The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1883-11-22

when he demonstrated with CLAUDE.
Claude grew very angry Il knew this
was wrong); he grew so angry that he
packed his few things and went away
forever. AS he opened the door to go,
/ thought my heart would burst. L
followed him down the path to the
gate; / think my face must have shown
my suffering.
Claude, Claude!" 1 cried, "Are you
going away? What shall L do, if you
go? How can l live?"
Unwomanly? Perhaps it was. My
books would say SO, but my heart
did not. Besides, why should L pre-
tend? Pretense is lying. He turned
and looked half startled; then he
smiled.
Il guess I'd better go, johnnie
always called me John, though my
name was Effie - Effie Dix. A mo-
ment later he spoke seriously: John,
you've always been my friend, and l
hate to be cut off from seeing you; but
l can't come here any more. Don't you
know any friends house in the village
| where we could see each other once in
| while?"
That was the way came to meet
him, unknown to my father, day after
day, day after day, oftenest at certain
hour toward dusk, by the great tree at
the first turn of the road. How little
it seemed would have gone miles to
see his face.
/ cannot tell when it was that we first
fell into each others arms, with love-
words and kisses, tender, passionate,
eternal kisses, that burn in spirit now
upon my brow and lips. Will ever
forget?
As the weeks passed, L lived only for
these stolen moments. L went about
my work in a feverish way, fearing to
hear father speak, as he did occa-
sionally, with regret and disapproval,
of Claude. / could not hear my lover
condemned or even criticised it seemed
to me | must defend him fiercely at any
cost. Yet, father was never unreasona-,
BILE; he had been stung by an ingrati-
tude for which there was no excuse.
This L acknowledged, but, to me, the
sins of my lover were not sins.
1t was late in October, when l
wondered for the first time how Claude
would spend the winter, and at what he
was working, for L knew he had little,
if any, money.
/ spoke of it one evening, with my
face resting on his shoulder; spoke
earnestly, and sought a sober reply.
But he babe me not TO worry; he had
scheme at hand, which would call him
to the city very soon, he hoped-a good
scheme, with money in it.
"a L 81 4, L., 60,
from me?"
His kisses hushed the cry. you will
come with me" he said
He would know shortly, and must
be ready at any moment. l was not
certain whether he meant an attempt at
reconciliation with father, or whether
he meant an elopement. Little l cared
-crazed with love.
went home with my head on fire,
and father said, half-chidingly, that L
was foolish girl to race about till my
face was wind-burnt. L laughed in
reply, at makes me happy"
Father had been TO the village that
morning, and spoke at tea of having
seen Claude.
81 am afraid" he said, "that the boy
is going steadily downward. !"
Why, fa'h her.
My heart was choking me, but 1 kept
my voice controlled.
He was in bad company to-day; bad
looking at least. Idle, vagabondish
fellows. Effie, have you seen him since
he left?"
L started, but answered slowly.
Eyes, | said, for L could not lie.
"Effie, L know you thought a good
deal of him-so did l." signing. "But L
wouldn't go about with him, if were
you"
Then / knew some one had seen us
together, and prated of it.
There were two weeks more to come
weeks of pain and passion-ere the
end But this / could not know.
In the course of those weeks change
had come over my lover-a serious
change. We met less often, because
he was busy. He was worried too, and
irritable, even with ME. He said, all
Heaven! He said and did careless,
cruel things. Twice l watched for
him at the old place, shivering in the
bleakest wind; he did not come. L
only loved him more wildly. He spoke,
too, so indefinitely about our going away.
Still waited. All! j wonder if
can write of that last night? Hitherto,
when L have recalled it, my brain has
become as seething whirlpool and
all L have known has been blackness
and the rain beating on my bare head,
and the distant thunder of the mon
ster with lurid eye and the scorching
heat close upon me-and so, do you
wonder-I have ended in shrek and
swoon?
1t was raining; raining slowly, with
a rising wind, when / crept from the
house and down the road to the turn,
and the great tree, where he was wait
ing. My heart swelled gratefully that
he should have come so far in the rain
But his first words chilled me through
and through.
81 can't stay but a moment, John,
I'm going away tonight, only for day
or two, TO Jonesville twenty miles Off.
If I'm detained longer, I'll write you.
So good-by, for L have to catch the
train"
But" L stammered, but the train