The Penn's Grove record., 1885-11-07

Va oCoA AAAos 10 bAcN
ALP" said Mr.. Haywood.-some foolisl
tittle-tattle, gossip, scandal2 I'll tel
you how you may silence it all; and in
deed that was my object in coming TO
night. You know my position, yol
know something of my character, anC
you have shown so much of interest il
me that you have offered to provide m,
with a wife. Mrs. Burnham, will 20,
be that wife yourself? You promises
to find me one with whom 1 should b
satisfied, then look no further, 10
search far or wide you will never fine
one that will please me half so well a
yourself.n
"Mr. Harwood,' said Mrs. Burnhan
all in a tremble with surprise and emo
tion, .'surely you forget that / am
married woman"
mo, l do not forget" said he; ''bu
l remember also that your husband ha
abandoned you for eighteen years; thai
you don't know whether he is alive o.
dead, and that in any case he is as mucl
dead to you as il you had seen hin
buried"
True. MI. Harwood," said Mrs
Burnliam; s'but, il he does live he il
still my husband; and il he were tt
come home tomorrow, could / den,
him2n
Eyes," replied Mr.. Harwood, ''hi'
long silence and neglect have divorced
you from him as thoroughly as the Di-
vorce Court could do"
II swore to be trueto him until death
parted u.s." said Mrs. Burnham, trying
to quell her inclination to accept Mr.
Harwood's views; land how do l know
that he IS dead2"
''Ah, Mrs, Burnham, don't torture
me with excuses" said he. "Tell Inc
at once If such is the case, that you
don't care for me,--that you don't think
you can learn to care for me; but don't
seek excuses. Your husband is dead,
and binds you no longer"
''If l knew-lf 1 only knew it'll" she
exclaimed, despairingly. "But no. !
have nc right even to listen to your adj
dresses.n
"Then you don't care for me2" said
he, suddenly dropping his voice to a
responding tone. '"That's the truth of
it. You cannot like me. / have been
nourishlng a foolish hope, which turns
into a dreadful disappointment; and !
suppose l may return to my old, rowing
solitary life, instead of obtaining a wife
and a home."
"You mistake me, Mr.. Harwood,"
said Mrs. Durham, in a faltering voice
81 respect you'll like you more even
than l should wish you to know,-more
even than 1 had known myself. l wish
1 had never seen you, or that you had
thought of any one before me-"
"Then tell me, Mrs. Burnham," said
Mr.. HARDWOOD, earnestly, "do you still
feel any affection for this husband of
yours that has left you all these years?
Tell me, does any Of this feeling still
linger with you, and is that your reason
for refusing me?"
"Mr. HARDWOOD" she replied. EN-
eighteen years the warmest affections
time to cool. l loved my husband
when he left me. but for many a year l
have been accustomed to look upon him
as dead-to me, at any rate"
'.And you have quite forgotten imp"
he asked.
II have forgotten him." she replied.
There was a slight pause, and then
MI. HARDWOOD said: "Tell me, Mrs.
that you don't like me and
/ will be satisfied"
II can't say that Mr.. HARDWOOD, - she
replied; II can't say it, and yet my un-
fortunate position prevents me from
anything else."
"Then you reject me-" he said; 'you
cast me out upon the world again, af-
ter | had hoped for a happy home here.
DO you refuse me positively"
"Mr. Harwood," she said, 81 beg Of
you, don't press these questions on me.
If you only knew how much I liked
you, and how painful it is, yet how
necessary"
"Ah, no." said he, his voice sinking
to one of soft entreaty al he took her
hand in his and gazed earnestly in her
face, ''you will try and care for me a
little; you won't condemn me to a life
long solitude; you will throw away all
scruples for my sake. Dearest Mary
will you have me?"
AS he said this, he still looked ear.
IN her face.
MI. Harwood's last words had a sin
gular anu startling effecton Mrs. Burn
ham. she disengaged her hand, and
drew back, looking a thin with a strange
and fixed expression, losing all the color
in her cheeks. Something in the words
something in the voice, in the look, in
the attitude sent a violent thrill through
her, and she felt, as all have sometimes
felt, as if a long past and almost for
scene in her life were passing
cver aga1n-a mar standing before her
and saying, in tones which yibrated on
her memory, Dearest Mary, will you
have me?"
Mr.. HARDWOOD observed the effect his
words had produced, and was almost
as much agitated himself.
Mrs. Burnham," he continued, in
rapid and excited tones, .'your husband
when he left you, made a vow that he
never would come back unless he were
Altered"
Before he could proceed any further,
Mrs. Burnham interrupted him with a
loud exclamation.
"Franki" she almost shrieked, gazing
at HIM with a pale face and a frighten-
ed look, ssyou are my husbandi"
With a fash Of pleasure in his face
he sprang up, and exclalmlng, "Maryg'
her in his arms and clasped her
to his breast.
A few moments passed in sobs, bro
ken EXPLANATIONS, and inarticulate
words, and then they sat down side by
side at the window, and gave u FREQ
course to the tears that flowed. He
sat with his arm round his wife's waist
and his head leaning on her shoulder,
and a feeling of repose, after all his
and wanderings, came over him
like that Of a wearied child in itsmoth-
er's arms.
1t was later when they were calm
enough for explanations. and then he
toll her how be had left the army at the
expiration of his time, and gone to
Australia with the resolution of max
ing money, redeeeming his character
for manliness and energy, and reclaim
ing his wife and home; how he had al
ways kept this object IN view, and how
his heart had only failed him when he
began to accomplish his purpose, and to
arrive nearer to that return which was
fine nhiaet af his lab0ra