Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1886-11-17


Even in old age, Aunt Dorothy's clear
brain could forescc difficulties and pro-
vide against them, so that her niece mad
nothing TO do but obey her orders. There
is certain pleasure in following distinct
directions, even If given in rather q
peremptory way-as these were. Aunt
Dorothy did not "shilly-shally" to the
end she was no limp" person, even
yet, when any thing was to be done,
and these are always the best captains
in war or out of it
With a look of strange excitement on
her face, she waited Laura's seturn.
Almost in dream she heard her niece s
voice saying: "Now, the coast is clear, !"
and answered she was ready, with a
singular feeling of talking in her sleep.
Carefully through the first door, care
fully through the second, with little
difficulty about the turn, was the chair
propelled. Easily then, along the
smooth carpet to the window, under
meath which the carriage, of necessity.
must pass.
Thank you, dear child. He was q
very dear friend in times gone by. Now
leave me-" said Aunt Dorothy. "lf
any one comes they must be shown to
the inner room. wish to be alone.
And Laura went away with suspi-
cion of the truth that made her smile q
little half-sadly, then sigh, and signing,
think: 1--WE shall all be old some day"
| Meanwhile Aunt Dorothy looked out
of her window, which faced one of the
principal hotels and commanded long
stretch OF street, winding up towards
Friar's hill. No carriage was in sight.
1t was the other window of the room
that had the sea-view, but to the right
of the houses pretty piece of country
was seen, where "heaths, starred with
broom" mingled their gold with the
sunset rays that poured on them from
the opposite horizon towards which the
sun was declining.
Aunt Dorothy did not see it just then.
She leaned back in her wheel-chair, and
covered her eyes with her hands. A
half-smile-but it was very sad one;
much sadder than any tears could have
been-was on her lips, and she said in
an undertone:
81 am again for Cydnus, to meet
Mark Antony!"
Then came silence. She was not
an old woman any Longer. Oh
no 1t was all mistake that she was
crippled and helpless, that life and its
abundant opportunities had drifted into
the past, and she was only a great-aunt
without any nearer ties to bind herI
Young, strong and straight-alas what
words are those to whom the realities
are gone by for evcr!-but straight, and
strong and young she stood. once more,
in fancy. Was she twcnty-three, or
twenty-four, or twenty-fveP-No matter;
now one, and now the other. She was
Dorothy Fielding, with life stretching
out before her, fair, as if glistening with
the sheen of early morning, and breath
ing promises to her that surely nothing
could belle. Within her stirred
Impatient wishes that besieged the sky,
| Nor disbelief of any miracle, save that life's
longings and Its hopes could die"
She was Dorothy Fielding, full of love,
hope, and thousand fullilments that,
half mrocognized, came lavishing their
Joy about her path. The turf sprang
under her tread, but her feet sprang
quicker. The very best of life, the very
fairest of its hours were hers. And who
was that beside her, whose look thrilled
hers with that first, desperately
never-to-be-forgottcn shock of loves
desire ? Who was it fingered with her
on matchless ewes of June, when roses
bloomed around, surely sending some
intoxication into the air ? Who was it
TESTED those immortal jests, or
holding Joy one moment at
arms length with the very caprice of
happiness, followed after it the kcener
when the gravcr time was spent?
Ernest Picardy. always Ernest
Picardy. There had been others, many
others, who had loved der smiles.
What mattcred' any one of them?
There can be but one Jove on an
Olympus, and that one was Ernest
Picardy. Since time began, all love-
making and all lovers had lacked some
what until now. And oh, never again
to the voice of love let any heart throb
so wildly, so joyously, so regardless of
imagined doom! Until now, nobody
had guagcd it all quite thoroughly.
The delightful peril of risking life
happiness against half an hour caprice,
was surely until now an untried adven-
turc. And the morning and the even
ing, the sunshine, and the rain, the very
birds and brceZes moved to one refrain:
There's nothing half so sweet in life,
| AS Loves young dream"
| And years went on, until tho bond
grew tirmer, and Ernest Pcardy, hand
some, oh, so handsome, young and gal
liant, ruled over loves kingdom, and
should rule forever and forever. Stop
there. Even in memory-even now
she shrinks from the pain of living over
what came after. The foolish pride,
the mistimed offense, the misadventure
and misery of it all, when she called on
heaven to help her; when she
chung desperately to the hope that
blessed chance or strange adventure
might come in friendly aid; when the
fond belief still fingered that some kind
heart, ere hers was broken quite, would
take home her sorrows and come to her
rescue. That, and that, and hat-such
little things-might have been done and
all saved; and no one did them, and the
critical time went by, and the world
went clrcling on. and mad cries of re-
sistance and despair went up to heaven,
and still there was no answer.
Let it all be forgotten now. A long
lifetime lay between that time and this.
Ii the edge of the weapon still be keen,
let it lie in the sheath. 1t is in the
happy time, the magical time she lives
now, while she waits to look upon the
lover from whom she parted half a CEN
fury ago. She saw the carriage coming
from afar. Two men were in it, one OF
middle age, with but slightly-grizzled
hair; the other old with rime of many
winters on his scanty locks. She knew
him at once-the lover of her youth.
She would have known him anywhere.
But oh! the change. Yet the features
we're handsome still, and calm dignity
was on them, that looked like an habit
ual expression. Age, extreme old age,
was there, but in no repellant form.
Only the eyes that had sought her own,
and wrecked her peace of mind SO
sorely, would never look again on
maiden, sky, or meadow. Their lids
were dropped so as completely to con-
L II e.. I...-s l.a