Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-10-05
CHAPTER XIV.


The morning of Arthurs departure
came, and he rose very early that he
might make his first stage in the cool of
the day. Scipio had had his orders the
night before to have his horses ready by
the break of day, and every preparation
was made for his comfort the night before
hand. Glare, who was getting quite in the
habit of early rising, was there to give
him last goodbye.
''If you were going with me, darling"
said Arthur, ''with what different feelings
should l depart. | shall be reminded Of
of you every step Of the way, of the de-
lightful trip we made together, and Of
the different objects of beauty which
claimed cur mutual admiration, and our
happy cOmpaniOnship. l am not given to
presentiments, Glare, but dread of COM
ing evil has taken possession of me for the
last day or two. 1t haunts me, and can
not rid myself of the dread thought that l
am to lose you, my darling"
''There is nothing in presentiments, Ar
thur. They grow out of our own morbid
imaginations. Yours, perhaps, may be
the fruit of want of sleep. We have been
so greedy of our time, you know, that we
have not allowed ourselves natural rest.
You will reach Big Run branch by ten
O'Clock this morning, and you must sleep
all your noon away, and when you awake
you will feel better. Think of the time
when we will meet again, and of that
other dearer coming, which shall be to us
the harbinger of a mingled life, when we
will be separated again, meyer, until
death shall part us. We have treasured
up memories enough in the last few weeks
to afford us pleasure for many day to
come. For myself L expect to live upon
them until you return to me-"
They fingered with each other until the
sun was pouring his bright beams upon
them, giving promise of q very hot day,
when the necessity for his leaving pressed
upon him, and sadly and most unwillingly
he babe his last fond adieu, and was soon
on his weary way.
Poor Clarel she had spoken words of
comfort and hope to him, suppressing her
own deep grief, partly through maidenly
modesty, and partly with the hope OF
cheering him; but when she could see him
no longer her heart sank within her, and
she gave way to an uncomfortable mt Of
weeping.
1t was several hours ere the family met
at breakfast, and meantime she had be-
come somewhat composed.
''What are your plans for the day, my
child?' asked Mrs. LIE Verrier, after their
meal was concluded.
Her tone and manner were so sympa-
thetic it was more than Clare could bear,
and the tears came into her eyes and
rolled down her cheeks in spite of her
self.
Mrs. LIE Verrier continued:
E'This mornings mail has brought US
batch of foreign papers, both English
and French. L want to know their con-
tents, and it would be a great relief to my
old eyes if you would read them to me-"
Glare cheerfully assented, happy in be-
ing able to make herself useful.
Arthur's mother well understood the
noble nature of the girl her son so fondly
loved, and knew that she would soonest
forget her own sorrows in ministering to
the comfort of others.
Thus the day passed less YEARLY than
Clare had feared it would. She sought re-
pose at an early hour, and enjoyed the
calm and refreshing sleep which she so
sadly needed.
The first week of Arthur's absence the
time passed very heavily; then letters be-
gan to come and the hours frightened.
Post-day was looked for ward to with de-
light, and the mail never brought her dis
appointment. His long and interesting
letters were a perfect cordial to her. The
first one she received was written the
evening he returned home, and sent off by
the next days post.
Accordingly in due time she received
the following letter which she read and
re read, each word a messenger of love to
her:
81 know, my dear Glare, that you will
count the hours until you hear from me,
and as tomorrow is pOst-day, and we have
but three mails week to Glenside, |
must write tonight, weary as l am with
my three days travel. If my anxiety to
crafty you did not induce me to write,
selfishness would, for l want so much to
hear from you, and / suppose YOU Will
not write until you get a letter from me.
My hOmeward trip was so different from
the one l took with you. l made the same
stages as when we went up together; slept
at the same houses, and spent my Moons
under the shade of the same trees.
Everything reminded me of you, butnoth-
ing wore the same beauty as when / last
Travelled the road, which | then imagined,
and having you by me, possessed the
charms of fairy-land, but which / have
since concluded borrowed its loneliness
from your dear presence. The old lady at
whose house l stayed the first night after
leaving you, inquired very kindly after you
all, particularly about your mother, to
whom she had taken a great fancy. l
had some idea of getting jealous because
she did not seem to appreciate my mother
as well, but l concluded it was not neces-
sary, as l am looking forward with pleas
ure to the day when your mother will be
mine also. If L could but persuade you,
dearest, TO shorten the period which must
elapse before the ceremoney takes place
which is to introduce me into this new re-
lationship,I should be only too happy.
All the way down l was thinking would
try and induce you to make my next visit
the time when the ties between us were
to be cOnsummated. How can L take
this long and dreary ride again three
times alone? / might bear it once if /
were going to you and after you. Submit
the matter, darling, TO your mother and
mine. ] know they will admit the reason
ableness of my claim, and join with me
in my persuasions. The house looks very
dismal here without mother. but you must
not tell her l say so. for 1 do not wish her
to come home on my account. / would