Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1885-03-05

run through all ages of the world, as long
as there are young hearts to throb to it's
teachings, and young eyes to look into each
other and read its secrets there.
1t seemed at first to Elizabeth happy
chance that she so often met Harry now
when she went on her errands, but after a
little she began to find that it was not chance,
but design that brought these meetings.
With this discovery came the fear that they
were doing wrong, and her conscience took
alarm. She chose different direction for
her walk, and was thus enabled to avoid
him for several days, but somehow her sue
cess did not make her any happier. Re-
turning slowly homeWard on one of these
occasions, she spied the familiar figure ad-
vancing towards her and her heart gave a
bound of joy.
"Where haze you been all this time?" he
cried, pressing her little hand. 81 have not
seen you for whole week-1 feared you
were i'll"
'No-I have been out every day as usual"
she replied.
''How strange! but you have not gone at
the usual time, or else you chose different
way. 1 waited for you regularly, and this
afternoon, just by accident, l took this
street."
Elizabeth's face burned, but she was si-
lent. She could not bear to tell him that she
had purposely avoided him. At last in a
tremulous tone, she ventured to say
81 do not think it is right for you to wait
for me, or to try to meet me so often"
"Why not?" he impetuously exclaimed.
"What is there wrong in my walking lit
tie way with you, every day? Are we not
friends?"
"Yes-but-my father and mother do not
know it, and they might be displeased."
"Would they be displeased to think that
was your friend?"
Elizabeth was silent.
eff it would make matters easier," he
went on, 81 would call at your house. do
you think I might call?"
"Oh ~ cried Elizabeth, with involuntary
dismay. She struggled with herself for
moment, and then said, almost tearfully-
II suppose you will think me very rude,
nd-and-very strange-not to want you
to come-but you know my parents are diff
ferent from the people you know. They
we-are Quakers, as people. call US; that is,
we belong to the society of Friends. And
they are very strict, and very particular in
their ideas. They are not like Helen's
father and mother. They would not eX-
pect young gentlemen to call at the house
to see me. 1t would not suit their no.
ticns of what is right. l am obliged to
tell you all this, to excuse myself-and-I
hope you are not angry?"
Poor little Lisbeth! She ran through her
artless apology with flushed cheeks and
stammering tongue, ending with one brief
glance of piteous appeal, that certainly
would have disarmed his anger if he had
felt any. His answer was totally uneX-
pected.
II could not be angry with you, or any
one belonging to you-Eliza6eth :" chow
ho fhe, StRapanSl,1-on1
here he bent low that he might whisper the
gentle words-"because I love you, and l
want you to promise to be my wife,"
The ground seemed to be giving way be-
meath Elizabeth's feet; she thought for a
moment that she must be dreaming. She
clasped her hands tightly together, and
walked on quickly, her heart beating al
most to suffOcation. She could not find a
word to say.
"There, now, it is you who are angry" he
said, after waiting in vain for her to speak
presumptuous-Ik know have no right"
"It isn't that" she broke in, desperately
II am not offended"
"Then 81 ,ciu you try, y, and care for me, Eliza
beth? Just q little?"
"It would be no use," she murmured-
"What would be no use ?"-your caring
for me? Oh you can't think how happy
it would make me! Tell me, do you love
me little-already? l entreat you to tell
me-"
eyes," faltered Elizabeth, whose princi-
Piles forbade her telling an untruth, or even
prevaricating, II believe! do. But we
must not think about it at ALL"
"Not think about it at all! Why, think
must we not think about it, if we both
care?"
"Because--my father-oh, don't you see :?
Why he doesn't even know you! How
could dare to tell him that"
"Ofc0urse! that just proves that | must
90 to your house, to let him know me-he
won't consent to your marrying person he
does not know. 1t is absolutely necessary
now that we should become acquainted.
Don't you see?"
They had reached the corner Of the square
where Elizabeth lived; and she stopped,
looking eager to escape.
you must 90 now" she said, drawing a
long breath.
ut seems so hard that am always sent
off in this way!" he rejoined. "But mind,
it is only for this time. After this l mean
to come home with you. You will let me,
won't you?"
"Please co." she entreated, with an ap-
prehensive glance around. "All this seems
dreadfully wrong"
"It isn't wrong at all! If we love each
other, why is it wrong? 1t won't be wrong
when your father knows me. Pm not a bit
afraid of him, Elizabeth. Is he so very Sc
we're? ,"
ale is not severe at ALL" she answered
quickly. "He is very good and kind, and
loves me dearly. Only, of course, he never
expected anything like this"
"Well, it will be all right will make it
all right. So long as you love me, am not
afraid of anything"
With this assurance, and a bright conf
dent glance, he left her, and she pursued her
way home, palpitating with the thought of
her secret-her beautiful, yet terrible secret,
that weighed so like guilty burden on her
heart. She went first to her own room to
compose herselfb before meeting her parents;
but, try as she would, she could not Danish
the deep flush that still dyed her cheeks.
She bathed her face and smOothed her hair,
and then went down stairs, trying to wear
an unconcernedslOOk.
Her father and mother were in the parlOr,
waiting for her. The former looked at her
sternly, the latter with a frightened and
deprecatng air. She felt, in an instant, that
some discovery had been made, and stood
still before them, trembling.
"Elizabeth," began Reuben; then paused
abruptly.
"Do thee speak to her." he hurriedly con-
tinued, addressing his wife. ~ cannot"