
thy and healing.
Until, standing and watching her to-
night, the fairest, brightest star in Mrs.
Wyllards brilliant assemblage, Theo
Edmerton knew he loved her.
Until he was wondering what the rem
nant OF his heretofore unblessed life
would be worth to him if, when he asked
lovely Vivian for her love, she should
Withhold it.
For he had made up his mind slowly,
during the past few weeks, that he was
warranted in asking her.
He was almost sure she cared for him,
and yet, if it should so happen that she
did not!
An hour afterward he stood before
Vivian Gwyneth, alone with her, in the
fragrant, half-dim fernery, with his
handsome face yale with passionate
pleading, his eyes full Of masterful tend
erness, as he told her how he loved her,
and asked for her sweet self in return.
And Vivian?
think it was the sweetest way q wo-
man ever gave herself to her lover, that
which she did, in her own perfect way,
so proud, so tender, so charmingly shy:
'Before [ answer you," she said, lift