The Russellville Democrat. [volume] (Russellville, Ark.) 1875-1898, 1888-05-24

| betrothed. You shall give me this year !;
| for of old they granted TO the soldier newly
I wed his one year of exemption And
| Carl was too 10th to turn his back upon
| this paradise, TO make remonstrance. II
! was Kate's prayer and hope that as the
| year sped, an end might DO made Of the
cruel strife and her lover be spared
| the descent into 1.-THE mouth Of
| hell" with It's belching flames and
| sulphurous smoke, from whence 80 many
| never returned. The year wore away, but
! the war went on. The village streets grew
| quieter the mourning weeds were abun-
| dant, and the news of slaughter yet more
| terrible Carts face grew troubled; at last
he spoke again; Dear, II you hold me
back by your love, and into our after para
| disc of home should come this serpent
Shame, to writhe about me, neither thou
nor could escape its sting" She heard
| and knew his resolve was taken. Her lips
| grew cold and tremulous, and lay still and
! ,sas1responsive beneath his kiss Carl. =
/ she whispered, presently, "when do you
| leave me7r "To-morrow,n he said
Tomorrow She echoed his words as
| If they measured the whole span of re-
| naming life.
| All through that summer night they sat
! together hand in hand. Seldom they spoke,
| and then but of the trifies of the minute; Of
| the midnight stiffness or the morning chill
| They kept such vigil as wife and husband
| might keep beside the coffined form Of a
| first-born child. Something new Mad come
| into life rather than something gone out Of
| it. Their cup was fuller by one bitter drop,
| and all the draught was sadder and sweeter
| for the fulness.
At dawn they parted, and for ever. There
l aur mn when
days and weeks of anxious waiting would
have rendered any news acceptable. But
| Carl disappeared utterly and left no trace
| For long she lived on the hope that he
| might come back when the prisons
| opened their doors. The war ended
| life began to flow back into the old
long dried channels, but word of Carl
there was none. A slow and subtle
change began TO be wrought in Kate, by
disappointment She who had loved all
things, came to hate with bitter hate the
very name of the South That name was to
her the name OF the murderess who had
slain her love. The turbulence of an un-
quiet spirit made the olden divine whis-
perings less and less audible. God seemed
refnotel prayer, the useless wall of a neg
lected child So passed nearly fifteen
years. Aunt Ruth died and Kate lived on
ton with the household antedated her earli4
est recollection. 1t was toward the close of
this period that Kate Wilton became
attracted to Spiritism A stranger had be-
come resident in the village and with all the
zeal of a propagandist she had sown the
| seeds of her :" ism" in every promising
soil To Kate the possibility of hearing a
voice from beyond, above all his voice,
| was enough to stir her nature to its depths.
She became an easy convert, and was the
first member of the growing circle that
held its weekly gatherings at the houses of
| those who befriepded the new doctrine and
its disciples: Many messages came to her,
and, in time, these left her altogether in
different to the loss of the quieter voices
she had been wont I'd hear and heed. She
experienced strange extremes of feeling.
Now she would be in ecstasy at the thought
of Carts nearness; again the nearness
would seem as mocking as unreal, as intan-
| gible, as the materialized form she some
| times gazed on But an idea was slowly
taking form in her mind. She had
so longed to stand by his grave, to be able
to raise some memorial befttting her love.
Here was something real and definite to
seek and work for. Why might not these
| spirit powers guide her in a quest for his
resting place The burden of all her ques-
tions of the oracle grew to be-: TELL me
where they have lain him. At last, an
answer seemed to come back which, with
out being definite, as she desired, gave her
! assurance that, when she stood by her
lovers grave, she should grow conscious
Of the nearness of the precious dust whose
shrine she sought. So it came to pass that
in her thirty -fourth year, she turned her
face to the land of the people she
loathed and went ON pilgrimage to seek the
sepulcher of the man she loved. At the
first strange excitement filled her. She
felt as if she was going to keep an appointed
tryst with her lover. But, in time, her ex-
element wore away; her step grew heavier
and her frame more languid, in those long
months of pilgrimage. Many an eye fol
lowed her furtively as she walked among
the graves that rolled like sea pillows
about her. Many sympathetic wish hoy
cred, unrecognized above her, as she
stopped to lay handful of flowers on some
unnamed grave. From place to place she
journeyed seeking the sign that never
came. She grew nervous; sleep and appe-
tite failed her, but not her courage. She
was in Virginia now, and took the train at
length to come TO Fredericksburg. The
spring was here; the air was full of it.
She vaguely wondered if it was this
that gave her such feeling of languor and
made her so drowsy. Occasionally, as she
lifted her heavy lids, she became conscious
of the watchful gaze of pair of keen,
dark eyes. She wondered vaguely if any
thing was amiss III her attire to attract at
tention, and lapsed again into drowsiness,
the flush of fever deepening on her cheek.
Presently the conductor passed through
the car, and the owner of the dark eyes,
who was also the owner of an empty sleeve,
touched his arm and engaged him in a
whispered conversation, which, from their
glances, concerned the sleeping lady. In
"a moment Or two the conductor took the
vacant seat at her side, and, after address
ing her twice without response, shook her
her arm gently, with the result only
of causing her to open, for a moment, eyes
that seemed already too dull for seeing.
Another whispered conversation with the
dark eyed gentleman, whom the conductor
courteously addressed as Colonel, and lit
tie later, when the train stopped at Holly
Springs, Colonel and conductor together
half led and half lifted the fevered tray
eler from the train, into a waiting carriage
which presently rolled away into the dusk.
And that was the end of Kate Wilton's
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