The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1883-12-22
DECEMBER p, 1888.


uouulless. ANU Sne lOFeQ MIN. Lie had
not dared to believe that at frst-only
divine pity and tenderness could have in
spired her-but as the days passed circum-
stances brought conviction, and the doubts
and fears melted into rapture.
Unless she loved him could she have
been so joyous in his presence, so tenderly
concerned for him, 50 sweetly careful lest
he should be sad or weary, so proud of him
in his greatest hours, so sympathetic when
he fell below them?
They were to go TO England for part
of their honeymoon, that he might learn to
know all her friends; and they would re-
turn to the familiar but glorifed life among
the hills.
His happiness exhilarated him some
times; at other times it oppressed him like
burden. What was he that so much
good should befall him, while other men
were dying fora CLEAN of sunshine, starving
for crumb of joy? He had loved hui
mainly always because it suffered; he would
love it better now, since he had escaped
from the common lot.
The world seemed TRANSPORTED as he
stood on the path which wound from the
valley up through the woods. Rays of
light, like blades of silver, pierced the soft
grayness of the rolling mists, and the drops
of moisture, gemming every leaf and twig,
sparkled as though shower of diamonds
had fallen. How fair nature was; how
good God was; how devoted to holy works
would he make all his future, as thanks
Offering
She loved him-would love him more
She had said so,
His mind was so full of her, that her
voice, breaking in on his reverie, did not
startle him He put aside the boughs
hanging over the fallen tree on which he
had seated himself, that he might see her
as she came along toward him. Having
done SO, he. could no more have dropped
the verdant screen that would have hidden
her from his gaze than if be had been turn
ed to stone. She was not with her mother,
as he had thought A man accompanied
her, man whom he recognized at glance,
though he had never heard him described
Statelier than a Celt, fairer than Swiss,
with bold, blue eyes and blonde hair, and
a military swing in his gait, and beauty
that even the sullen, reproachful anger in
his face could not mar-De la Roche knew
he was looking on Frank Daily.
The girls face WNSpale and tear-stained,
her eyes were bent fNzally on the ground,
her hands clasped before ~ ffttsssllde
of resignation.
sYou have not the slightest right to
blame me, she was saying, 'as little as
you had to seek me out, that you may tor
ture me now, when it is too late.
''And who made it too late ?" he asked
sadly "Who ran away and hid herself,
and made explanation and atonement i'm
possible?"
''Did you not tell me to forget you ~
81 did, but it seemed the only thing to
do then"
"As it is the only thing to do now she
said quickly,
ooh, no, for | am free
''But am bound
@Only bound by your own word. Twas
bound by lawful fetter
"And what fetter r she cried, her eyes
flashing, her chest rising and falling hur-
riedly; "a fetter that held you to dancing
woman, woman whose name you dared
not mention at your home. And after
such marriage tie asthat, you come to me
with falsehoods about your love, and win
my stupid heart, to break it and disgrace
me, you being married all the time.
'sDid | know then that | was married
Is my oath not enough Are the facts
not proof enough that | had thought her
.dead2 How could [ know that she was
too evil to burn when the theatre in which
she was dancing was left shell? How
did know that she would bide her time
to come back and be avenged, with wicked
cunning, when | might have been happy ?
And you reproach me that had not told
you about her, You think that, false in
one thing, must be false in all, Was it
a fitting story to bring to a pure woman,
the story of that old sorrow and shame?
Was the grief of my youth likely to crown
my manhood in your eyes? IF l did
wrong, have l not suffered enough And
as to her, lad | been older and worse, |
should not have married her; in which case,
in yours and all other eyes, | should have
seemed blameless.
There was hard, sneering emphasis in
his tone which hurt the girl.
'0h, no, Frank, don't think us worse
Pharisees than we were, and forgive me if
| have seemed to doubt you. You see
your coming was such a sudden revival OF
the buried pain, that | hurt you more than
1 meant, perhaps, in self-defense. We
have both suffered, and whichever Of us
erred has atoned, and now we may part
friends
"Then you mean us to part p
"What can I do? There is no other
way"
"Could you not tell this man the truth
and let him free you? | suppose he IS
honest enough to do that ?"
II shall never ask him" She was mo-
tionless now, her face bravely uplifted,
though her tears fell fast "He loves me
far better than ever you loved me, Frank.
| know that, though | am sure | don't
know why he should. "
.But you love me, and that is where |
have the better of him.
There was an ugly frown on Captain
Dalby,s brow 1t is not every man who
can play the last card of the game he has
lost with grace.
"Perhaps l do; but that is my shame
and sorrow, and it will not be always so, |
trust and know.
"And you will have nothing to say TO
me now?"
"NoP'
"Then | need not detain you any longer.
am sorry intruded on you. Farewell "
Farewell" She stood looking after
him till he was out of sight, her head held
high, her lips pressed together. Then she
flung out her arms with cry Il do love
him. [ do love him How can | bear it?''
A momentary oblivion seemed to fall on
the minister; when it passed he was alone
with his despair
1t was all over, the short glorious dream
in which he had believed himself beloved;
the brief frenzy that had lifted him to the
happiness of heaven. 1t was all over, and
he was alone with the chill, and darkening
night, and his agony.
The other man had returned, the man
who had wealth, and rank, and beauty, all
the things that women love, and her heart
had gone back to him, if, indeed, it had