The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1885-10-23

| ton. His daughter Ida, I'm told supports
them both by teaching, her father being a
| a good deal broken in body and mind since
| miles out, but was in town yesterday, and
getting on my in leaving the boat 1
| CHANGED to see her. She was dressed yery
plainly, and SO altered that I should not
have known her but for her beautiful hair
| and eyes. 1t seems to be the general i'm
preston that you broke your engagement
| on account OF her fathers loss of fortune,
| and knowing how farfrom the truth that is;
and believing that you were entirely igno-
| rant of the fact at the time you left town, I
thought would write and tell you OF it,
Your friend truly,
| JOHN AINsL1E."
Arthur was not long in reaching
town after reading this. He went di-
rectly to his rooms, finding on his desk
a small package and a letter.
''The letter came the day you left, !"
said the landlady, "and the package a
few days after; but as you left no di-
rections about sending anything L
kept them for you"
The package contained some letters
and a ring, whose costly diamond
sparkled like a dew-drop as it fell up
on the desk.
How well he remembered placing it
\ upon the small white hand, and all the
glowing hope that made his heart beat
so high!
By the date of the letter Arthur saw
that it was written tie morning after
his attempt to see the writer. 1t ran
as follows:
"MR. CARRoLL.-Owing to an unfortunate
| blunder, the servant did not give me the
right name when you called last evening.
Il have been thinking that perhaps was
| too hasty in the conclusions 1 drew from
! what you said at the last interview, and
which occurred at a time when | was feel
| ing wounded and humiliated by my altered
circumstances, and so more prone to take
offence.
II infer that you have also met with r.
verses, but ii you think any change in your
outward surroundings could make any
change in me you do me great wrong.
''1f there is anything to explain l shall be
glad to see or hear from you. Failing to
do so, will return the letters and the ring
you gave me, glad to know, ere it was too
| late, how worthless was the love you pro-
fessed to feel for
IDA HAMILTON"
The writer of the above letter sat
alone in the rustic school house to
which she had been confined many
| weary months, with but brief seasons
for rest and relaxation.
There had been q dull, throbbing
pain in her temples all day, making
| theshuffle of little feet on the bare floor
the murmut of childish voices almost
| uncomfortable.
But they had vanished now, and she
sat alone in the gathering twilight,
alone with her troubled thoughts and
mournful recollections. Never had
life seemed so wearisometo to her, so void
of all Joy and brightness.
The hardest thing to bear was the
consciousness that, in spite of his un-
worthiness, her thoughts would turn
with regretful tenderness to him who
had obtained too strong ahold on her
heart and life to be easily dislodged.
II would never have forsaken him
thus" she murmured through her fast
falling tears:
"When misfortune came, I would
have clung all the more closely to him."
Hearing step upon the threshold,
Ida raised her head and the object OF
her thoughts stood before her.
'sNay, do not turn away from me-"
he cried, as the bewildered girl shrank
from that eagerly extended hand. "I
have only just received the letter you
wrote to me so many weeks ago. Nor
did 1 know until recently of your
fathers failure and the consequent
charge in your circumstances"
'It was all occasioned by my own
stupid blunder," said Arthur, after the
mutual explanations that followed,
after the two were sitting together in
loving and happy converse.
"Oh, no. smiled Ida: "Icannot let
you take the blame. We were both in
error"