Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1882-05-11
A BURIED SECRET.

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 worshipfuly on the face of the man
who had thrown himself OH the cushion
at her feet-older than the years them
selves would warrant for she. Sydney
Reed, was in reality but six years
George Winston's senior. But six
years leave their impress when their
way lies over burning pillow shares.
There were lines upon the lovely face,
and sadness in the beautiful eyes, no
time unaided could have wrought. She
passed her hand now, acknowledging
ly, across her brow.
"Is sorrow for me really at an end ?"
she murmured. "I can not grasp it p
cat an end forever, darling, if my
strength avails anything to keep 1t from
yom door, for tonight you belong for
the last time to yourself Tomorrow
you belong to me p answered the young,
confident voice.
He was but %, this boy. She was %,
and q widow. Her married life had
been one of unutterable wretchedness.
Four years before, her husband had de-
serted her. Two years later she had
learned of his death, which had taken
place in drunken braV in q far West
ern city.
She had put on the outward badge Of
morning in memory of the days when
he, handsome and reckless, had smiled
away her girls heart. Sac buried in his
unseen grave herweight of woe, and
with it all his faults. She thought, too,
that she had long buried youth and
happiness. but three months since they
had resurrected themselves, listening 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 to morrow was to be her second
wedding day. Fondly and hopefully
he painted to her the coming years,
each moment of which should be to her
a recompense for past misery. She
said little. 1t was such JOY to hear his
voice, to feel his touch, to creep into
the shelter of his love and rest there,
grateful and content.
1t was 10 o'clock when she bade him
good. night. She still felt the tender
pressure of his lips upon her as she
mounted the stairs to her room. She
had made him leave her thus early be-
cause some of her preparations were yet
to be made for tomorrow, 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 fair one.
There were some letters she wanted
to look over-some to be DESTROYED.
others to be preserved. Among these
latter were a few he had written her.
during short absence, o month pre-
vious.
She took out the first from its wrap
per to re-read, but had not turned the
page when there came low rap at the
door.
"Come inl" she replied, half-impa-
tlently without looking up.
She had given orders to her servants
not to be disturbed. She had told Maria.
her maid, to come to her at midnight. 1t
was not yet haIf-past ten.
The door opened at her summons, but
no one entered or spoke.
"Well, Maria, what is itP" she ques-
toned and slowly raised her eyes, to
6ud-no Maria, no servant, but mans
form, gaunt and haggard, darkening the
threshold-a mans eyes, hot and burn
ing, fixed upon her face.
She sat carved into stone. It was
pitiful to see the blood recede from her
face, leaving it white and drawn. If
three hours previously she had looked
older than her lover, ten years were
now added to her age.
Her lover? No longer hao she right
to the sweet title, for he whose gaze
held hers was her living husbard-the
man whom for two years she had mourn
ed as dead.
He came forward at last closing the
door behind him and advancing, with
feeble. tottering steps toward her
''Speak to me!' he said. "Give me
one word of welcome, one word of for
givenessl"
She opeAed her lips then, but no sound
came.
"1--I know" he went on. "You
need not tell me You were to have
been married. It would have been a
crime. But for this, I would not have