Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1885-05-13
THE DEATH -TR0TH.

|
Young and fair-haired lieutenant of the
forty-second regiment of the Highland bri-
ga5e.
lie yielded to his request. The pipes
were lit, and soon they passed from lighter
topics to one Of deeper interest, when Will
| frid told story to his friend of a romantic
first love, which had made of his hard life
in the Crimea tender, sweet idyl.
sFYou have not told me her name," said
Ainslie
sit is Constance -
"And your MARRIAGES. the day fixed?'
mo such Iuckp' calculated Wlfrid.
| 'sWe should have to wait some years for
nv promotion. But" continued he, with
an embarrassed laugh, cit is rather prema-
ture to talk of wedding when my fate is
not yet decided. 1 think she loves me,
though never asked her the question until
/ came to the Crimea."
aOh, you are not engaged?'
mo. l expect to get her letter tomor-
roW-the letter which will tell me all
Ainslie, if it comes too late, will you lay it
T.0pehea upon my breast and bury it With
| fl1e9'' $50 &c = :
| The captain turned his dark eyes affec-
| tionately on his comrades face, as he re-
sponded:
'Tf it comes TO that, yes; but, old fellow,
don't be down in the mouth; hope for bet
ter things.
The battle was over. A victory was
gained for England; but at what a cost.
With unavailing sorrow in his heart. Paul
Ainslie gazed on the scene, for his errand
there was sad one. He came to seek
among the slain the body of his friend, who
had fallen. He found the still form. He
looked down on the face last seen so bright
with life, and the tears gathered slowly in
his dark eyes. He held an unopened letter
which had just reached tne camp. 1t was
addressed to Lieut.. Denver, in woman's
writing.
Perchance it contained the words of love
which had been so eagerly desired yester-
day. With deep sigh, Paul laid the letter
on the young officers breast; and thus, with
his beloved's words close to the puseless
heart, Wllfrid Denver was laid to rest in
his rude grave.
Five years after the Crmean war is over,
Paul Ainsie mingles with the crowd at a
fashionable ball in the height of the Lon
don season. Such gay assemblies are not
much to his taste, but he is drawn to this
gathering because the idol of his heart is
amongst the guests. Constance Beaumont
is singularly beautiful. Paul has been
dancing with her. The delight of her pres
ence overwhelms him. Bending, until
their eyes meet, he whispers, "Come with
me.'
In the cool, dimly-lighted conservatory,
with the splash of falling water mingled
with the dreamy strains of music, he asks
her one low. earnest question, Constance,
will you be my own?" Her heart answers
him. They are quite alone, and even as
she sighs tremulously, he has her in his
arms, close against his throbbirg heart.
| She draws away from his touch with a
shudder, excla1ming, "Paul! Paul! you
must not love me! Seek not to unite your
life with mine, for the shadow of death is
| on my path"
| Paul smiles superior to her fears. "My
darling, if you love me l will never relin-
quish you. Death comes to all loves, but
it will not fall sooner on either of us be-
| cause those lives are one," he says.
1t is Paul Ainslie's wedding day, the sun
| light streams through the stained-glass
windows casting gorgeous tints on the
church floor. The ceremony begins, the
solemn words are spoken. Paul stretching
forth his hands to plight their troth while
! Constance's sight fingers flutter into his
palm He is about to press them in a
warm clasp. when an icy hand steels in be-
tween and shadowy form stands besides
the bride. Her arm falls to her side An
awful palor comes upon her face.
With lips apart, with eyes distended in
horror, she confronts the phantom; then
with one long, wild cry-''Wilfrid! Will
frid1'-she falls like stone into Paul's
| arms.
| The bridal guests crowd round her, there
is hum Of voices, whispered murmur of
sounds, but Constance knows nothing, sees
nothing. White and still, with closed eye
lids like the dead, she remains, and thus he
bears her from the church. In the same
state she is borne from the carriage and
laid upon her bed Her lovers heart seems
breaking. He has tried all restoratives IN
vain. He throws himself upon his knees
beside the couch, and olasping her inani-
mate form to his throbbing heart. in par
oxism of despair, he means, ''Oh, Con-
stance, my beloved, come back to life and
mer'
AS if in answer to his prayers, she moves.
her dark eyes opening upon him with a
| wild gaze of fear; then there comes pas
sionate outburst of weeping, which shakes
her from head to foot.
Rising from the couch, she totters to-
ward him, stretching out her arms. "Take
me, Paul, my love, for the last, last timep'
she cries, in voice quivering with pain.
He draws her to his heart; he holds her
there as though nothing shall again sever
them, and thus she tells him the story of
her life.
Scarcely has she spoken ere Paul knows
their doom is sealed; that phantom form is
before him; that icy grasp seems to freeze
his blood with nameless horror. She has
loved Wilfrid Denver The letter he had
laid on the young oiiicer's cold breast con-
| tanned her accl piance of his offered hand.
When the news of his death reached her
she had resolved to live unwedded for his
sake; but after years had passed Paul's
devoted love won her heart; and, in spite
of warning presentiment, she accepted
him.
Constance" cries Paul." edo you Sc
riously mean that this phantom is to sever
us?'
She interrupted him. dearest. look
here" Taking from her desk folded pa
per, she puts it into his hands. 1t is Will
frid Denver's last letter. On the first page
are traced these words
SIT may be that ere / receive your an-
swer-the answer which will bring Joy or
desolation-I shall be lying dead upon the
battlefield. Yet should that be nv fate, l be-
lisVe that even in death I shall know if you
return my love. And, my darling, 1 fear
that should another claim your trOth in af-
| ter years, shall rise even from my grave
to stand between you.''
"You see,' Constance says, sadly, evil
frid keeps his word. l pledged myself to
him; he claims that troth in DEATH Paul,
say farewell. shall never be your wife.
am promised to the deadr'
| She speaks the words with a mournful
solemnity, her lips quivering, her eyes filled
| with tears.
Paul strives wildly to change this decis-
ion, but IN vain. He finds it impossible to
dissuade her from the fixed idea that she is
doomed never to marry.
At last they part-despairing love in both
their hearts-part, to see each others face
no more.
What did the Malone Readiuster party
say? That they would kill the cut-worm of
the treasury. Did they not denounce every
man who would cripple the State? Now
this organ [ Valley Vuginidn] says it is
right to pay in coupons, because the law
| says so. Why, then, is it not right to paw