The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1888-03-26

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and then she fell asleep, again, being weak.
$50 the day wore on, and Cousin Anne
came, also Squire Lawson and some other
gentlemen; but didn't see them, for Will
liam was round again and he told them all
about father. When they were gone left
Anne sitting with mother and went down to
William and asked him how it came about
that father was shot.
"'There were a bit o fight with the
poachers. lass, an one o. them had gum
"'Was there only one gun, William !
says.
"'Only one, lass. / dunuot think thy ia
Their was shot O. purpose. 1t were all in the
thick O. the bother. We were fightin' with
ash-sticks, an thy father were in the midst,
when the chap with tn gun let fly at us an
the shot hit thy father That's how it were
done, Eunice.'
I" 'And where is he that did it?' says,
lookin' out O. the window.
"He's away, lass. In hiding somewhere.
There's no call for thee to fret about that.
Most like he'll get away to turin parts.
see thou guesses who it is, Eunice. It's main
hard for thee,' he says, taking my hand,
meaning kindly, for he.was good man, was
William
But pulled my hand away and ran out
into the fields. 1t was getting on for sun
down then, and as / learnt against the fence,
feeling sick and giddy-like, the corncrake
began croaking in the long grass as it had
done over night. And l thought of yester
eve, when Tom stood there with his gun,
and tried to turn him away from those who
led him astray. 1t had all ended now; fa-
Their was dead and mother was dying, and
Tom-but would not think of Tom. Then
Anne came out to me saying mother was
asking for me. So went in, and mother
looked at me and said:
'Thou art good lass think thy father
is dead-J dreamt it just now-and thou art
hiding it. IT'S no matter; | shall know
soon. The Lord bless thee, Eunicep
"And after that she went into a sort O. fain
and died. So father aad mother were both
buried on the same day; and it was settled
that should go and live with my Aunt Deb
orah, some six miles away; William was to
drive me over the same evening.
"Well, at shutdown, all the things being
packed and nothing left to do, went through
the fields to the side of the brook, where |
used to meet Tom, and there sat on fallen
tree, thinking of all the trouble, and how my
life seemed dead and buried with my father
and mother. Close by me was thick clump
O. palm willows, an dog-roses, am grass all
a tangle, reaching Ger the bank; an when
I'd sat thinking while, heard arustling,
an voice saying. 'Eunice, lassl' | knew
the voice right well. though it gave me a
start at the moment.
sis it thou. Tom?' / asked.
"'Aye,' he says, parting the leaves, and
looking through. I've beel: lying here all
day to get alglimpse O. thee. | thought may
be thou wouldst come downlhere afore thou
went off, an there's much that I've got to
say to thee
alt may be much or little answered
him, but l desire to have naught from thee,
Tom. Dost thou know father is dead?'
"'Aye, Eunice; but that was Ill luck. l
never meant to hurt thy father. 1t were all
done in tn hurry. didn't notice as he were
among the keepers. That's why nun run
the country. might stand to be took up
if there were naught against me but TIL birds
but this O. thy father is hanging matter, so
nun run the country. I'm going ON board
ship tomorrow, and I've brought thee enow
to pay thy passage out to me, lass, an We'll
be wed when thou lands
"'Tom,' says, it's not for we two to wed
now thou hast killed father. wonder how
thou canst think O. such thing. Maybe
trouble has made thee dazed like.
81 didn't go for to kill thy father he
says angrily.
".That don't make any difference | says;
it was thy wrong doing that caused thee to
be going with poachers and with gun in
thy hand. Thou vast warned an thou paid
no heed. / can never wed thee, Tom /
told thee thou'd break my heart, and now
thou'st done i'll"
"And / burst out crying, for it was all
more than could bear. Tom came out o.
the thicket, and began saying something
but didn't heed what it was. being so mis-
cradle, when suddenly William came up be-
side me, and put his hand ON Toms Shout
der.
"I'll not let on as I've seeDisthee, lad he
said; but thou nun make thysen scarce.
Eunice is right; there can be no wedding
betwixt you. Thou nun go; and right
sharp, toov
"Tom stood silent for minute. and then
he said, quite quiet:
"'Well, good-by, Eunice, il so be as thou
means what thou says
"Aye,' 1 said; L do mean it, Tom. It's
good-by.'
"'Good-by,' he says again, and turned off
by the copse; and that was the last ever
heard or saw o. Tom Marsden.
II was full O. sorrow for many long day
after that, and thought nothing would seem
fair and pleasant to me again. But at last
began to see that should never have been a
happy woman with Tom. Everything is for
the best, Miss Nelly, though we can't see it
at the time. So when, at the end OF two
years, John Hartley asked me to marry him,
| said yes; and l never repented. Only
when hear the corncrake it brings back to
me those old days"
Mrs Hartley ceased, and we sat silent
little space. The elm trees were casting Ion
ger shadows, the sunshine was more golden,
the evening primroses were opening their
yellow eyes, the corncrake had gone, and the
childrens voices sounded nearer and clear
er. Mrs. Hartley smiled happily.
II often think" she said, "of the old say
ing Many cloudy dawn brings in
bright day."