The Delaware ledger. (Newark, Del.) 1879-19??, 1884-11-08
.ondon Miranda is parting with Fitz-

for good-and then 1 shall pay a visit
to-what Is 1t p'-sm1ing. ''RemusP
no, Romulus, and carry you off like
the knight in the fairy-tale, 1 hope"
"You won't like it-Romulus, 1
mean"- she answers, the corners of
her mouth trembling, "it-it Ia 30 diff
erent-I hate iti'' With quick passion,
"and yet" dropping her voice. 81 hate
myself more for feeling so. o, help
me, help me to bear 1t all ~ she cried
suddenly, turning to him with piteous
little gesture. He soothes her half i'm
patiently--is it a shade of annoyance
which crosses his facep And then,
"You must be brave, Miranda" he
says. She moves away from him, push.
ing her hair back from her forehead
and looking up steadily. Yes" she
answers. 81 will be brave and patient"
Then presently, as If longing to be as
sured, "you-you win come; know
you WILL" with little break in the
voice she tries to keep so steady. "Of
course, +" he says, lightly. She looks at
him half wonderingly. This parting,
which is 30 terrible to her, can 1t be
but small thing to him
A dreadful feeling of doubt and lone
illness comes over her. She turns to
the window In dumb agony and gazes
into the crowded street. Fitzgerald
PAGES the room for few moments.
Then he comes up to her, Miranda, "
he says, "thls sort of thing is awful,
you know. We had far better cut it
short" He takes both her hands. She
is quite calm and passive now. 1t
seems to her that all feeling has left
her. Through intense sufferings she
has almost passed into Inconsistencies
of pain ; her face Is white and still.
Fitzgerald looks at her cunously.
miranda, listen, he says gently; 1--WE
can write, you know" A little gleam
of eagerness passes over her face.
"Yes," she answers. 81 had not
thought of that" Then the strange,
cold apathy returns. She lets him hold
her in his arms and press his lips upon
her brow without sign or word. She
hears him say that he twill surely come
next year," she sees the puzzled look
with which he regards her, she says
"good-by," In an odd, hard sort of
voice, which sounds strange to her ears,
and then--it is all over and she is alone,
A little more than two weeks later
the deacon stands on the little wooden
platform of Romulus. His scanty,
gray locks are combed carefully over
his sun-browned neck /; the palm-leaf
hat had been discarded in favor of a
very stiff, very high, very uncomfortable
beaver; the one suspender is hidden by
Sunday coat of supernatural black
ness and shininess. Altogether the
deacon is "gotten up smart" accord,
ing to Mrs. Tiffany, who had snorted
contemptuously at the idea of call this
fuss benz made for that Miranda. :"
Mrs. Tiffany, however, is in high
state of suppressed excitement herself,
as are also the girls. Ag has purchas-
ed the gayest bonnet to be had at the
Corners (blue satin and yellow feathers),
with the express and declared purpose
of ''takin' the shine out of Mirandy's
furrin' ixin's," and Liz has spent the
great part Of three days in perfecting a
certain wonderful arrangement Of her
molasses candy colored locks, which
arrangement is declared by her friend.
Miss Price, who has lately visited Chi
cago, to be the ''latest European style. "
1t is fearfully hot afternoon, and there
! has been no rain for fortnight. The
little grass plot is brown and dusty,
the sun beats down iercely ON the yell
low, sandy path. Inside the house an
early supper is set out on the table ;
) flies are buzzing about the wire gauze
cover which protects some sticky-look-
/, ing ''preserve, ~ and big bumble-bee,
which has come in through the window
. and accidently tumbled into the pow
| ter miik-jug, has managed to get out
!, of it again, much to his own astonish-
ment, and is slowly travelling across
the table, leaving little drippings of
cream to mark its progress. Mrs. Tiff
fany, her corkscrew curls gathered in
knot behind one ear, her sleeves
tucked well up to the elbow, displaying
a liberal expanse of red arm, Is stand
on the doorstep; Liz, attired in pink
gown and a profusion of cheap iewelry,
Is lolllng on the horsehair sofa, reading
dime noval.
. And the deacon brings Miranda in.
Slowly and wearlly the days have be-
! come weeks, the weeks months, and
a the months have heightened into years,
n and two years have gone by since Mir
]. anda's Homecoming. 1t is an evening
: in June, and the deacon's palm-leai
n hat is used vigorously to beat off the
mosquitoes as he and Miranda stroll
r down the quiet, deserted path.
: "Father," she begins suddenly, 81 want
q you to do something for me-" Snow,
8 that's kind o. curious" remarks the
!. deacon, ''for was just . thinkin'
n Mirandy, what thar was l could do fei
q to make you happier" =" why, fatherr
n she cries with a little attempt at 6
n laugh, "what has put 1t into your head
a to imagine that am not happyp Sucf
a silly old fatherl" "Mirandy," say
a the deacon, quietly. "I've knowed OIL
a it fer months an months. Did y,
! think I couldn't see the look thet'
y bin a growin' in yer eyesp Did y,
; think didn't know my gal was fret
tin ?"
Ie "Ol don't say that don't say thatl'
1t she cries, with sharp pain in her voice
is 81 didn't know you noticed-I hav
Dr. tried so hard ln