Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1883-02-21


felt for her, which is often mistaken fa
love. The fragrance of her life filled
his imagination, and he determined Il
make her his wife. But of that delicious
agony, that glorious fear that makes
pallid the face of the lover, the void IL
the life that must be filled by the pres
ence of beloved woman-what did III
knowP Nothing.
His nature was as yet cold, hers wa:
all aglow. She was one of those women
passionate, yet sweet and pure, will
sensitive bodies that CULVER with pain a
any strong emotion. III she had never
seen him again, il is improbable that she
would ever have cared for another; per
haps she would have waited in eternity
for the sequence of that first glance OF
his.
They fingered on till the honeysucklC
woed the meadow-sweet in the deep lanes
above the village, and the young summer
was in its beauty. Then there came 9
moment when, the two being alone in
the woodland path overhanging the sea,
John asked Margaret TO be his wife. Ii
was the sweetest time of the afternoon,
just before sunset, when the day has lost
its WEAKNESS and the sky is calm, and
the sunshine is dimmed by soft haze.
Mr.. Townsend had left them in order
TO write letter which he had forgotten,
and the others had sauntered toward the
village in dreamy silence. Then she be.
came aware that he was asking her &c
be his wife, telling her that she was the
sweetest woman he had ever seen.
Whence then her sudden shrinking from
him, as in fearp
IL am not good enough" she cried.
She was afraid of her Joy, for she was q
timid woman, but in the midst of his
wooing he was vexed at her humility,
not understanding it, for he was only
offering her scanty armful of first
fruits, and she was returning him the full
harvest of her soul, though she did not
know its value. He drew her to him
and kissed the brown head and laid il
on his breast. She began to cry-she
had been SO greedy of JOY lately, and
here was its perfection!
And hep-well, it was the sweetest
hour he had ever passed in his life.
This girl, with her simple dress and
manner, and her serious brown eyes and
undertone of joyfulness about her, salts
fled the more spiritual side of his nature.
And yet she was not the ideal of his
past, which ideal had been compounded
of soft-voiced Cordelia, passionate Jul
liet, bright Rosalind witty Beatrice, and
dear Desdemona-in fact, of all the
sweets of many natures compacted into
one.
She was not his heroine, but he was
her hero, and her gladness inclined to-
ward sadness; for a true woman sees
herself valueless at the moment she be-
lieves that the 'man of men, sees in her
a precious jewel
"Are you sorryP" he asked half jest
ingly.
"Sorryr' she said, and, with frank
yet coy gesture, she nestled close to his
heart.
Marlborough is country town, seat
ed in the midst of a smiling plain which
stretches to line of low wooded hills on
the north, and loses itself in the far
horizon in every other direction. 1t is a
sleepy town, full of old houses and old
traditions, and pridcs itself rather on its
ruins than on its famous wooden manufac-
ture. 1t is built in the form of q cross
indeed, its main street is called Cross
gate. In one of the arms of the cross
the one toward Woodleigh, with its ia
nous old caste-are the best houses, i'm
which the smaller gentry and the profess
sional men live.
AT the end of the Woodlcigh road was
DIR. Enderby's house, large and old-fash-
toned; and hither he brought his wife
Margaret not long after their first meet
ing in the Cloverleigh woods. 1t was a
change from the intense quiet of her girl
hood to a large circle of friends, and a
few secret enemies. But she was John S
wife. and her sweet gayety filled his
house with sunshine; and she shaped
herself home in all gladness. The old
red-brick house had pleasant rooms,
filled with comfortable furniture, softly
cushioned chairs, and low tables, and
plenty of flowers; there were no dingy-
looking dados, no sad-looking disclored
blossoms worked on kitchen towels. As
Margaret was not aesthetic, she preferred
cheerful chintz and soft velvet.
Her own sanctum was small room
overlooking the garden, and furnished
with soft shades of green. There were
oak shelves filed with her favorite books,
a writing-table, and few low chairs.
At the window were white lace curtains,
and on the mantelpiece jar of Venetian
glass that looked like fragment of sun
set Near the window was stand OF
flowers that varied according to the sea-
sons. In spring there were primroses
and violets-even few tulips; in sum-
mer roses and mignonette; in autumn
and winter ferns and MOSES, with per-
haps red geranium to light them up.
Outside in the garden, was great elm
overhanging the lawn, and the flower
beds were as old-fashioncd as the house.
In this room of Margarets, John En-
derby loved to rest in his intervals of
leisure, watching his wife with an inter-
est and strange timidity that grew
deeper day by day. Poor Margaret felt
him further from her, and shadow fell
across her life that the birth of her little
son could not wholly chase away. When
the child was about nine months old il
happened that she was often alone, for il
"oo au ulhCdituy tutuill, tnu III. Eli
derby services were in great requisition.
not only among the rich, but also among
the poor-for he was gentle as we'll az
skillful Now and then he would come
in and resume his old habit of silently
watching and listening to her talk about
little Jack. How she loved that child.
What sweet music his tiny fingers dis
coursed on that mothers heart-strings!
One afternoon her husband came in as
she was sitting with the child on her
knee-a bright, fair-haired, brown-eyed
boy, very like his father. The baby
stretched out his dimpled arms TO his
father, then with a child's mischief with
drew them, and hid his face on his moth
ers bosom with cooling laugh. She
bent her head down on the fluffy curls,
and caught his little bare feet in her
hand Che had pulled off his shoes and
socks, the tiny rogueD and she kissed the
rosy toes with lovely mother worship.
"Look, john" she said; isn't he the
most wonderfully sweet child, this prec-
ions bahyp What cbou1J x,,o ID ,,,;tI, e.,,t