The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-12-29


Once again they met
And then they saw, each in ths others heart
And the black falsehood that had seyer'd them
Rose Palp1ble and hideous 70 the thought
Hot tears were shed and blessings mately
giEeni
They met and parted - he went to meet hi,
death,
And she to weep Ger bitter memories
Zulima made her home in the South
and there also, after years of wandering
came Daniel Clark-weary with excite
ment, and unhappy with a sense of bit
ter loneliness In the first moments OF
his anger against Zulima, he had made
his will, giving all his vast possessions
to an aged relative, and making the
false friends who had caused his misery
executors of that will.
And this was the deep game for which
these men had staked their souls-these
possessions, and the control over them
No matter though the fair wife vas
crushed to the earth no matter though
that beautiful child, in all her infant
uncoDsciousness, was despoiled of heI
Just inheritance. 1t was for this they
mad toiled in darkness; it was. for this
they had heaped falsehood upon false.
hood, wrong upon wrong.
But Clark had returned to New Or
leans, not to pass a week and away
again, as before, but to control his own
business-and in New Orleans was III
lima. They might meet, but still it was
unlikely, for she was proud and sensi-
tive as ever, and lived in the bosom OF
a new family, and was girded around by
new and powerful affections. Looking
upon CLARK as a heart-traitor, one who
had betrayed her unprotected state, and
trifled alike with her reputation and her
love, she shrank from a thought of the
past.
The wrong that she believed to have
been practiced upon her was so terrible,
that she shuddered at the retrospection.
Without one shadow of hate or hope of
revenge to perpetuate the struggle that
had been so heart-rending at first, the
only effort that she was made to obtain
forgetfulness.
Zulima knew not that Clark had sr.
rived at New Orleans, but strange in
quietude came over her. Thoughts OF
the bitter and sweet past made her rest
less day and night; she was haunted by
a constant desire to see her chiid-the
child of Daniel CLARK; from this limo
cent creature, wrong and absence
in the father had failed to ALLEVIATE her
love.
A little out from New Orleans was q
pretty country house, surrounded by or.
namental grounds, and embowered in
tropical trees. 1t was a small dwelling
secluded and beautiful as a bower
works of art, rare books, and light fur
niture, befitting the climate, gave an air
of refinement and grace within; passion
flowers, hriery roses, and other clinging
flowers, draped the cottage without.
An avenue of orange and lime trees
led to the front door, and behind was a
small garden, cooled by rain that fell
perpetually from a fountain near the
center, and glowing with tea roses, lilies,
and a world of those blossoms that grow
most thrifty and fragrant in the warm
South.
Among these beautiful grounds little
Myra Clark had been at play since the
breakfast hour. She had chased the
humming- birds from their swarming
places in the arbors and rose hedges; she
had gathered the golden-edged violets
from the borders, and leaping up with 8
laugh to the orange boughs that dropped
over the gravel walk, had torn dowT
the white blossoms and mellow fruit tC
crowd with the fowery spoil that sh,
had gathered in the skirt of her muslin
dress. And now with her lap full Of
broken flowers, fruit, torn grass, anC
pebble stones, the child cast herself OF
the rich turf that swelled up to the
brink of the fountain, and pressing he
dimpled hands and warm cheek upor
the marble, lay in smiling idleness
watching the gold fish, as they darteC
up and down the limpid waters, he
soft brown eyes sparkling with each new
flash of gold or crimson that the rest
less little creatures impaired to the wa
tiers.
Now she would cast a broken rosebud
or tuft of grass into the fountain, ant
her laugh rang out loud and clear abov'
the bell-like dropping of the water IL
the marble basin, if she could detec
some fish darting up like golden arrow
to meet her pretty decoy.
Thus lay the child; thus fell tht
bright water drops around; and thus,
little way off dropped the fruit anC
fower-laden boughs, when the swee
tranquility was disturbed by a foot
step.
Down one of the gravel walks came I
man, bearing upon his noble features al
air of proud sadness, his very step de
noting habitual depression, as he moved
quietly and at a slow pace toward TIN
| fountain. 1t was look of i'll healtl
that stamped SO forcibly the air and de
meanor of this man.
His frame was still strongly knit, hi
step firm as iron, but upon his brow wa
that deep settled shadow which a troub
led heart casts up to the face, and th'
locks that shaded it were sprinkled will
the premature snow which falls earl,
over a brain tortured with unspoken re
grets. Thus sorrowful, but still unbew
ed in spirit, appeared Daniel Clark, a
he moved quietly toward the fountain
where his child was at play.
Myra was busy with her gold fish
laughing and coqueting with then
through the waves. She saw nothin
but their golden flash, she heard nothin
but the light drops, that dimpled ant
clouded the water around them. Thu
| for several minutes the proud and sad
dened man stood gazing upon his daugh
ter.
| She saw him at last; and then with
faint cry the little creature cast ava
the contents of her frock, and spran
up. Half in JOY, half in timid surprise
she stood gazing upon his face.
The pupils OF her eyes dilated I'll
they were almost black, her white arm
seemed trembling with restraint, as
the suddenness of his appearance ha
checked the first sudden impulse. Sh
was only waiting for one smile to sprin
like a bird to his bosom.
"Myrap'
The firm voice OF Daniel Clark CAV
way as he uttered the name of his chilC
His eyes grew dim with tears, and b
reached forth his trembling arms.
She sprang with a single bound t
his embrace, she wreathed his nee
strongly with her arms, and presse
upon his lips, his cheeks and moist eye
kisses that, from the lips of beautifr
child, seem like the pouring of de-
and sunshine from the cup of
flower.
ssOh, you are come againw she saiC
placing her warm hands on each side {
bis face, and looking with the smilin
confidence Of childhood into his eye
ssThey told me that you would not com
to see me any more for long, ION
!. time"
: sAre you glad to see me, darling
, said Mr. Clark, drawing his hand cares
i ingly down the disheveled brightness {
her hair. "You seem glad, my lit
! Myraw
T "Seem-wLy-I am glad-so yer,
rery glad, my own, own the chil
, hesitated.
. "Papa-will you not call me pap
} this once." said the agitated fathe
| and upon his pale cheek there came
t flush, as he said this to the child.
sOh, but they tell me that youare N
godfather, and that is not papa, yo