The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1882-03-09

fellow leaning over the PRO dri1 is
stranger to your
''He was till this evening""
'.But not to me. When I cam
in you were flirting with him.
When tell you he is engaged t,
your dearest friend will you spar
him?"
With laugh she broke from tn
light restraint of his hand. H
looked after her and smiled at tn
folly of asking her such a question
He drew himself up and pressed hi
knuclSles together; and he muttereC
to himself fiercely, Il will: 1 sWar'
it."
So this year George HaughtoI
did not take himself and his answel
away as usuul, but he stayed OF
day after day, patient and watch
full, amongst the other guests of hi:
aunt. One evening the poor com
panion knocked, with her tatting il
her hand, at the door of GATHERINGS
dressing room, and entered, tremb
ling at her own boldness.
"My DEAR" said the poor lady,
and all the row of curls on her
forehead quivered with agitation,
forgive me, but I could not help it,
"Help what?" asked Catherine
bluntly.
"My dear, my dear, an old maids
life is not always a happy one. I
don't say that mine is unhappy, but
others are differently constituted
yourself for instance-if such a
thing were to happen
A cough interrupted her, but
clasping her hands, with one point
of tatting needle running into them,
she went on more earnestly:
"Alas, alas! you would be so
miserable! Smile at me if you will
for taking such a theme upon my
old lips, but 1 know what it is to
trife with mans heart, and
Heaven help me! to lose it.
The last words were but faint
murmur, and the old lady was gone.
can old maidr' Catherine laughed
again; she sprang up lightly, and
stood before the glass, radiant and
beautiful, repeating the words scorn
fully. l look once more. The
laugh of the fair cousin had ended
in little cry Of amazement; look
of horror had chased away the radi-
ant smile. What is it? Only that
she has seen reflected there white
hair, only one, but startlingly white,
like a silver trail down the
black locks. She turned away, but
still she saw it; everywhere she saw
it-down the walls, on the gilt
frames Of the pictures, on the door,
everywhere. 1t lay along the dark
green of the Venetian blind; and
when she raised that impatiently, it
cut into the prospect from the win
dow. Then she threw herself on a
couch, and covered her face. There
seemed to be before her then herself,
yet not herself; bearing a shadowy
resemblance, but horrible to behcld;
a gaunt figure, lonely, desolate
unlovely and unloving; with
nothing but the bitter remember
ance of past pleasures to fill up the
yearnings of her heart; with none
to live for, no voice to answer hers,
no lips to smile for her; alone with
the phantoms of the past, which
mocked her wretchedness.
Then the picture changed. Ear
nest eyes we're looking into her own;
a loving hand clasped hers, whispers
of tenderness filed the air around
her, and the tears came stealing
through the the hands clasped over
her face.
That evening George Haughton
saw that his cousin was more beau
tiful than ever; that there was new
grace about her, a something almost |
akin to humility; that she was
quiet and reserved. But
he only smiled bitterly when he saw
it, and thought of his VOW. Once
only she addressed him-when he |
was passing her to leave the room.
Never looking at him, or even turn
ing toward him, she ventured to ask
why he was going amay so soon.-
He had letters to write, he said; he
was going to the library. But he
did not write them. He stood on
the rug, leaning his elbow on the
mantle-piece; he seemed to be weav-
ing pictures out of the dull glimmer
Of the fire; but they could not have
been pleasant ones, his face was so
stern and bitter. He looked up i'm
patiently as the door opened, but it
was the figure of his cousin which
stood there to interrupt him. For a
moment the old, long-cherished love
at the door of Georges |
heart, and cried out with piteous
to be taken in; but the
keeper of that door answered
"Too late"
She was now near him, downcast
but firm.
''The time has come, George
1 come to give you
back your bond: to set you free"
George looked at her earnestly. |
is this all your pride can say to
me, CathersneP'
All! Oh no, it needed but a word
from him to call forth the whisper
Of better and happier love than
she had ever known before, but that
word would never come. Looking
INTO his face she choked back the
lalf.uttered Forgive me-"
II remind you of your own
declaration, whether it was jest or
earnest. The silver streak has come;
Iook here, George Haughton."
He saw it once as she bent her
head before him-the one white
hair glistening on the black locks.
He said to her as calmly as he could,
always looking down upon her, as
she stood there:
"This, then, has gained a victory
which seven years of devotion could |
not gainl Give it to me. Cath
crime, 1 told you once that it was
not my love 1 offered you, but my
own life. You accepted it; you
took and offered it up to vanity and |
Think what it is to have
a mans life up"
Forgive me-" murmured Cathe-
rine.