Connecticut western news., 1883-08-22
VOL. XIII.

"Why did you not tell me?" 1 asked, almost responsibility.
 Because I knew that, although you would have disguised your feelings for my sake. you would have dreaded the separation; and, beside, I could not have the heart to anticipate any happi- ness for myself when you were so deso- late."
 "Dear sister," exclaimed, struck at her sef-sacriicing spirit, 'It would have been my highest joy to have seen you Albert Thorntof's wife; and as to the separation, am net so welded to Eng land that I could not have followed you elsewhere.
 I knew that Margaret often had re- ceived letters from France, but supposed them to be from lady whose marriage had compelled her residence there, and who, supposed, still kept up her cor respondence. Once I had even said. when handing her letter, "How much Mary Raymond's husband writes like Albert Thornton p It was passing re- mark, and she went out of the room to read her letter, and never thought of it again. In our young days Margaret wished me to love Mary Raymond; and now we rarely spoke of her, because I felt that I had disappointed my sister in not fancying her favorite.
 I did not attempt to console Margaret I knew too well, from my own experi- ence, how little even the dearest friends can do, except to utter the common place and stereotyped words of conso- lation, and how little those words avail to reach the mourner's heart; how cold ly come the voices of sympathy while that heart is bleeding inwardly, and how we turn away from all, with the feeling that it "knoweth it's own bitter ness," and must not be intermeddled with, by even brother or sister.
 That sorrow has pressed heavily upon other hearts before, does not tighten our own; we do not suffer less because an- other has also suffered; and, feeling this, I would not bring up to my sisters mind the remembrance of my own des- olation.
 In 8 few days, the violence of Marga- ret's grief subsided; but her former lan- guor had returned. I expected to see her droop and fade away daily before my eyes, and almost dreaded to return home at night, lest should find her ly- ing upon the bed from which she might never arise. It was altogether sad ep- isode in our peaceful summer.
 There was one thing which uncon- sciously cheered me in this hour of trial. Our near neighbors, the Leightons, con- trary to our intention of making &C., quaintances, had forced themselves upon us, although in a perfectly delicate way. They had noticed my sisters feebleness when we first came, and had watched her through the slight opening in the trees, as she passed from the door to her favorite seat; and they had begun the acquaintance by sending her baskets of delicious fruit, the first of their splendid flowers, and choice vegetables of every kind.
 Margaret could only accept and ac- knowledge, and the result was an in- timacy with Flora Leighton, the only daughter of the family, whose manners completed the attraction which her beauty began; so at least thought Mar garet. I heard much of Flora Leighton, and had some curiosity to see the being who had so won upon Margaret, but she was always out of sight before I came home, and I never, by any chance, had seen the bright eyes and pleasant smile which my sister had described to me. I called her the invisible; but I saw all her fairy gifts, which Margaret always left untouched until I came home that I might see the perfect elegance of her friend's taste. It was quite. study, the artistic arrangement of those floral offerings; and the fruit which she brought Margaret was generally shaded by it's ap- propriate leaf; but the hand itself that fashioned the gift, remained, to me, in- visible.
 Margaret rose up from that great suf- fering sooner than I had hoped or i'm agined. If she still mourned for AL bert, it was in silence; and on her cheek there was no trace of tears when came home. was engrossed with the cares of business through the day; but still found time to think of her, and to rejoice that she had companion such as she described Flora Leighton. She hac told Flora all, and was startled, ano perhaps gladdened by finding that she was the daughter of Mrs. Thornton't sister. Albert Thornton was therefore the playmate of Flora's childhood, anc the friend of her girlhood's days. Sht too mourned his death with the sorrow of tender heart that resembles thos' dear ones with an added love, "whe1 love is joined to death."
 It was near the close of summer People were focking home from thu country, frightened at the first coo
 morning breeze; but Margaret begge' for longer stay, and I gladly consented
 We had learned tQ love this quiet re treat, and any change struck us un pleasantly. The whole neighborhoo' around us, too, had assumed less star ing and comfortless appearance. It hal mellowed into an older and more sub dued look: and others had followed ou
 example in beautifying and adornini
 their homes. The house occupied b.
 MT. Leighton was precisely like our own
 and separated only by slender fence