The Wellington enterprise. [volume] (Wellington, Ohio) 1867-188?, 1885-05-20

who or why; but they may try it in vain.
| have tried to think so; but, though l
think it, can't feel it, do what will.
I know that Stephen Harlow is true to
me-"
She said 1t so simply that he almost
thought her crazed. But though he
failed that time, simply through sheer
amazement and speechless rage at hav-
ing read a woman so i'll, it was not
more than once that Enoch Marrish
ever failed.
He did not come near Legs Croft for
another day. But when he did, it was
so humbly and wofully that Patience
could not help forgiving him; and there
fore trying to make him feel that her
seeming ingrattude was not her fault,
but her misfortune. For though moi
even Legs Croft, or life, or aught on
earth, was worth a breach of faith, and
though she never doubted her father,
with his pride of blood and honesty,
would think the same, still she had been
made miserable and remorseful, and
there was none lett on whom she could
lean. Her father needed himself all the
support she could give him; while
Enoch Marrish had ceased to be only
her friend, and he who is more than a
friend is none.
That his offer had amazed her is to
say little, indeed. 1t had alarmed her
well-nigh as much as its preface. No
sign came of the threatened foreclosure;
but Enoch's courtship, after its now
understood fashion, still went on. In
stead Of going off in huff, he doubled
his attentions to her slightest wishes,
guessing them unspoken, and his care
of the farm. 1t was miserable. He was
either, elderly~and uncouth as he was,
too true lover to treat harshly, or else
one of those stupid lovers who can not
understand, much less take, a mo"
II she could only be sure he had given
her up it would have been some COM
fort. But somehow he never allowed
her to feel sure of this, although she
hoped 1t now and then. She knew a
good deal of his nature by this time.
and something for nothing was not his
way. His constant service reminded her
of the service of Jacob for Rachel. II
he really cared for her so much, she
ought to be, at least, grateful; and yet
she dared not show gratitude, out OF
dread that he should take the least
sign for more, and ask her again.
But, late one afternoon, Just before
harvest, when Enoch was about the
cows, the blacksmith's lad came with o
letter which had no doubt deeply ex-
ercised the minds of the shop and forge;
for 1t was an uncomfortable Official
looking letter, such as had never been
seen in those parts before, with a big
red seal, and frank in the corner. 1t
was addressed TO her father. As
Patience took it from the lad, and saw
its look, it misgave her that this might
be the foreclosure the cloud which had
been hanging over their heads for so
long without bursting that it seemed
like to blow by. What is there about
letters that we can tell by their touch
whether what they have to say is good
or illP Patience knew that this had
brought i'll news, and what could it be
but the summons 10 surrender house
and farm9
what shall doP" asked she.
Enoch looked at the letter; and, truth
to tell, it puzzled him too. But, as he
had his own reasons for knowing that
it has nothing to do with his own mort
gage, he did not catch the drift Of her
mind, and so failed to use It, at
doesn't look to me of much Odds" said
he. "Most like about taxes. Letters
like that mostly are"
She could not bring herself to think
1t only about taxes. But meanwhile
her father, whose pay-room, where he
sat great deal, overlooked the gate,
had seen the blacksmith's boy come up
and came into the dairy to see what he
had been bringing Patience watched
him anxiously as he broke the SEAL he
seemed impatient, she thought, but to
her momentary relief, not alarmed.
But little was she prepared for what
followed.
He dropped the letter and reeled
heavily against the wall "0h, Dick,
Dick, my boy Dick! I've killed my own
boyr'
Patience ran to his side in terror,
just in time TO keep him from falling
too heavily to the ground. Enoch
picked up the letter, and his heart posi-
lively beat within him; for once in his
life he felt something like joy.
Sergeant Richard Blackthorn, Of such
a regiment had been killed in Spain!
And Enoch Marrish, and none but he,
knew that Sergeant Richard Blackthorn
was his rival, Stephen Harlow. With
out being murderer in act, he had
reaped all the fruits of murder. A mere
lie became triile when put in COM
pai ison with the greater sin. His con-
science, for he Kept one, thawed and
glowed He blessed the French with
all his heart and soul.
But II was not for him to say even the
smallest OF words Just then. He laid the
letter on the table among the cream
pans and crept away quietly, leaving
the father and daughter to themselves,
went home, and meditated what his
next step should be.
He could not explain that Richard
Blackthorn, reported dead, was not
Richard Blackthorn, but Stephen Har-
low That could not possibly be made
clear, even with the help Of thousand
lies, without risking betrayal Of how the
names had come TO be mixed-and he
was too wise man to tell needless
lie. Besides, what harm would come
Of leaving things as they seemedP Dick
Blackthorn was no good TO anyDody,