Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1886-05-24

in the little home far up among the
hills, no CLEAN of white dress thro'
the deepening gloom-no one to greet
him at the door. And when he en-
tered there was only brief note to
tell him of that which his heart had
feared and dreaded and fought
against through the long hours just
ended.
81 am going away" she wrote.
"When 1 left you this morning, full
of anger and bitterness, little tho't
l should so soon obtain my hearts
great wish. 1 found my brother at
the house waiting for me, waiting to
take me away from this wretched
place back to the dear old home and
the old sweet life long for so. l
cannot wait to bid you good-by. |
dare not wait. The sight of your
sorrowful face might cause me to al
ter my decision, and, Richard, | wish
to go back.
Besides, after what passed between
us this morning, life could never be
quite the same to either of us again.
And if it has given you pain to
know that | have been miserable,
will 1t make you less unhappy to know
that am leaving this life happily,
gladly, and with no regret save that
you will be alone and wretched? Yet
you will forget me in time-you must
forget me. 1t is better So
He read it over and over again,
every letter stamping itself on heart
and brain in lines of fire. Could it
be her hand that penned those cruel
words? Had she feigned happiness
while she secretly longed for free
dom? Was love but mockery after
all? Yet what did it matter if his own
hopes were lost, since she had gained
her wish? Had he not told her that
his only desire was to make her hap
py?
The past year had been but
dream too fair and sweet to last"
he told himself in the first bitterness
of his despair.
And then he took up the burden of
life again; not with the gladness of
hopeful youth, but with the strange,
mad unrest that follows despair, the
feverish energy that sometimes serves
as shield against bitter memories.
He had not counted the days or
even the months that had passed
since she left him. He only knew
that the days had been long and lone
| ly, and that somehow he had manag-
ed to live them. He remembered in
a vague. dim way, that twice the
spring had come and gone since she
went away, for twice he had counted
the buds on her lilac tree and watch
ed them burst into fragrant blooms.
| Twice had the roses bloomed and
faded in her little garden, and now
they were fading again; yet to him
all the seasons were the same, be-
cause for many months he had known
but one-the cold, cheerless winter
of the heart.
Outside gray sky overhead and
the steady fall of winter rain; inside
the glow of a cheerful fire, before
which he sat oblivious alike to wind
and storm and cold. He had been
reading, but the book had fallen to
his feet, and he was sleeping-a deep,
sweet, troubled sleep.
He had been dreaming, too, for a
tear had trickled down and lay on
his haggard cheek.
He stirred uneasily and murmured
something in his deep sleep, but did
not wake, when the sudden opening
of the door let in gust of wind that
scattered the ashes over the hearth
and famed the fire into brighter
flame. II was not until soft hand
was laid on his own, and warm, sweet
| kisses fell on his face, that he awoke
to find her kneeling by his chair, the
old remembered love light shining in
her eyes, though it shone through a
mist of tears.
81 have come back, +" she said soft
ly, not needing his bewildered look,
and lifting his hand lovingly to lay
it against her warm cheek. 80, my
love! my love! can you guess how
my heart has hungered for sight of
your face How, through these long,
bitter years have prayed day and
night that He would spare my life
that l might come back and say,
Forgive me, Richard / dared not
not pray for more +! Richard, the old
home life had lost its charms, and it
was not long before l learned to un-
derstand that / never could be happy
without you again, to share your pow
erty, if you will let me, dear -
II dreamed every night that you
had come back, but always awoke
to. despair he said, the look of
doubt and perplexity deepening in
his eyes.
81 was mad when l threw away
my happiness that day she said, with
sad humility, laying her soft cheek
against his haggard one. "Can you
ever forgive me, Richard, for the
pain and sorrow / have caused you?"
81 have dreamed so often !' he
said, looking at her with anxious
eyes. 'sTell me | am dreaming now?
cit is no dream" she answered,
softly. "Oh, Richard, my husband,
4 Al II