News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1884-10-02

| JSNAOIs ohSiy OA pun pOoO W tO6'SO GAAAS
pretended to take all the more notice oI
MIR. Sandys. When we finished luncheon
the party scattered and strolled about
the woods in various directions. I natur-
ally expected Edward to accompany me,
but he, rather rudely, as I thought, held
aloft and, to punish him, 1 paired of
with MIR. Sandys. When the party got
together again Edward looked so savage
that thought it better not to provoke
him any further.
81 shook off Mr.. Sandys and walking
away with Edward, began to scold him
for his unreasonable jealousy. Unfor-
tunately, he was quite hot with anger
and began to reproach me in way that
aroused my temper, too, for was quick
enough to take offense in those days,
Ruth, though l have learned better
since. He reproached me bitterly
more bitterly, think, than I deserved.
He called me keartless eoquette, and I
told him he made himself ridiculous.
We got hotter and hotter, and finally he
declared that if [ did not admit that 7
had been wrong, and promise to behave
differently for the future, all must be
over between us. 1 did not care straw
for Mr.. Sandys, and would fifty times
sooner have had Edward with me, but
would have died sooner than have told
him so then. So gave him bitter
answer, and we both grew angrier still.
His last words, uttered with all the in
tensity of passion, ring still in my ears;
I can tell you them word for word /:
'Hetty, if you let me go now, understand
clearly you will never see my face
again. 1 did not quite believe him.
Perhaps, if 1 had, 1 would still have
let him go. At any rate, 1 was far too
angry to give away then. Go, by all
means, if you wish it. said, and in an
other moment he was gone. I had been
tearing to pieces in my passion little
spray of hawthorn he had given me
earlier in the day. 1 had pulled off the
leaves one by one, and when he left me
the bare stem was left in my hand, with
one leaf only remaining. See, here it
is, the last relic of my first and last
love. God grant that in your life, my
Ruth, you may never weep such tears
as 1 have wept over that one faded
leaf"
Aunt Het'y took from her desk the
little player-book she always carried, a
quaint little red-covered book with a
gilt clasp, and showed me just within it
a tissue-paper pocket attached to the
cover. This she opened and showed
me the faded leaf.
"This little book, she said, "was Ed.
wards gift to me; and this old dry leaf
is my only relic of the day we parted in
anger in the wood, never to meet again
in this world
''But did you really part like that,
auntie?" I said. "Did you never see
him again ?"
!"Never. He did not go back to the |
picnic party, but joined an outward
pound ship the very next day, leaving q
,Tief note for my mother, stating that
ve "a Al fortunatelyt found out in time
hat we were unsuited to each other,
md had, therefore. by mutual consent,
1ut an end to our engagement.
"And have you never heard of him
since, auntie?"
"Once or twice. in early years, but
only Indirectly. He had no relatives in |
our part of the country. I know that |
be gave up the sea and obtained COM |
mission in some Indian regiment. When |
last heard OF him he was captain; but
that is many years ago, and L do not
know whether he is alive or dead. So
ends my poor littleromance. There is one
thing I should like to ask, Ruth, and
that is partly why have told you my
story, You have seen my relics. They |
have been my greatest treasure in life. |
and I should like them put in my coffin |
when I die. Will you remember this,
my dear ?"
l could not answer for tears, but l |
kissed her hand and she was content?
Two months ago, tired of our hum
drum country life, auntie and I Iresolved,
ior once, to visit foreign parts. Accord
ngly we went to Boulogne and took up !
0ur abode in a quiet boarding house in
Ruedes Vieillards. There were a good
many visitors staying in the house, but
hey were mostly in families or parties, !
and we did not amalgamate with them. !!
Dur vis-a-v at table was tall, elderly !
gentleman of soldiery appearance, who !
was always spoken of as Major. He had
evidently been handsome man-in- /
Iced he was handsome man still. I |
think I was first attracted to him by !
noticing that his French was even far |
worse than our own. When he ven-
;ured, as he occasionally did, to address
IN order to the white-capped waiting
maids in their own language, the diff
,uIties he got into were dreadful, and
ne generally ended by getting rather
angry with himself and them. Orce or
twice ventured, very timidly, to help
lim out of a difficulty of this kind, and
nad sprung up between us. 1t had,
however, proceeded no further than
friendly good morning, or a remark
across the dinner-table. With other
visitors he fraternized even less. After
breakfast he smoked his cigar under the
rec in the courtyard, after which he
started off for solitary ramble, and did
lot reappear till dinner time.
So matters stood until the first Sum-
lay evening after our arrival, when we
vent, as in duty bound, to the little
English church in an adjacent street.
We were ushered into one of the pews
for strangers; and min
lte or two later the Major was shown to
he same pew and sat down silently be-
'ide us. The service proceeded in the |
usual course, and was nearly over when
'he Major, by an accidental movement |
If his elbow, knocked down auntie's lit
lie red prayer-b book, which was on the |
'lOping ledge before her. He stopped .
% pick it up, and was about to replace /
t, but as it came in view in the full glare
of the gas light his eyes chanced to fall
lpon it, and he started as though he had
seen a ghost. He laid down the book
IN the desk before him, but it seemed
20 fascinate him. He looked from the
book to Aunt Hetty and from Aunt
Hetty to the book, as if trying to sat-
sly himself on some point, but without