The Cheyenne daily leader. [volume] (Cheyenne, Wyo.) 1870-1884, 1883-12-25

There sho was, and twenty years had
scarcely changed her. A little pale-she
never had much color-a little thinner, with
q certain sweet wistfulness In her clear eyes
which softencd their purity, she was as win
Some as ever. Her dark hair-yes, It was
darker than it used TO b~e-simply
folded in its own heavy coils,
her mourning dress worn with the same
dainty adaptation TO herself and her sur
roundings he so we'll remembered, her dell
cate hands lifted and extended as she had so
often greeted him when he came with hor
father after business hours. Mary Thorn
dyke stood before him, and the hong years
vanished. He took her hand in his, and
turned away his agitated face.
eth change must be very great 10 you.r
she said, In a low voice. 81 anu a little
little used to It now"
mo, nor be cried, shocked at the feeling
be had aroused and the faltering tons. at
Is not that. had gotten over the first news
Of your loss, and mine. 1t was tho finding
you so like Mary ~Thorndyke still"
She colored, "Am / so like you remember
mel After all these years. But l am Mary
Thorndyke still. There Is no change, save
tho loneliness"
He looked at her, his puzzled face slowly
clearing. Then, he led her to her chair be-
side the open book, and stood over her.
hlSt al OA4 Lhsb ulBhbi lac h1Aaf
abruptly; "you do not know him, but he told
me-many things He said you were living
here, and that Walter was In delicate health
What did he meanr'
walter Is with ms--and dying. He
married BelLn
"But-but he was toto"
"Ho was TO AVE married me, Of course, but
did not"
Positively, she was smiling. Mr.. Barclay
drew a deep breath, and sat down.
II came in yesterday" he said, land to.
day, l am bore. l did not dream Of it twenty
four hours ago. 1 anil was SO used to be-
ing alone out there, I had so little cause to
think of any one; I had grown selfish and q
fool But what do you think greeted me,
Maryi A holly wreath. made me twenty
years younger In q minute. Do you know
you gave me tina first sprig OF real holly l
ever sawf That Christmas | came out with
Bob Hart, you remember Walter was here
then. Would you mind telling me all that
has happened since 1 saw your
There was color In her face now, and a
light in her eyes. Her hands trembled, too,
as she laid them one over the other, listening
quietly to his eager words. But she told him,
as he asked, her simple story. Not collectedly,
not iuently, but he understood it The wan
Ing OF her love for WI alter Sinclair theiparting
with him, half in sorrow, half in soorn; his
Later return to their midst as Bells lover
the first break in the home when Bell went
with him; her mothers death; her fathers
slow decay and sinking to rest; the struggle
since on narrow means; the mistakes-were
they nothing worse6of Walters career;
Bells death; and now, the burden of her van
lshed youth come home to her until the end
1t was just a womAn's story, patiently told.
it's undercurrent all unspoken pain and
smothered passion.
Mr.. Barclay wondered to himself. as he
listened, and thrilled with a measureless
gratitude at the thought Of his slowly unfold
ing destiny. He began to hope-to believe he
could see the reason for many things, 10 fancy
he had looked forward to this hour with
Mary T~horndyke through many years, when
he had sighted for an aim In life beyond mere
success. In short, when she finished her re.
cital, Mary T~horndyke had a lover who would
have sworn he had known no other love.
He dined with her, a quiet dinner sweetened
for him by other spices and navors than thoss
his wealth had long furnished. He waited
over the fire for her while she mlnistered In
the sick mans room TO the wants, pathetic in
their lesssning querulousness. He chatted
with her Of foreign lands and home prospects,
and at last held her hand for a brief good
night, and went away from her Watching
eyes into the star-ltt night. A strange, sweet
rest hlled both their hearts, although he had
not spoken.
HE will come agalnin said Mary Thorn
dyke, to her frightened face In the glass
above the nodding roses "He will come
again, and theni Oh, after all, God Is goodI"
He did come again. He told his stories of
struggles to her waiting eyes and mobile lips,
watching their lovely play; he wooed her
dexterously; he advanced slowly, step by
step, striving, as he thought, to make sure OF
his advance. At last, in fear and trembling,
he told hsr the secret of his love in an hour
he little intended, while her eyes were heavy
and her face pale with the last watches by
the ~death-bed of his long-ago rival.
81 cannot but be glad, Mary, that you are
freed from this care,n he had commenced,
gravcly. poor fellowI His life WIS one
long error, 1t seems to me. How ! envied
him once. Oh, Mary, the weary years your
mistake cost mel But for that engagement,
l might have won your love. Now-nowl I
suppose you could never care for mot am
such "A bachelor forlornpT
There was an eager tremor In his voice be-
lying its carelessness. Mary Thorndyke made
no answer, but her head dropped before him.
and her hands huttered aimlessly over the
loose papers she had been sorting.
"Mary" be cried, starting up, and laying
his strong, white land on her shoulder, what
do you meant Tell me quicklyr'
She looked mp, steadying her soft gaze and
trembling lips. But for you,H she said-and
oh, what q thrill was in the wordsl-''but for
you, l should never have known 1 did not love
him"
She held out her hands suddenly and I'M
pulsively.
Great Sod the Lost yearsI" he said, pas
~sionately, as he seized them.
1t was his last complaint. They are 1.-THE
happiest OF human beingsn And Mr.. Bar.
clay, telling his best stories, aud creating a
Juror Of mirtb around his Christmas table
with his widest jokes, never fails TO sober
down" and relate the wonderful fortune he
owes to the old woman's holly wreath
But for hat bit Of Christmas,'n he Is
won't to say, NJ might have gone on until
now, a selfish, heartless, homeless man. Ihad
no thought beyond my dinner, when l came
over the ships side. / had forgotten il was
Christmas Eve. But with one look at that
poor old creatures twist Of leaves aud berries
! was another man. l was hungry for the
past; l remembered things ! had long hidden
away in the grave Of youth; /
was restless and maddened with a
disappointment and loss had once
persuaded myself / did not feel. Out OF
this turmoil came the resolution 20 unravel
the web of years. And, loi / found It woven
with n thread of gold, leading me to the very
treasure l had not dared TO sigh ,ori The
ghost of Mary's holly ~sprAy-thui was my
Christmas angel, wasn't 1t, my wifef'
All the poetry OF r mans nature may come
forth at a late day. Mr.. Barclays fortune Is
made and his struggles over. He has time, II
he will, to cultivate the vein of rugged wealth
which crops up whenever he refers TO the ro-
nance OF his life. For Mary, she knows the
poet spoke truth In that he sang A things
come round to him who will but waltz
After her long, sad years, the woven LINKS OF
past and present seem scented garlands OF
heavens own blossoms and fadeless verdure.
The unwritten romances are such as this