The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1882-03-29
A BURIED RostAncEI.

.A BURIED Roa1AncE.
Even in the kindly shadows Of the
gathering twilight, she looked Older
than he, this woman of rare grace
and matchless charm, whose eyes
rested SO worshipfully on the face Of
the man who had thrown himself on
the cushions at her feet-older than
the years themselves would warrant
for she, Sydney Reed, was in reality
but six years George Winston's sen.
ior. But six years leave their i'm.
press when their way lies over burn.
ing plow shares.
There were lines upon the lovely
face, and a sadness in the beautiful
eyes, no time unaided could have
wrought. She passed her hand now,
halfbewilderingly, across her brow.
"Is sorrow for me really at an end?''
she murmured. II cannot grasp itl''
"At an end forever, darling, if my
strength avails anything to keep it
from your door, for tonight you be.
long for the last time to yourself. To.
morrow you belong to mel" answered
the young, confident voice.
He was but twenty-five, this boy.
She was twenty-eight, and a widow.
Her married life had been one of un.
utterable wretchedness. Four years
before, her husband had deserted her.
Two years later she had learned Of
his death, which had taken place in
a drunken brawl in Far Western
city.
She had put on the outward badge
Of mourning in memory of the days
when he, handsome and reckless, had
smiled away her girls heart.
She buried in his unseen grave her
weight of woe, and with it all his
faults. She thought, too, that she
had long buried youth and happi.
ness, but three months since they
had resurrected themselves, and, list.
ening to George Winston's pleading
words and loving prayer, she found
resistance had failed her, and SO
granted him the boon he asked of
her..
And tomorrow was to be her sec.
ond wedding day. Fondly and hope
fully he painted to her the coming
years, each moment of which should
be TO her a recompense for past mis-
cry, She said little. It was such
JOY to hear his voice, to feel his
touch, to creep into the shelter of his
love and rest there, grateful and con-
tent.
1t was ten o'clock when she babe
him goodnight. She still felt the
tender pressure of his lips upon hers
as she mounted the stairs to her
room. She had made him leave her
thus early because some Of her pre-.
paratlons were yet to be made for to.
morrow, and she had promised him
to retire before midnight-though
her waking dreams, she said, were SO
much sweeter than any slumber
might bestow, she hardly thought
the exchange a fair one.
There were some letters she want.
ed to look over-some to be destroyed,
others to be preserved. Among these
latter were few he had written her
during a short absence, a month pre-.
vious.
She took out the first from its wrap
per to reread, but had not turned the
page when there came a low rap al
the door.
"Come in!" she called, half impa
tiently, without looking up.
She had given orders to her ser
wants not to be disturbed. She had
told Marie, her maid, to come to hel
at midnight. 1t was not yet half
past ten.
The door opened at her summon.
but no one entered or spoke.
"Well, Marie, what is it?" she ques
toned, and slowly raised her eyes, tt
lind form, gaunt and haggard, dark
ening the thresheld-a mans eyes
hot and burning, fixed upon her face
She sat carven into stone. 1t wa
pitiful to see the blood recede from
her face, leaving it white and drawn
If three hours previously she ha,
looked older than her lover, ten year