The Osceola times., 1881-03-19

.
friend-anxious fUr your peace and
happiness?"
'You are too good to me-too good" l
sighed.
Il could not be-" hc answered
with his beautiful smile "Elinor. you
are very brave, honest woman. Much
as | esteemed you never really did you
justice, till now"
"0h, / am a poor weak creature l
cried, impatient!y. 81 despise myself
yes, j do nothing can be more cont
temptible than 10 man whom
! cannot respect
'Nor do think you will long, he said
81 believe that even now j. is the
wasted affection, not the man whom you
regret
Il do not regret him." | cried. "If he
We're to come back, to. day, ! should bid
him 90! My trust is dead-my respect ia
dead-but the love stays-forgiye me, /
must show you all the truth"
He promised to tell my mother. II was
selfish of me, knew, 10 let him do this
for me. But he offered and l was SO
shaken that l could not bring myself 10
talk with her yet.
/ On the following morning, ! received
a long letter from him; and | think
more beautiful one was never written.
| 1t put the whole case very clearly be-
| fore me. His arguments were SO con-
| elusive, that it seemed to me he could
| be content with esteem aud affection. /
| felt that those / could give most heartily
already. He belieyed-and for the time
almost made me beleye-that my soli-
tary life had caused the old love to keep
its hold; that il was, in reality, a senti-
ment totally separated from the man,
who had primarily been its object. He
believed that if | knew there was a per-
SON in whom ! could trust, whose dear
est care in life was Iuy happiuess, it
might give me new sources of thought.
and that gradually new hopes and aims
might grow up in my mind.
He entreatcd me to leave matters as
they were for six months: To come to no
decision; to confidc all to time At the
expiration OF that period, / could givean
answer, free and unbiased, as il had not
. already spoken. ! was 10 be bound in
no way / could regard him as my friend
that and nothing more;
So much, ats least, | could grant; 50
much | owed in return for his Kindness;
and / hoped oh. So heartily, that time
might prove he was right. lie held @
I long conversation with my mother. She
was, rs ever, goodness itself from first to
/ last. II was not till after many weeks.
and then by accident, that she allowed
/ Inc TO learn that Mr.. Osilyie had gained
one promise from her, which was, that
/ however ! might decide, the fortune Of
/ the two boys was % bee his Care-and
/ this he wanted kept from me.
That was a very pleasant summer. and
NOT to me alone, for the whole ncighblr-
| hood united in saving the same, and all
/ admitted that it WAS chiefly owing to Mr..
/ Ogilyie's eXcrtions. lie had succession
of visitors at his house, all of them per-
sons worth knowing the incest class of
| what are called society people-and, be-
sides, a number Of noted men and WOm-
| en- from among the artistic and literary
/ professions.
Mr.. Ogilyie found occupation enough.
/ one of the first matters be attended to
was the settlement of Agnes Perkins
{ difficulties. They had resulted in her
/ triumph, and Agnes was now one Of the
/ principals OF the establishment. She be-
came a frequent guest at Mr.. OHlyic's
. house. where she was treated with us
much Difference a if she had been an
heircss.
And was happy--yos, | was. Some
times ! reused up enough 10 be aston
ishcd at the fact. ] cannot say that
thought much, when the most important
thing In my future was concerned.
saw this occasionally and grew remor-c-
NIl. But Mr.. Ogilyic seemed always to
understand when one Of these moods
came upon me and invariably took means
to make me forget it.
! made one really intimate female
friend, Agnes Perkins. l learned tplove
/ and respect her next tn my mother.
such union of genteEcss and decision,
| Of Wumanly sOftness and masculine cOur-
age, have never seen. Size was a good
deal older than almost thirty. though
she did not look it; and life had been far
from gracious TO her; vet she was ipya-
riably cheerful; and used to tell mann
ma that to spend an hour in her COM
pany was like breathing mountain air.
My poorWords give no idea ofwhgt
Mr.. Oglvic was to me during this sea-
son; how perfect his behavior; what a
miugling Of respectful admiration and
br0thcrlv tenderness. | cannot write
even this poor, bald sentence. without
staining the page with grateful tears.
Never but once did he do a thing which
caused me even to wish he had not, gs
ont of Keeping with his character. one
day at picnic, when | had got away
into the wood by myself, for a little, and
paused near the place where he and
Agnes were standing, ! heard him ask
her
"Did you know Leonard Balliol, thc-?'
"Oh, yes-well," she replied, 81 was
his little sisters govcrnes, for two years
| hurried away, without their discOv-
ering me. For a time | was somewhat
annoyed Mr., Ogilvie had been talking
of me. That he should do so, evenwith
Agnes, disturbed me. But after awhile
| saw the injustice of my rather harsh
reflections; it did not follow, from those
words that he had discussed my affairs.
lie had a perfect right-indced TIE WAS
wise, under the circumstances-to learn
everything he could in regard TO the
man who stood between him and his
hopes-an unworthy man, from every
thought OF whom it was his duty 10 try
and win me, if he desired to be faithful
to the friendship he had promised.
The summer passed. The autumn fol-
lowed ! woke up, suddenly, to the fact
that the appointed season of probation
had almost elapsed. Soon Mr.. Ogilyie
would come 10 me for my answer. And
T. For weeks and weeks ! had not re-
flected. ! really believed that when the
time came / should lay my hand in his
and trust myself to his guidance. But
when | was reused to reflection, all, then
I kuaw | was as far from being able