News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1885-09-17

tureu 10TH lay WlUn claSpeu MINUS anu
closed eyes. On that of Sir Percival
Percy knelt mailed warrior at prayer,
Not more cold and silent and at rest
were these than had been the love that
should have warmed that good life; and
still, with closed eyes love slumbered 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 win
dows 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 her:
eff you should like reading, / have a
tolerable library; and, though 1 am an
old bachelor, my housekeeper, Mrs.
Pratt, is a very good old woman, and
will do her best to oblige 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, and he looked after
| her.
''I should have liked so very much to
| kiss her." he said to himself.
1t 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
ages, and his Office, gave them privileges
else impossible in decorous England.
Lettice could walk and talk with that
old curate as much as she choose, and
she choose to do it great deal. The
library was an excuse, and there was the
garden, and what more proper than that
she could 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
taste 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
forever. Then he could be happy. But
this could not be. Young, sweet, beau
tiful, 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.
The lines that had not come into his
face yet began to creep into it now. And
there were no prayers in his prayer-book
like those worldless ones that went up to
heaven in the silent midnight, when from
his window he had watched the light go
out in hers-prayers for patience, pray
ers for peace-the patience and the peace
that seemed to his sore heart to have fled
his life for ever.
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 oven shed tears sometimes, Won
dering how she had offended him. So,
in the end they saw little of each other,
and thought a great deal.
| Is there anything strange in the fact
that we know nothing of the world be-
yond this, when this one is so dark to
us that we often cannot guess the
thoughts of one whose hand we hold j.;
when we often do not dream of love or
hate active and strong about US; when
if one does not speak to another of ten
derness CIR passion, it is buried in his
gravel To speak of his was the last
thing in the old curate's mind but his
heart gave a wild throb when one day he
heard that Lettice Lee was going home
to America.
"Would she go without bidding him
adeu?" he asked himself. ''Would it
not be better that she should2" 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 a blank of sermon
paper, thinking of no text except this
Love is strong as death, and jealous!
is as cool as the grave; and coming VI
to him, put out her little hand anC
said softly:
81 have come to bid you good-Dy, SIT
am going away"
He took the hand and arose and lee
her to seat, and then they sat quit
: silent for awhile. 1t was not right fo
an old heart to beat so fast, and he knew
1t. At Last he spoke:
81 am sorry. l knew that you mus
go, but l am very sorry"
She gave little start and looked full
into his eyes. What she saw there, tw
tears that quivered on the lashes, mad
! her put both her little pink palms upol
his arm.
"Sorry2' she said. ooh, are yo'
really sorry, sir? II thought you di'
,, not like me any more-that l bore yo
with my chatter; and so kept away.
: Two hands upon his arm, two blu
eyes fixed on his own, sweet quiverln!
red mouth parted with such childis
sweetness you wonder that the ma
: forgot that he was an old curate?
People are really never old, you know
a only this feshly dwelling of theirs de
s Gays, not the heart-the soul. He fol
b gets his gray hairs and his fifty-five yeal
o of life, and in moment he stood trans
n figured before her. flushed with youth
d color, bright with loves passion.
e "Oh, my little girl, my little girlp' b
V cried. could you not see? did you nc
!, know2 Sorryl All! when you leave II
h you take my life with you. /, who nevt
:, loved any one before, love you madl!
;, My little one, my darling!"
And then it passed. The truth cam
A to him. He turned from her; his faC
o grew gray. He flung himself into
# chair and hid his face
i "Good-by," he faltered. "Forg'
-e what the foolish old man has said, an
a don't think too i'll of him."
N He did not look at her, but he hear
= the rustle of her dress unon the foo
, He felt her close to him He knew tn
N she knelt down beside him, and aga
70 the little hal touched his arm.
!. "Good by" he faltered.
1s Then he heard her sobbing and be-
! over her.
at ''My child, do you weep for the o
O. MANI" he said ''You weep, and do N
/; laugh. God bless you"
n, And a choked voice answered.
h, 81 cry because am so happy. d
m not want to go away. | want to st
es with you. People that are nice a
an always nice, even if they are old. on
er wonder you could like little thing Ii
ce me-so silly and so young-but / g
- very glad You do"
IS And then he opened his arms and s
We crept close to his breast, and he he
d. her there; and whatever people sa
N, when the banns were published in A
berly church, it was no sacrifice;
ad within that old breast and that you
e. one dwelt unaccountably the twin sol
ke whose bodies should have been of
ad same age, and no two married peol
DIS ever loved more fondly than the cur'
and his oirl wife