Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1885-05-20

the reality of such change, but it
will be bitter waking"
did you love her SO much, Frank ?"
$50 much that | asked her uncle to
let me hope to win her love in return.
He told me she was such a mere child
| he did not wish her studies inter
rupted or her mind disturbed then,
| but that if [ loved her on my return
| he would not oppose my wOoing. |
was not a rich man then Lii, only
possessing what was an easy income
for single man, so | acquiesced in
| his decision. But the fortune | have
made was made for her, and the hope
of six years has been that of coming
home to find her free, and my little,
loving Ruth. She did love me, Lily7
| though she scarcely knew what love
meant. Well, F." and he sighed heavily,
81 had better have stayed here! /
kept my secret, thinking she would be
here last night to give me welcome
home; but you know now why my
heart was not at your party, Lii,
though | was SO glad to meet old
friends"
Mrs. Hale had no word to express
her deep sympathy. She pressed her
lips softly upon the handsome face,
Swallowed by her story, and Frank,
returning the mute caress, rose and left
thereon. 1t was agony to wait now
Better to have the final wrench and
60 on his way again without the lost
hope. He nerved himself to see a slat-
ternly woman in squalid house, and
by the time he reached the cottage to
| IxhI / cd h. II
have scarcely been surprised if he had
met Ruth in rags, selling matches or
begging pennies.
But the little cottage before which
he paused, at last, though sufficient
ly strong contrast to the Wexford
| place where he had last seen Ruth,
looked coy and homelilIe The gar
den was neatly kept and we'll filled
with late fall flowers An old woman
answered his knock, and ushered him
into tiny parlor, where the plain fur
nlture, cheap carpets and inexpensive
ornaments were in exquisite order,
and where a little cottage piano stood
! open In one corner. Before he had
waited a moment little figure in a
| pink dress and linen collar, with short
! glossy curls, and a fair sweet face
came into the room
He forgot his sister, the painful
story, everything but the fact that
Ruth was there. A graver, paler Ruth
than the one he had left, but the one
woman in the world who could stir his
heart to it's core.
Ruth ~ he cried, springing forward,
and then drawing back for there was
no welcome in the face he loved, only
a look OF suppressed pain.
Ruth, are you not glad to see me-"
he cried
''Glad!" she murmured, and then
the forced calmness broke down, and
the tears rained down her cheeks.
"Glad," she cried again ooh, Frank,
[ have lost every friend, and you will
go, too, when you know all!
Il have heard -" he began.
'EYOu have heard Of my stinginess,
my miserly habits-yes, I see you
have, and yet you are hereW
Because | am sure you have some
good reason for your conduct. Tell
me you are not changed, Ruthn'
IL scarcely know"
''When we parted" he said, ''you
know the hope in my heart, Ruth.
Tell me now if the love you promised
me is mine ?'
at is all yours, Frank, but"
and she drew back from the embrace
he would vegiven-''you may throw
it away when you hear my secret. I
have hidden it from every one but
you, but to-day I am freed from a
bondage OF six long years, and you
have right to hear what [ shall con-
tide to no one else. You will not be-
tray my sorroWful secret, Frank?"
Whatever trust you put in me
shall be sacred, Ruth" he answered
gravely. awed by a solemnity upon her
face and in her voice.
There was silence in the little par
Tor for some moments before the low,
sweet voice was heard again. Then,
steadily, without faltering, Ruth told
her story:
"When you left me, Frank, a care
less, happy child, the shadow of what
L must tell you now had not fallen
across my life. knew that [ was an
orphan, and that my mother died
away from her home and friends. But
| was still a mere baby when Uncle
Wexford came for me and took me
home. They called me Ruth Well
ford, and never thought of my right
to the name till my uncle died. Upon
his death-bed he told me the story of
my mothers life. She was married
against the wishes of her family to a
man whose only crime then was pow
erty. Her father refused to own her,
and her brother, many wears her
senior, was stern and bitter in his re-
sentiment.
"They were proud of their name,
their position and their wealth; and
they never forgave this only daughter
and sister that she left themfor man
Of obscure parentage and without
means to support her as they had
done. My father at that time was
clerk IN dry goods house in New York
with "a small salary.
II would not wrong my mother, but
my uncle said she grew peevish and
soured by the contact with poverty,
and constantly fretted for the luxuries
oh bod