The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-06-07
TWO WEDDINGS.

success, that all my industrious tutoring and
| practicing since / heard the Wards were coming,
had not been thrown away. Il suppose, then,
you know already all the ifs and ands the why's
and wherefores of the entire" went on, gayly.
Zone grand, glorious fact 1 know which
changes all existence rather dates life from this
| day, for me-"
'And pray what may that be- Rue9" in laugh
ing amaze asked.
THAT man is widower."
'John Ward"
SIS widower, yes. His wife died in the Ba-
hamas only three months ago. But all the same,
1 have fallen in love with him, and-and 1 am
going to give him a chance to marry me- Hettie
| Grey"
She blushed, the old way she flashed her
bright eyes at me, but only looked at her.
'You are dreadfully shocked, see; girls like
you do not jest about widowers three months
old don't care; cannot help it; and besides
but. how queer you look, Hettie Gray Do
| talk; if Just to scold"
face stared at me-a face that Redeemed as l
looked, from which had vanished every line of
the rigid torturing and pracficing it had under
gone for weeks. l had only the faintest of in
stincts to hide what it had to show
IL am only surprised, Rue" Numbered
! slowly 'It really doesn't matter much how
| long a mans wife is dead man must wait a
proper time of course, but surely should be
| the last TO object. if-if-"
Hectic, Hette Gray, how you are going on"
| IF needs. this widower must be for you
finished savingly. But how did you learn this
| grand, glorious fact you tell of"
| From his own lips, down in our garden-lot
| / was taking the short cut from the postofice,
| when suddenly came upon man-doing what,
! think you. Hette Greyl Picking daisies like
j schoolgirl.
|
Yes, hunting mad for them; it seemed as
| though he could not leave the meadow one.
| Wasn't it odd? Perhaps his poor wife liked them,
! though. For it he, Hettie, and he apollo
| gized, and told me his name, and about-about
! her, most right away. And then-I do not know
| how it was, but never talked so freely to any
one in my life before-I told him all sorts of
| things about myself and you, and all of us; it
| seemed only natural And he kept his handsome
| brown eyes on me all the while, and once they
grew $3.50 But think l win take myself
off, Hettie Grey, before am more ridiculous"
| Rue"
| But nor sweet voice was ringing down the hall,
and sat alone with that radiant being the glass
| refected-she for whom that little time rolled to
4 past beyond the past, wreathing face, lighting
| eyes with dead smiles resurrected. giving to
soul its old ardent dreams unchecked, unchilled;
| making peace
Only for present quite enough. John Ward
| was here; not poor Laurie FePe's husband but
| man free as III the old days, and-plucking
| place we knew so well Why-ah9 1 guessed.
| What against it mattered the weight of the
/ years, the wrongs we had done each otherl
! What, strange that should forget them, and
| that nearer fact
What strange, this last We had quarreled;
| one had loved him too well to care and he had
| married her and gone away. Two years the old
| house was closed; he would never come back,
they said On his return, at last, there had been
no light; had only sehooled myself to meet
| Laura Eere's husband, to be to him what hence
! forth, ] might be only-that cold thing-a friend
and neighbor
Two years through the long months, the
| dreary months, married man as he was,
never fondiy had I loved John Ward
| And SO it was not strange that with the
4 news Rue brought should come forgetfulness
| even of-that other fact that soul should bar
all. that little save the kindled memories of the
1 old sweet days, and
The ecstasy of the very day. 1t grew speedily
to eclipse them all. He had come; and his first
| thought was for the daisies-the pretty daisies,
| so precious TO two lovers-the old, blssful
time. They were my flowers, he always said so
| fondly; made, it seemed, just for home in my
dark braids and the nesting place on my
| breast Even that angry night he had lifted
! the few had cast adown, and took them away
! with him. All well guessed why he was pluck
| ing daisies.
Would he come-to-nightl There was no
| haunting vision to disturb me there; eyes to
chide, voice to plead at least little time-a little
regard TO what she had been. There was no re-
| hinder of-that other fact; only the passionate
| yearnlng for him loved and him who loved me,
/ found place yet in my soul
Would he Gomez The little movement brought
/ a spell; 1 saw one drawing near with the dear
| things in his hand his dark eyes bent to mine
! almost-allnost-
4 ''Mr. Burnaby to see you miss"
The voice of servant broken upon me.
! I turned and stared at her but-whyl Mr..
| Burnaby was gentleman l was engaged to
marry;
1
Strange they should make such mistake.
1 Hettie. Why, dear, it does not fit at all
! 1t had been hard to go down to him that night
the man had never cared for, but whom,
nevertheless, was to marry in few little weeks.
| / sat with him through the hours in a dull maze
of pain and terror; surely belieying-di
! john Ward would come.
| But John Ward came not; that night nor the
! days that followed for the very morrow he had
/ gone away again. 1t was all mystery at first
! but Rues words, lost in the higher tide came
! finally back to me. She had told him things
! about herself and me; she had told him this, of
course. The tale of his changed eyes was clear
| my unspoken query satisfied.
| He would never come. This fact did not make
| ii any easier to go down to Frank Burnaby,
| night by night; but. of my own free will, / was
! engaged to marry him, the wedding day was
| fixed, and could see no alternative And so.
4 one fateful evening, we sat discussing our we'd
! ding ring.
l had never thought of rebellion, or escape,
/ till now. But somehow his words. the fact they
| held awoke an impulse which speedily grew
| fixed resolve.
'It does not fit, and it was never meant to-
| / cried; you will have to take it back"
| ''Of course" he said with little puzzled look
at me; but hope the next one will be all
! right, dear / do not like"
l did not mean to be so cruel; / was only alb
/ sorbed, all absorbed, in the sudden great joy
| which had come to me.
"But you will not want any other; you will
| not want any other for me- l interrupted
eagerly; u shall never marry you, Frank Burn
ably"
'Hettie!"
II do not love you; 1 do not want to; will
| not No power on earth can make me-
| Other words said do not remember: cruel
words, of course, in the midst Of which he arose
| and stood little minute, white as DEATH look
/ IN Of q Cd 20 4