The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1883-03-24
aWhat are YOU thinking. Paul? Does

Vi I1e SIduCcu tuc
inely-furnished room, caught the gleam of
mirror and marble, of laces and satins, the
sense of odor and bloom, and elegance and
wealth, aAd thought that even if he had
corresponding luxury to offer her, yet he
would never dare hope to address her as his
wife, for he was low-born, and she-was
far, far beyond him. Tell her he was
thinking he loved her, but must not say
it? He gathered his wits and replied:
Indeed, Violet, it seems like home, like
heaven, to be here! What pretty con-
ceit and compliment to your name is the
robe you wear All in blue and white,
like the blossoms themselves.
She laughed, and colored little, saying
simply:
g 1 wondered if you would see that, sir
In fact, wanted to see if you remembered
yet your old alteration for the Violets."
At this his heart leaped within him,
but she calmly questioned him Of his tray
els, labors and interests, and the old lady
Joined them in the window, to listen to the
conversation of the two she loved.
Said Violet % 1t seems to me each
spring is sweeter than the last. The
splendor in the grass, the glory in the
flowers seems to increase from year to year.
The beautiful vision of the resurrection
becomes dearer each year, and [ love the
Easter time, when all the world and all
mankind seems waking to fresh life"
And they wandered back over the past
again to the chill day, twenty-six years
ago, when Paul found human Violet in
place of the white ones for his fathers
grave.
Dinner was announced, and again poor
Paul was in a futter, as the tempting
thought flashed across his mind-Why
should not this gentle, charming creature
preside at his table, be the guiding star of
his home? But no She was kind and
friendly because she felt indebted to him
for her very life, not because she had any
tenderer thought for him; and moreover,
he could never, probably, offer her so fine
and grand home as this old country place
Mrs Esterton had bequeathed he1.
SO the day wore along; and once, as
Violet returned to her guests from some
household duty, she, standing in the door
way, saw this Paul on one knee by his
gentle old mother; that mothers face was
full of love and joy, and Paul, kissing the
faded cheek, said sadly
Mother, l have always loved her. Ever
since first left you, and home and Violet.
Poor Miss Esterton As in flash she
understood all now. Why no lover could
win her, why she was solely happy when
with Mrs Morgan, and why she was so
pleased to have Paul home again. Since
earliest childhood, then, she had loved
Paul and he-had " left home and mother
and Violet" and learned to love some other
happier woman.
Very pale, and cold, and still she stood,
to steady herself just moment; but be-
fore she could turn and leave, there came
another flash of light, and with a long,
long sigh, she smiled, and the red tide
swept back into her lips. For pointing to
the blossoms, Paul had said:
'Mother, | love these ViOlets, they seem
so like herself. If she were aught else but
the pure, sweet, high and holy woman she
is, might hope to make you happy as you
have suggested, but you know she is so far
above me, | dare not entertain the dream.
The charge, the light, the flash that
swept the pale listeners face, was wonder
full to see. Her brilliant brown eyes shone
with soft radiance, smile rested on the
rosy lips, and she stole away to her own
room, and there on her knees gave thanks
for the promise of that Easter-day. A
promise of happiness that might be-if she
but dared -
Well, her guests were gone, and now, as
in the past, she must 90 to the graveyard
and bring home the pretty painted flower
pot Paul had given her long ago. Did he
remember? Yes, he did, for as she softly
entered the church-yard, she saw tall
man turn away and walk to the little
church. 1t was Paul Morgan, at the dear
old grave but he did not hear the foot
steps coming, and he entered the church,
where, for the first time, that morning, he
had stood as pastor to the dear old home
flock.
Violet Esterton went to the little plot
and reclaimed her pot of Violets Twenty
or more fragrant blossoms nodded a
welcome to their fair owner, and then she
faced the church. A neat, new, stone
church, that her money had builded, with
the prayer at the time, that some day Paul
Morgan might come to his old home and
oficiate therein. Did he know it? She
would venture within and maybe tell him so.
Miss Esterton softly entered the holy
house through the windows fell flood of
golden glory turning to warm tints of
purple and red, and bathing in magical
splendor the form of the one kneeling,
alone, and in deep sadness before the altar.
A woman in white, bearing in her arms
a gay gold-and-crimson dish of white
woodland blossoms, stepped softly down
the dim aisle, and white as the Violets she
carried slid like a snow wreath down on
her knees by the supplicant He might
not have known she was there but for the
fragrance of the flowers she bore, and lift
ing his head he displayed face so pale and
wan, blue eyes so strained and sad, she
could not help exclaiming: "Dear Paul
what troubles you?"
His strong pride yet forbade him, and
he would say no word. Then all the
strength and frmness of her womanhood
rose to the surface.
"My friend, listen am come to give
an Easter offering. Not alone to God and
the Church-such one l give this morn
ing but now l bring one for the dearest
friend 1 have, but the very saviour of my
life. If you will let pride wreck our two
lives, will not You love white Violets,
and-will you take us, Paul ?"
A very, very rosy face was turned to
his, and close to the heart she offered him
was pressed his early love-gift, the odorous
snowy flowers.
A great wave of radiance and absolute
beauty swept over the sober minister's
face He gasped and trembled.
"Violetl' "Paul p The rosy lips
quivered, but the brown eyes glistened
through their tears, Then holding in his