The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1881-04-15

Eighteen years had passed since she
nd Arthur Mainwarring had met. They
had been lovers in the far-of time, but
he was poor then, with no whisper in the
air of the rich inheritance to which he
afterward fell heir, just too late to bring
happiness to either. Not that they cared
for wealth, either of them, but then there
were older, wiser minds to Judge for
them, and so, each vowing eternal vows,
they were never apart.
Six months later she married Edward
Winfield. He was, fortunately, not a
man to look for love and sentiment in his
young wife-only wifely duty and obedi-
ence. In these she never failed him,
and after his death the world found
proof of his esteem in the fact that to his
widow reverted all his fortune, untram-
meled by single reservation.
She had married very young. She
was but thirty-five now. Would he find
her changed, she wendered-he for
whose coming she waited here to-day?
simultaneously with the thought came
the sound of carriage wheels and horses
hoofs on the graveled walk. She started
to her feet, pressing both hands upon
her fast beating heart. Only that morn
ing she had received the telegram an.
nouncing Arthur Mainwarring's coming
and already he was here. She was glad,
oh, so glad, that the room was dark when
she heard the quick, firm tread she had
sometimes heard in her dreams during
those long years of dutiful living; SO
glad that he could not see the quick
blush, which brought her matronheod to
shame, when the door was thrown open,
and three or four swift strides brought
him to her side.
'fBarbarar'
Oh, how his voice still thrilled her
half with pleasure, half with pain.
His tall form lowered far above her, as
in the olden time; but he held her close
in his own firm, tender grasp her two
little trembling hands.
"Are you glad to see me?" he ques-
toned.
She strove to answer, but her lips
quivered and no words came.
Barbara" he said again, and he bow
ed his handsome head lower, sis it too
soon to speak,"
''Oh, Arthur" she answered, ''can I
ever atone?"
And then the bridge of years was
swept away and she sobbed out her hap
piness upon his heart.
Let me see you, he said at last. ST
have not seen the face for which have
hungered for all these years"
He struck light and then turned and
looked at her.
"My darlingr' he said. ssIt is still my
beautiful Barbara. What have done to
deserve this hours
Mamma, where are you ?" called out
fresh, girlish voice at that instant.
The next moment young girl of
scarce seventeen summers sprang into
the room.
This is my daughter-Arthur-m
only child. Dora. LET me present you to
one of your mothers oldest friends"
The gentleman indicated looked from
one to the other-from mother to daugh-
ter-then back again. Now he could
realize the lapse of time-now he could
appreciate the changes years had
wrought. It was as though he had
brought the past and present face to face,
forcing him to acknowledge the imros-
sibility of natures standing still.
The daughter was q fair counterpart
now ,shyly extending to him her hand, as
if in depreciation Of her uncsremonious
entrance, so had Barbara looked when
extending her hand in farewell, as though
she would have said, ST am forced into it
by a stronger will than mine."
An uncomfortable sensation rose up in
his breast-a dumb warning against the
inevitable-an unacknowled desire to re-
trace life's pathway and conquer time.
Meantime the young girl pouted the
full red lips, as she thought Of her moth
er's friend strangely absent and when
he at last forced himself into few words
of greeting, they fell upon dull unheed-
ing ears.
Then she had gone. The lovers were
alone again but he no longer opened
wide his arms, but instead drew q chair
to her side that they might discuss more
nationally.
"You must teach Dora to love you,"
she said to him. 81 want first to recon-
cile her to my second marriage before
startling her with its possibility. Tell
me: do you think her like me 2"
ssYour second SELF"
"Ah! I am SO glad. You will love
her then for my sake ?"
To love and be loved | Over easytask
sat by frail woman in her blindness. It
must be Mainwarring who must be Dora,s
companion in her daily ride Mr.. Main
warning who must teach her to manage
the cookie boat-for which he had sent
to town-in these first early spring days.
4AO IOfoIS were S6luOm dlOu6 HOW.
Dora looked up at their guest as her
property. She had long ago laughingly
told him how unceremonious had been
his welcome to her, and how he had won
his absolution.
Sometimes Barbara sighed as she
watched them together, while she sat
alone, but she gave to the sigh no name,
and thought it tribute to the vanished
years.
One day came her awakening. Dora
and Mr.. Mainwarring had gone for their
afternoon ride, but it had extended be-
yond its wont, and she had grown anxious
and gone out to meet them, striking into
the forest path, which was their fayorite
way. Half mile from home she met
Dora's horse, riderless. Pale with ter
ror, she fastened on, when she suddenly
stopped, rooted to the spot. Almost at
her feet knelt the man her heart had
loved always, and in his arms he held
Dora's unconscious form.
Ny love my lover he said, each
word being borne distinctly on her ear
speak to me once-just once Oh,
Dora, are you hurt? Ny darling, would
that I might have given my life for
yours r.
Then he stopped and pressed his lips
to hers. A long futtering sigh escaped
them.
..Arthnr r she whispered sArthur p