The Iowa plain dealer. [volume] (New Oregon, Howard County, Iowa) 1867-1895, 1883-11-22
ID looked half startled; then lie

: II guess I'd better go, John"-he
always called me John, though my
name was Efiie - Effie Dix. A mo-
ment later he spoke seriously: John,
you've always been my friend, and I
hate to be cut OIL from seeing you: but
| / can't come here any more. Don't you
know any friends house in the village
where we could SEQ each other once in
while?"
That was the way I came to meet
him, unknown to my father, day after
day, day after day, oftenest at q certain
hour toward dusk, by the great tree at
the first turn Of the road. How little
it seemed! I 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 l ever
forget?
As the weeks passed, lived only for
these stolen moments. I went about
my work in feverish way, fearing to
hear father speak, as he did occa-
sionallv, with regret and disapproval,
of Claude. could not hear my lover
condemned or even criticise it seemed
to me must defend him ticrcely at any
cost: Yet, father was never uprcasona-
BILE; he had been stung by an ingrati-
tude for which there was no excuse.
This acknowledged, but, to me, the
sins of my lover were not sins.
It was late in October, when ]
wondered for the first time how Claude
would spend the winter, and at what he
was working, for I knew he had little,
if any, money.
1 spoke of it one evening, with my
face resting on his shoulder; spoke
earnestly, and sought sober reply.
But he babe me not to worry: he had q
scheme at hand, which would call him
to the city very soon, he hoped-a good
scheme, with money in it.
ITO the city!' cried sharply; "away
from me?'
His kisses hushed the cry. "You will
come with me-" he said.
He would know shortly, and l must
be ready Mt any moment. / was not
certain whether he meant an attempt al
reconciliation with father, or whether
he meant an elopement. Little cared
--crazed with love.
1 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. / laughed in
reply, "It makes me happy"
Father had been to the village that
morning, and spoke at tea of having
seen Claude.
II am afraid" he said, shat the boy
is going steadily downward"
why, ia her."
My heart was choking me, but I kept
my voice controlled.
"He was in bad company to-day; bad.
looking at least. lille, vagabondisll
fellows. Efiie, have You seen him since
he left?"
I started, but answered slowly.
"Yes," said, for could not lie.
"Etlie, l know you thought good
deal OF him-so did l." signing. but
wouldn't go about with him, if were
You"
Then I knew some one had seen us
together, and prated of it.
There were two weeks more to come
weeks of pain ana 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 les, often, because
he was busy. He was worried too. and
irritable, even with me. He said, al
Heaven! He said and did careless,
cruel things. Twice I watched fol
him at the old place, shivering in the
bleakest wind; he did not come. ]
only loved him more wildly. He spoke,
too, so indefinitely about our going away
Still waited. All! wonder if
can write of that last night? Hitherto,
when have recalled it, my brain has
become as q seething whirlpool, and
all have known has been blackness
and the rain beating on nv bare head
and the distant thunder of the mon
ster with lurid eye and the scorchine
heat close upon me-and so, do you
| swoon?
1t was raining; raining slowly, will
rising wind, when I crept from the
house and down the road to the turn
and the great tree, where he was wait
ing. My heart swelled gratefully tha'
he should have come so far in the rain
But his first words chilled me through
and through.
II can't stay but moment, John
I'm going away tonight, only for da,
or two, to Jonesyille twenty miles off }
II Tn detained longer, I'll write you
So good-by, for have to catch the
train.s
But" stammered, but the trail
is not due for three hours"
"Well, l have to see the station
master and put up the signal"
His impatience cut me cruelty; still
/ was quiet enough.
Claude" l said, "please--if YOU
have a pencil and scrap of paper
please write me an address at Jones
vile. Then, if you You are too bus,
to write, ] can do SO. Tit will hell
pass the time" / would not hide tn.
sob that came into my breast. want
ed him to know loved him fondly ant
foreyer-down to eternity.
He drew some loose papers from hi.
pocket and scribbled ON one, rs we'll a!
he could in the darkness, his name.
"Claude Garrison" and the town.
have the card yet; it lies next my Eeart
it is all / have left
"Now, good-by," he said, thrustine
the other papers carelessly into his bip
pocket; and, after one long, 4 kiss
he strobe away rapidly, moro fspidl,
than had ever seen him.
| i tried to watch him; bnt it was nj
most night, and the rain fell steadily
When Mt length /, too, turned to leay,
the place, caught sight of something
he must have dropped from among hi
papers lying ut my very feet lpicke.
it up and slipped it into nay pocket will
the address he had written. woul,
have run after him, but that he walked
so fast he was now far beyond call
So l went home, and, entering softl,
through the wood shed, prepared tn