Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1885-11-05
GRAZING MICHIGAN, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER s. 1855

at hODerL moore, anu Wcut On W tuo hOupo
chuckllng over the interrupted "sparkin'
that he told his mother about, as he sat on
the doorstep munching bread and butter.
Catherine Warheld took up the letters and
read them through. One was from her
| father, telling her that John Marsh had asked
permission to propose marriage to her.
II have given my approval, and trust you
understand the advantages of such a mar
| riage too well to hesitate I'm giving favora-
BILE answer to his proposal" he wrote.
| The other was from John Marsh, asking
her TO be his wife. "Your father tells me
| you are coming home soon," he wrote
| toward the end of his letter. "1f you accept
my proposal / will come out and stay day
| or two with you, and accompany you nome.
| IL may be an oil mans whim to want to
have the woman he is TO marry all 10 himself
| at first, but / know that could not be IL
/ waited to see you here, and think you will
not refuse me the pleasure qualification
of this whim, If you choose to call 1t such,
| would give me"
Catherine Warheld's lip curled little with
contempt as she read this. To marry an old
| man was bad enough; a sentimental old man
was worse. "This letter is from tho man
1 am to marry she said. suddenly, as one
who stands on a precipice dreuding a leap he
knows he must make, and all ut once gathers
his courage and makes the fatal plunge. she
did not look at him as she said 1t. Her face
was pale and her voice trembled, for the
words hurt her cruelty, because 1t was re-
entess putting away OF the only real love
| her life had ever known.
| He heard her with such look on his face
| as men wear when they see the woman they
| had rtckoned above all other women in
honor and truth and true womanliness
stripped OF all disguise and proved to be OF
common cay. The light that had been I'm
his eyes as he told her OF his love had faded
out, and there was pain, and anger, and sur
prise there.
"why did you not tell m. of this before?"
he asked, ut last. "If had known"
She did not answer. Something in his face
made her ashamed OF herself. She felt her
littleness, her unworthiness, her cruelty.
For the pleasure II had given her, she had
deceived this man and wrung his heart as
| nothing but the discovery of womans
| faithlessness can wiring IL. 1t was no less
| deceit because she loved him.
~ have been mistaken, he said at last,
| rising to his feet. She knew that he meant
he had been mistaken in his estimate OF her
rather than In his feelings toward her. He
had thought her too true to trihe with
| mans love. Knowing how she had triied
with his, what must be his opinion OF her?
Her face flushed hotly with shame at the
| thought.
"If you had been frank and truthful with
me two months ago IL would have been bet
ter for both OF us, he said. "1J would have
saved me some pain and disappointment.
However, may get over that in time, But
| it will take gool deal TO make me forget
| how utterly unworthy you are of the love
] have given you. i shall not lose my faith in
women because of one woman's faithless-
ness for / believe-I know-there are true
women, but it is lard to think any woman
! could deceive a man as you have DONE
He turned and walked away, his face very
| white and stern.
She saw him going from her, and the love
she felt for him rose up in arms against the
decision she had made. She felt wild inn
| pulse to cry out to call him back. But she
did not give way to 1t. SEo felt that he
would not come If she call till doomsday.
Such men do not forget so grievous an in
| jury in a moment.
~ ought 10 have told him." she said, "but
| II could not. IL was 80 sweet to go on
dreaming. But the dream is over at last,
| and we must wake up 10 the truth"
She turned away from the spot where they
had passed so many pleasant hours together,
and went back through the orchard TO the
old gray farmhouse.
IF John Marsh's gold could only buy love
like this l have rejected" she cried, as she
| paused for Il moment on the crest of the hill
| to look down tho road Robert Moore had
taken. 'If-if! Life is full of ifs, and they
set everything wrong. wonder IL anything
ever sets things rightF'
Yes: truth and honor right oil wrongs,
| sooner or later, but IL we ignore them the
skein OF life gets into such a tangle that our
| hands can never straighten its many threads.
Three days later John Marsh came to visit
| the woman whose hand had been purchased
| by his gold. Robert Moore saw HIM driving
past with Miss Warfield, and smiled at the
contrast between them, she in the prime of
womanhood; he bent. half-decrepit old
| man, trying to cheat himself into the belief
that the possession of such II beautiful
woman was like renewal of youth. Miss
4 Warheld saw the lover she had rejected, and
| turned her face away, with flush, that was
half-annoyance. half-shame, on 1t. When
| they had passed him, and her gaze wandered
back to the old man at her side, the look be-
| came one of pain. The thought of being his
| wife was repulsve, She felt that her life
would Le nothing but slavery. But the
/ fetter she wore would be a golden one.
In few da,s they went back 10 the city,
and Robert Moore told himself that this
| woman had passed out of his lie forever.
| Their paths would never meet again.
Though his hisdsappointmenth had been great,
| he had no idea OF giving up to 1t meekly.
! He would go TO work In earnest and out
! grow it.
| And he did go 10 work in earnest. He had
| intended to find something TO do in the. city
where Miss warneld lived, because that
| would bring him near her. But after he had
| found out the mistake he had made, he de-
termined 10 so elsewhere, and no set his face
] Westward. He read of the marriage of Miss
! Warield to John Marsh, the millionaire,
shortly after he had settled down TO his new
work, and he could not help feeling q thrill
of pity for the woman who had sold herself
| for sod.
| Not long uIter tnaJ ne feAu tnuJ JOnn
Marsh and his wife had gone TO Europe
Then, for months, he heard nothing about
them, and ne was beginning to forget their
| existence, when he read that the old man
had been stricken with paralysis, and phys-
clans had forbidden his removal from the lit
tie Swiss village i'm which the attack oc-
Cured. He must wait there for death, or
recovery.
lie thought of what her life must be now.
| If she had loved the old man, her watching
and waiting by his sick-bed would have had
| an element OF mournful pleasure In IL. But
| when what we do is done from sense of
| duty merely, or a fear of what the world will
say IL we neglect it, and love is lacking, such
| a life as he knew hers must be is u dreary
one. He could not help wondering what her
chcice would be now, If IL were in her power
to make IL again.
After that he read no more about them
| but he heard from various sources that the
| life of waiting for some change to come to
| the old man went on the same from month TO
month. He lay between life and death, help
| lesl, peevish, exactng, and requiring OF his
| wife the obedience a slave Is expected to
give. He wondered more than onco IL the
fetter pressed more lightly now because 1t
was q golden one.
many changes in their passage. They opened
oftened dreamed of. The thriving Western
city in which he had cast his lot wanted
some one to represent IL at Washington, who
had in him the ability TO make the spirit OF
| Western enterpr sc and ideas felt. such man
! it believed Robert Moore TO be, and believing
that, it decided that he should be its repre-
| sentative ut the Capitol, and so it came