St. Landry democrat. (Opelousas, La.) 1878-1894, 1888-01-21

but there was no help for 1t. l shall
have to tell you that he first asked my
permission to win you If he could.
As l have told you, know him
thoroughly But had always deter
| mined that my daughter should please
herself, for l have confid ence enough
in her to believe that she will never be
impeled to make an unworthy choice.
| acknowledge the disparity of your
ages but know that men like R, gi-
maid Brand are rare, and I could not
help hoping that you would finally be
induced to accept him H, is as true
Us steel. and l know of no one to whom
| would so willingly contide my daugh-
ter 5 life and happiness. / would not
| intercede for him, however, or say or
do any thing to bias your decision. l
only gave him my permission to win
you if he could. He has just told me
that there is no hope for him."
None whatever" l answered, brief
ly.
He says that he will never cease to
love you; that he will never lose sight
of you, and, if you should change your
| mind
Il shall never change my mind.'
He kept his word, and left the next
morning before came down to break
| fast
My father and | returned to New
York the following week. Daring the
winter | met Lieutenant Storey, who
| had graduated from West Point, two
years before. and had just returned
from the frontier on leave of absence.
This was the winter of 1S60-61, and the
country was wild with excitement over
the impending trouble between the
North and South which was then as
Stunning decisive character. Lieuten-
ant Storey's family were Southern
people. Their home was in Charles
ton, and their sy:npathies, as mat
ter Of course, were with the seeding
States. My father, on the contrary
was uncompromising in his devotion
to the interests of the North. In the
face of such conflicting opinions it
was preordainad that we should be-
come infatuated with each other after
a brief acquaintance. Robert Storey
was an ideal lover, tall dark, with
eyes which few women could have re-
sisted, aid my father learned, after
careful Inquiry, that his character, as
al officer and a gentleman, was unim-
peachable. Father had a prophetic
intuition Of the breach which was to
be widered batween the two sections
by the coming conflict, which others
thought would be brief and uninpor-
tant. He naturally opposed my mar
riage with aman whose services would
be enlisted in the Southern cause,
which would necessitate my removal
to Charleston, and eventually bring
about my entire separation from him.
| did not take this view Of the situa-
ton, but argued that nay husband
could resign, and. in any event, we
could all three live quietly together in
New Y ork. This was finally agreed
upon, when. in the midst of the we'd
ding preparations. father was seized
with pneumonia, and died after few
hours illness. Aunt Priscilla
was in Europe, and l was
entirely alone except for the
few friends upon whom l had no
claim whatever. There was no reason
for delay, so was quietly married inn
medi ately after the funeral, the sad
dest of weddings, and went South
with my hus band. after all.
The war came and he was killed at
Shiloh. His family shared the poverty
and suffering that overwhelmed the
South. My fathers affairs were hope
lessly complicated by the war, and
many of his investments proved value
less, so that was without means to
come to their relief. beyond serving
them and sympathizing with them as
I was able. Of the grief and privation
we endured l will not write. 1t is
enough to say that all my earthly
hope and happiness were buried for
ever in my husbands grave.
On Tuesday afternoon, in 1865
March 28th. sat alone in the parlor
sewing on some coarse cloth. The
clock ticking monatonously on the
mantle. echoed through the empty
rooms. The early Southern spring
was IN the fullness of its beauty. The
day had been oppressively sultry but
the wind had changed to the east and
the sky was suddenly overcast
looked up. and there, upon the
threshold, regarding me with the old
look l remembered so well. stood
Reginald Brand whom I had not
heard of. much less seen, for more
than four years. He wore the uniform
of Union officer. He was slightly
pale, but otherwise appeared precise
~ as he looked when ! had last seen
him.
! had as TRANCE, indescribable feeling,
m ore horror than alarm, threw down
my sewing and rose to go toward him.
AS did so he smiled family. and said
distinctly. pausing slightly between
each word:
..Free-at-last."
Some mysterious impulse prompted
me to look at the clock. 1t was