Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1884-04-24
Au Original Starg.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
AFTER EIGHTEEN YEARS.
CHAPTER TX.

CHAPTER TX.
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Walls manhood in glory;
The autumn winds rushing
Watt the leaves that are serest
But our flower was in flushing
When blighting was nearest
It was over at iast-the great struggle, in
which so much gallant blood had been shed,
SO many hopes wrecked, so many brave
lives offered up in willing sacrifice. 1t was
over; and the news of our final defeat fell
crushingly on hearts which to the very last
clung to hope as drowning man cEngs to a
straw.
The war was at an end, but gloom and
desolation hung their dark pail over the
once fair and smiling South, and for many
of the inhabitants of this stricken land the
worst troubles were yet to begin. Bereft
of means, deprived of the aid of husbands,
fathers, sons who had been taken from them,
the delicate and frail ones who had been
ship and toll, and in households where COM
fort and plenty had formerly abounded,
want enthroned its ugly form, and pointed
threateningly to still darker future. For.
tunate indeed were those who still retained
homes which they could call their own,
changed in circumstances and surroundings
though they might be.
Lily had at first strenuously objected to
leaving the fair farm and going with Marion
to South Carolina but the latter had finally
persuaded her that it was the wisest course
She could pursue. Whenever Carroll should
come home-and she held this event con-
tinually up before the eyes of the poor young
wife, speaking of it with cheerful assurance,
as if the hope were bound to be reality
he could as easily find her at Warner Grove
as in Virginia and there was no doubt
they would receive news of him as soon as
he was released.
So they iourneyed South together, not
without many delays and much danger
and right glad was Jessie to welcome Ma va
riOn home. Through the remainder of the
winter, while the final scenes Of the war
were being enacted, and all was still confu-
sion and uncertainty, Lily seemed some
what cheered and convinced by Marion's
hopefulness, real or assumed; but when the
end came, and prisoners were exchanged,
and absenteeS were everywhere returning,
and still no tidings of Carroll were received,
she gave up hope, and returned to her first
despairing conviction that she would never
see him again.
"You know, dear, that he was given, up
for lost once before Marion reminded her,
wounded that we found out he was still
alive. Things are still unsettled at the
North as we'll as here. We cannot tell what
obstacles may be in the way Of his return" !"
"But he could write now we would sure
ly hear something" Lily rejoined mourn
fully. "No, no, Marion, feel that he is
lost; and baby will never know his ia
ther-never remember him. My poor little
baby !" and she would clasp the child to her
bosom and break into frantic sobs, only to
he soothed by Marion petting and fondling
her into quietness, like child; She was a
curious mixture of child and WOman-sO
helpful, so brave, so full of energy and en-
durance, yet in some ways so dependent
and so weak. 1t was impossible to help
loving her; she was so conscious of her own
ignorance, so humble in her estimate other
self, so teachable and so affectionate, that it
would have been strange if her protectors
had failed to receive her into their hearts as
we'll as under the roof.
It was we'll for Marion that the old wound
in her heart was sufficiently healed for her
to be able to listen with equanimity to
Lily's constant illusions to Carroll, and to
converse calmly with her about her court
ship, her marriage, the time they had spent
together; theme of which the girl-wife
never wearied. Indeed it seemed her only
comfort to recall these events, and if some
times her "reminiscences would touch spot
so tender i'm her listeners heart that the lat
ter would be tempted to rush off into soli-
tude to escape from them, yet her unselfish-
ness and her desire to comfort Lily would
always enable her to crush down the pain
she felt and forbear from making any sign
But the old love was there-Would be
there always, even to her dying day. She
knew that, and she did not desire that it
should be otherwise. 1t could not hurt any
one but herself and it was so chastened and
sanctifed by years of patient self-discipline
that it had almost ceased to be pain. She
could look back with calmness on the mis-
take which had blighted her life she could
accept without one rebelliOus thought the
knowledge that her lot was to be forever
solitary and made up of care for others; she
could take into her heart the woman who
filled the place which should have been
hers, without one Jealous pang. Surely a
love which bore fruit like this could be no
wrong. 1t was part of her life, and she
could not have cast it out even if she would.
In trying to persuade Lily that there was
still hope of CarrolPs return, she had in a
measure persuaded herself of it also; but by
degrees the hope faded away. If he were
living, he must surely either write or re-
turn it was not possible that he could be all
this while languishing in Northern prison.
Auu WIloIl lltIic LILY, StehlNS Glle Olt-Ie-
peated assurance, would fix her pleading
eyes upon her, her gaze began at last to
droop and turn away. She could not assert
a belief which she no longer felt. She saw
now that it was best for them both to face
the truth.
But it frightened her to see the effect upon
Lily of the withdrawal of her long cherish
ed hope. She became listless and indiffer-
ent to everything, even to the caressess of
her child, who, finding her no longer ready
to amuse him, gradually transferred his
preference, with the fickelness of baby-hood,
to Marion. The color left her soft cheeks,
and her eyes grew deeper and larger as her
features lost their rounded contour; she
pined and pined until Marion seriously
feared for her health. She ceased even to
talk of Carroll, but would sit for hours
with folded hands, and far-way look on
her face, dreaming no doubt of the happy
hours of the past. In her eyes, even more
than in Marion's, her husband had been a
hero, the very type Of perfect manhood.
Coming to her, as he had done, like new
revelation, in the seclusion and ignorance of
her old life, he had placed her, through the in
fuence of his superiority, on higher plane.
She owed it to him that she was no longer
what she must have continued to be without
him, what her own people had always been