Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1885-10-08

He checked the fancy, put it away with
a smile, and walked on among the
tombs.
On the tomb of Lady Margaret a
sculptured form lay with clasped hands
and closed eyes. On that of Sir Per-
cival Percy knelt mailed warrior at
i prayer. Not more cold and silent and
at rest were these that had been the love
that should have warmed that good life /;
and still, with closed eyes, love slum-
bered in the American girls breast.
They looked at Lady Margaret, at Sir
Percival, at the gray tablets in the floor,
and the white ones on the wall; at the
painted windows and at the strange old
Bible and the ancient prayer books; at
the fine carving on pulpit and pews.
They talked a great deal to each other,
and when at last, she left the church to
take her way homeward, he said to hers
'sIf you should feel like reading,
4
have tolerable library; and, though /
am an old bachelor, my housekeeper,
Mrs. Pratt, is very good old woman,
and will do her best to obl:ge you in
every way. This is my little home, you
know" and he pointed to the tiny house
that hid itself among the trees.
She thanked him and went her way,
full of new softness, s.ss he looked after
her.
81 should have liked SO very much to
kiss her," be said to himself.
Tt was the first time he had said it of
any woman even thus, and the blood
flew to his smooth brow as he spoke,
and he blamed himself very much, for
he knew it was no fatherly kiss Of which
he thought, did that old curate.
And so strange, sweet friendship grew
into existence. The difference in their
avss, and his Office, gavethem privileges
else impossible in decorous England.
Lcttice could walk and talk with that
old curate as much as she choose, and
she chose to do it great deal. The Ii
brary was en- excuse, and there was the
garden, and what more proper than that
she should go to evening prayer2
And the old curate began very soon to
watch for her; to count the moments of
her absence; and to know that that
which had never come to him in youth
had come to him in age; too late for him
to taste its sweetness, but not too late to
feel the bitterness that love must ever
bring when it is nothing but an unre-
Quilted longing.
Oh, if he could but keep her thus?
he said to himself. If only she could
love no one else. And they might be
friends fnrexer Then he could be hap
py But this could not be. Young,
sweet, beautiful, some one must claim
her soon. She would be the wife of
young man. She would love him, and
have for the old curate only kind
memory.
All that she knew was that he was
graver, and that he did not seem to like
her as well as he had done at first. This
troubled her, and at last moved her to
shun the old library and even the church,
and she even shed tears sometimes, won
dering how she had offended him. So,
in the end, they saw little Of each other,
and thought great deal; but his heart
gave wild throb when one day he
heard that Lettice Lee was going home
to America.
fWould she go without bidding him
adieu2" he asked himself. "Would it
not be better that she should2n But she
did not. She could not. He had been
too kind to her, even though he were
cold to her now. One morning she
came.
She opened the door Of his library as
he sat staring at blank of sermon paper,
thinking of no text, unless it were this:
Love is strong as death, and jealousy as
cruel as the grave; and coming up to
him, put out her little hand and said
softly:
81 have come to bid you good-by, sir.
am going away"
He took the hand and arose and led
her to seat, and then they sat quite
silent for while. 1t was not right for
an old heart to beat so fast, and he knew
it. At last he spoke:
81 am sorry. knew that you must
go, but / am very sorry"
She gave little start and looked full
into his eyes. What she saw there, two
tears that quivered on the lashes, made
her put both her little palms upon his
arm.
.'Sorryl" she said. 'soh, are you
really sorry, sir2 IL thought you did
not like me any more-that l bored
you with my chatter, and SO 1 kept
away"
Two hands upon his arm, two blue
eyes fixed upon his own, sweet quiyer-
ing red mouth parted with such child
ish sweetness-do you wonder that the
man forgot that he was an old curate2
People are really never old, you know;
only this icshly dwelling of theirs de-
Gays, not the heart-the soul. He for
got his gray hairs and his fifty five
years of life, and in moment he stood
almost transfgured before her, flushed
with youths color, bright with loves
passion.