Springfield globe-republic. (Springfield, Ohio) 1884-1887, 1885-01-25
Wny did YOU not tell mep"

part, and would set you free II posi-
ble But not now, Gilbert; you will
never get rid of me now"
Her thoughts had been the same as
mine. No wonder had misunderstood
her. The idea of her waiting to see if ]
loved her seemed so preposterous!
"You would have saved me days Of
grief if l had known you cared for me.
Why did you take of the rings, Paul
ine?"
"Day after day passed and you said
nothing. Then took them off They
have been next my heart ever since.
waiting for you to give back when you
chose"
l kissed the hand on which they shone.
"Then all is clear to you now, my own
wife?"
Not quite all. but enough. The
truth, the love, the devotion-all this.
my husband. can remember-all this
will repay, if my love can do it-''
Our wooing may close with these
wOrds-let all the rest be sacred. The
trees around alone know what passed
between us, as their kindly shade fell
on us where we sat and interchanged
our words of love whilst hour after
hour of our second and real wedding
day slipped by. At last we rose, but
fingered yet awhile, as though 10th to
leave the spot where happiness had
come to us. We looked round once
more and bid farewell to hill and valley
and stream; We gazed long in each 9TH
ers's eyes, our lips met in passionate
kiss: then we went forth together to the
world and the new sweet life awaiting
US.
We walked as in dream, from which
we were only recalled by the sight Of
houses and people.
"Pauliner' l whispered, ''can you
leave this place tonight We will 60
to London"
And afterwardP" she asked, visit
fully.
Can you ask me3 To Italy, of
course"
She thanked me with look and pres
sure of the hand. We were now at her
home. She left me, passing Priscilla,
whose honest eyes were now glowering
at me. Priscilla had called me fool;
must be revenged.
Priscilla" l said. gravely, II am
going by this evenings coach. will
write when l get to London"
had my revenge in full. The good
old soul almost fell weeping at my feet.
..Oh, Master Gilbert, don tee, don tee
90, sir! That poor young lady, Miss
Pauline, what will she doe She loves
the very ground you tread upon"
had bargained for reproaches, not
af lsnI 1aiI hon nl
upon her shoulder.
But Priscilla, Miss Pauline-Mrs.
Vaughan, my wife, goes with me-"
Priscilla's tears came more copiously
than before, but they were tears of Joy.
Ten days later and Pauline stood be-
side her brothers grave. By her own
wish she visited it alone. WAITED at
the gate of the cemetery until she re-
joined me. Her face was very pale. her
eyes showed traces Of many tears, but sha
smiled as she met my anxious glance.
Gilbert, my husband" she said
ii have wept, but now l smile. The
past is past. Let its darkness be dis
persed by the brightness of the present
and the promise of the future. Let the
love bore my brother be carried into
the greater love l give my husband.
Let us turn our backs on the dark shad-
ows and begin our lives"
Have more to tell? One thing only.
Years afterward 1 was in Paris. Inc
great war had been fought out to the
bitter end. Traces of the conflict be-
tween the two races had almost van
ished, but those of the second and inter
necine contest were visible everywhere.
The Gaul himself had destroyed what
the Teuton spared. The Tuileries, with
sightless. empty eyes, gazed sadly to-
ward the Place de Ia ConcOrde, where
stood tho statues Of the fair lost prov
inces. The Vendome column lay pros
trate. The fair city was charred and
blackened by the incendiary torches of
her own sons; but the flames had been
| some time extinguished and ample re-
venge had been taken. A gay young
officer, friend of mine, took me to see
military prison. We were chatting
and smoking in the open air when a
small body Of soldiers appeared. They
were escorting three men, who walked
with fettered hands and bowed heads.
"Who are theyf l asked.
"Blackguard Communists"
where are they taking them?"
The Frenchman shrugged his shoul-
ders. .Where they ought all to be
taken-to be shot, the brutes!''
Brutes or not, three men who have
but minute to live must be objects of
interest if not sympathy. Hooked close
| ly at them as they passed us. One of
them raised his head and stared me in
the face. 1t was Macari!
l started as his eyes met mine, but l
am not ashamed to say the movement
was caused by no feeling of compassion.
Ceneri. in spite of myself, l pitied. and
would have aided had it been possible,
but this ruffian, liar and traitor should
have gone to his doom even if / could
nave saved him by lifting finger. He
uad passed long ago out of my life, but
my blood still boiled when l thought of
aim and his crimes. l knew not how
| he had lived since last saw him-knew
not whom or how many he had be-
trayed; but if Justice had been slow in
claiming him. her sword had at last
| reached him and his end was close at
| 1and.
he hHeN Lc-PSihaPS h0 euouShe
had come there to gloat over his pun
ishment A look of bitter hate crossed
his face. He stopped and cursed me.
The guard forced him on. He turned
his head and cursed me until one of the
soldiers smote him in the mouth. The
action may have been cruel, but there
| was little mercy shown to Communists
in those days. The guard and their
prisoners turned round an angle of the
building.
Shall we see the endp" said my
friend, Tipping the ash off his cigar.
mo. thank you"
But we heard it. In ten minutes the
rattle of rises sounded, and l knew
that the last and guiltiest of Anthony
March's murderers had found his de-
serts.
remembered my promise to Ceneri.
With great trouble l managed to get a
message sent which / believed would
reach him. Six months afterward q
la,,or sta with biarnrlyphiaal nnSt-