Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1882-01-26
A wOMAN'S STORY.

1t had rained all day dull, depres.
sing pour-down; but just now, as the
| day was ending, the sun saw fit TO burst
out from behind pile of jagged black
clouds, and flood the little planet below
with crimson glory, The far-spreadinG
sea shon like an ocean of flame; and
all the western windows of the old farm
| house were tlecked with the crimson
glory.
Janet Stuart stood looking out at the
radiant western sky, her heart IN her
eyes. The red light went shifting in
fiery lances through the thick masses OF
blue black hair, and flashed back from
her deep, strong eyes. She stood there
looking tixedly out at the lurid light,
her back turned to the pair at the piano,
talking and singing softly in the April
twilight.
One of these was Miss Ingestre, their
New York guest--a delicate, fairy fig
ure, not at all like Janet's; a delicate
rose-bloom face looking out at you
through halo of pure gold hair; the
other, Mr.. Etheridge.
Now the pair struck out into duet.
Softly and sweetly came across the room
the delicious Italian song, song full of
passionate pain. Out of the western
sky slowly faded the crimson sunburst,
gravely crept up the twilight, palely
gemmed with stars.
''Darkening!" Janet Stuart thought,
with weary eyes, that never left the
steel-blue sky. "Darkening-hke my
iife!"
1t faded entirely out, the last flush of
the dying day. The stars swung into
the blue black ooncave; and q pale,
young crescent moon sailed serenely up
to the zenith. And still, while the day
faded and the night came, the twain at
the piano never stirred. Their low
laughter, their haf-whispered words,
their soft singing came to the listeners
ear; but she never looked at them. She
sat colder and winter than snow, her
still hands folded
"He promised to love me and be true
to me always" her heart kept crying;
land see how he keeps his wordp'
''In the dark?" called CHEEKY voice,
and old Mr.. Etheridge came in.
He was the owner of all the broad
acres that spread right and left; and his
nephew, Ernest, was the sole heir, for
his wife had died nine months before
and there were no children. Janet
Stuart was his adopted daughter, of
course; but she was to marry handsome
Earnest and reign IN the fine old home
stead, where all her happy girlhood had
been spent.
"In the dark, you three young owlsl"
called kMr. Etheridge. Jennie, lass,
where are you? Leave off billing and
cooing, and ring for the laWp."
He looked over at the piano, and the
two heads so close together separated
suddenly. A tall, dark figure rose from
the window.
I'm not billing and cooling, Uncle
Janet rang for the lamp as she spoke
this, and Miss Ingestre huttered off the
piano stool.
ooh so 1t was you, little Eva, and
not Janet. want wedding in two
months; and you mustn't cut Jennie
out.
The red blood mounted guiltily to
Earnest Etheridge's face, bat Miss Inges-
tres musical laugh chimed softly
through the room. Janet sat by the
table, fxedly pale, her eyes bent on a
book; but the printed page danced be-
fore those eyes; and Miss Ingestre's
faint, sweet voice, chattering pretty
nonsense, with her blue eyes fixed on
the old mans face, sounded Ill her ears
like the rushing roar of waterfall. By
and 10y some neighbors dropped in, and
there was more singing and some dane
ing; and Janet played waltzes, redowas
and quadrilles until the midnight hour
struck; and she toiled up to her room,
too tagged in body and mind even to
think,
But she was up early for all that-up
with the April birds singing in the seen
to / trees outside, and down on the sea,
shore, staring with dreamy eyes over
the dancing sea. How bright it was
all sparkling in the bright sunlight, with
the saline winds strong and sweet, and
the fishermen singing as they cast their
nets, and the noisy children, rolling in
the warm sands, illing the air with
their glad shouts.
"Oh!' she thought, "What happy
creatures there are in the world Men
who love, aud are never false, women
who trust, and are never betrayed. And
Ito think should have staked on one
throw-and lost!''
A mans step came crunching over the
sand-a mans clear voice singing, "O'el
the muir amang the heather" on the
shrill wind. She knew both step and
voice, but she never turned.
"Janet |" cried Ernest, ''I thought
should find you here. know what
heathenish hours you keep, and what
heathenish places you frequent
She never answered; Aer eyes were
fixed on the far sea line, her lips CLOSED
in nameless pain. He threw himself OF
the sands at her feet, and looked VI