Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1886-07-21
CHAPTER XVII.
HOME AGAIN.


She walked slowly down the hot and dusty
road toward the town Now, far more
keenly than before her visit to the school
house, did she feel the bitterness OF her
trouble.
Along the dusty road she went-the high
crops motionless on either hand, the land
around lin sheen of silver barley and yellow
wheat, and the lustrous green OF meadow
grass trembling in the steam Of the swelter-
ing earth-and felt a homeless woman, un-
loved, and sinful, too.
She came at last to the shadow Of the way
side trees under which she had met Cuthbert;
and here, with no eye to see her, and passion
ate memories crowding piteous misery into
her aching heart, she stopped and flung her
self upon the grass, and tried to relieve her
burning eyes with tears.
A long while she fingered here, dreading
to return home.
Time passed rapidly and unheeded. and
the shadows Of the trees had grown well into
the road when she rose to her feet disturbed
by the town clock striking the half-hou;
after three The thought of meeting her
father was almost unbearable; yet home she
must 60, for where was other shelter for hera
NASeASokA
in his anger, when he should learn that she
had deceived him by her secret marriage.
Nothing more had her innocence then to
dread; though enough had been here
to furnish her with dismal contempla-
tion and trembling apprehension, and an
insupportab'e yearning for the permanent
companionship Of her husband, that discov-
cry might never catch her without the prop
of his love and presence at hand for her
weakness. But now her husband was gone,
and, by going, had left her exposed to dread
full suspicion. He was gone, and she was left
alone to justify her purity, to encounter the
wrath of her father, stirred to his deepest
heart by infamous doubt.
What, then, was she to do! for when she
fell to consider how she should prove her
marriage, she found another blank as mad
deningly perplexing as Cuthbert's disap-
pearance.
She we'll remembered the marriage morn;
how, with faint voice and pale face, she
told aunt Rachel she was going for a walk,
and bade her not be surprised if she delayed
her return, for she loved the pretty scenery
around, and to linger among the trees
She well remembered the beating Of her
heart when, at the bottom Of the deep and
shady lane, she beheld Cuthbe waiting for
her. and how she had nearly swooned when
he hailed the passing coach to Southwark,
and handed her into it.
Likewise she well remembered how they
had emerged into crowded street, along
which he had hurried her into another street,
where he called hackney carriage, and they
were driven down interminable streets at
xubi c1,a r1o for ha- x.,bi{
was hidden on Cuthbert's shoulder, and she
had needed all the cordial of his constant,
passionate, reassuring whispers to save her
from fainting.
And how at last the carriage stopped be-
fore n church-a gloomy, heavy, city edilce
so that it seemed to her that they had to
pews to the altar railing, where speedily a
thin voice read the service that made her the
wife of the man at her side.
The acted portion Of it all was vague
memory; her love for the man who had in
duced her to secretly wed him was only
reality.
Four o'clock was Ginning when she reached
home Long before this had Mrs Strang-
field grown weary of watching at the win
dow, and with deep anxiety had gone back
to seek the girl In the town Polly was sing
ing in the kitchen as she scrubbed the floor,
so that Mr. Strangfeld in the parlor did not
hear Jenny enter, nor her light footstep as
she went upstairs.
At her bedroom door she halted with such
a shock of surprise and CONSERVATION as the
sight of dead man might have produced on
her; for all about the window the floor was lit
tered with her husbands sacred letters. heed