Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1884-01-03

past life. WOulQ ne, knowing Wnat NY Ctt-
reer had been, be willing to have me for his
wife ? I decided to tell him the truth, and
then, if I found that the knowledge OF it
he wished.
iSeptena6er 3Td. was interrupted when |
had got so far in my account ofpast events. l
will take up the thread of my story again
the story of the turning point of my life.
When saw Mr.. Warren on the day fol-
lowing his proposal, was fully prepared to
tell him, as I had decided, what my profess
sion was, or rather had been. | even COM
menced to give him some account of my
self, when he stopped me.
"Celestine," he said, 81 entreat you to
leave all that, for the present. you knew
the overwhelming anxiety and suspense |
have endured since last evening, you would
spare me the pain of farther uncertainty.
Tell me, child, at once-What is to be my
fate ?',.
AS he looked earnestly upon me, and l
read that in his eyes which I could not mis-
take-a love deeper than had dreamed Of
love that had scarcely believed him ca
pable of-that grave, quiet man II felt for
the first time tsTilI Adt my heart-the
dawning of a sudden new emotion. Yes, L
knew at that instant that did love him
that to lose him would give me actual pain.
L
had meditated-had he not himself stopped
it ?-and putting my hand in his, / told him
1 would be his wife.
"Then," he said, "we must be married at
once. You will have no scruples about that,
nv child? You see I cannot leave you
here, lonely as you are-and why should /?
You have no one to consult, neither have /.
We are both alone, but for each other. Let
my home become yours without needless
delay"
Well, he talked it over, and urged it up
on me and the end of it was, felt like
child in his hands. His will was SO strong,
could not resist him. And three days after
wards, we were married, very quietly, in
the landlady's little parlor, with her hus-
band and herself and one other pers N as
witnesses. That was on Tuesday, and on
the following Friday we came home.
Home-yes, it is really my home now.
Still have not learned to feel at home in it
yet. suppose 1 shall, in time:
First, must describe the outward ap-
pearance of the place. Sandville is little
bare town, appropriately named; There are
few trees here, and huge sand-hills surround
| the settlement, which consists of few long
dreary looking streets with rows of prim,
square houses mostly painted brown, with
dusty gardens in front. Two Of the streets
are planted with eucalyptus trees along the
sidewalks, otherwise there is no verdure eX-
cept in the private gardens, and they are
forlorn-looking as rule. So much for the
beauties of Sandville. AS to the Rectory, it
is a house much like the rest 1t has six
square rooms, front and back porch, and a
good sized yard enclosed by a paling-fence,
picket fence, believe it is called. There
are few shrubs and flowers in front, but
T try
and take them in hand. / have leisure
enough, as 1 do not have the housekeeping
| to attend to. That department is presided
over by an elderly lady who has been
housekeeper and sort of compaion to my
husband for long time. She is peculiar,
but kind, and seems we'll disposed toward
me now, though I fancied she did not re-
gard my coming with much favor.
When I entered the house l was struck
by deplorable stiffness and fornality in
all it's arrangements, and melancholy sort
of shut-up air, in all but one or two OF the
commonly-used rncalis. 1have been trying
to remedy these evils-for to me they are
evils. love bright and cheerful and pic
turesque surroundings; ugliness absolute
ly hurts me. I do not care for luxury, but
prettiness of some sort | must have. The
Hbest parlor," as Miss Latimer calls 1T, is
furnished with mahogany and hair-cloth,
and papered with hideous shade of gray ;
so to counterbalance these disadvantages
have put just gay rug or two on the
floor, hung crimson lambrequlns at the
windows, moved little rOcking-chair and
straw work-stand there out of my own
room. and keep flowers, of any sort can
get, always on the table. So it looks less
like prison than it did at first.
But oh, the dreariness of the first two or
three days! may as we'll confess it was
absolutely sick with desolation. L cried my
eyes nearly blind whenever 1 was alone
and yet it went to my heart to see my nus
bands sad, troubled face whenever he
found me in distress. And he is good to
me-so very, uery good. For his sake l
have tried hard to overcome my sad, lonely
feelings. Yet at the thought of my dear
father, and of my past lite-so strangely
contrasted with this-they often oppress me-
I am beginning to feel better, however. /
think, by degrees, as / get to be more at
home, L shall grow contented ana even
happy here. Sias is truly devoted to me-
1t seems SO odd to me to call him by his
first name, but it is his wish, and try to
respect his wishes in everything.
MY past, now, seems like dream. Look
ing hack upon it, recalling the gayety and
excitement and insOucidnce OF 1t all. l 1eei
how happy | was, how entirely it suited
me. never minded the work-never. TO
me it was no hardship, but vivid delight.
Yet, perhaps, in all respects it may not have
been wholesome life. This idea never oc-
Cured to me until lately. But am getting
new ideas. Silas teaches me things l used
not to think about. l begin to feel that
have been, in some ways, very ignorant. L
shall try and learn of him, for he is as wise
as he is kind.
,SeDfeDaber 4M. I cannot overcome the
feeling that / ought to have Insisted upon
telling my husband all about myself, before
we ever married. It is true that l could not
find an opportunity, or at any rate, that it
would have been very difficult for me to do
so. After my first attempt, there was such
haste and confusion over my sudden mar
riage, so much to occupy my every moment,
that / was in constant tWirl. L could
scarcely even think. / seemed all through,
to beacting in obedience to some irresistible
force, without any volitiOn Of my own. l
had never, in my life before, felt sohelpless,
so carried along by circumstances-by my
fate. And now, since have been his wife,
I am really afraid to tell him. He is so
strict in his views, that it really frightens
me to think what the result of my confession
might be. do not think he would despise
me-he loves me too we'll for that but he
would certainly despise my former occupa-
ton. itwould hurt him to know thatI had
followed it-and l should be ashamed to
have him know it. No, cannot tell him
noc. 1t could do no good. 1t mig int put a
barrier between us, and make us both un-
happy. True, l am unhappy, as it is, IN
the thought of my concealment-lnt the 1eel-
ing that / have deceived him against my
will but why should distress him useless
r IF A n.