Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1888-11-16

aeau: nrteo ner ana carried ner TO Inc
house-she weighed no more than child.
Mother had the old lounge drawn close to the
stove, and there laid our strange guest.
"Hain't she a pretty creetur'E' cried
mother. ''Some good mans heart is sore dis
tressed this day"
An hour later mother called me. The
strangers eyes, big and blue like her gown,
were wide open, looking about her Curl
ously.
81 was so co1d," she said with a SILVER, and
/ have never heard woman's voice SO
strangely sweet. ''Tell me how you found
me-"
So we told her of the speck on the sea.
While mother dried the golden hair, the
stranger reached up suddenly and drew the
kindly hand to her lips.
GOD bless you, pretty cretur'!n cried
mother, quite overcome. cam where be
your people nov! Grieving terribly, well
know"
''No," said the stranger, bitterly. ''There
can he no grief where there is no love-"
She grew well rapidly, and that night came
up into the tower to see me light the lamp.
She watched while and then she said,
quietly:
"Out in the dark sea last night saw this
great yellow eye It gave me courage anG
faith. prayed for the first time in many,
many years. [ was quite content then, but,
except for knowing you two good people,
would rather have been dead"
'But you are SO young and talk that way}
said awkwardly. "Surely life has not been
SO hard to YOU"
GAS kind as the light to the little Birds"
she muttered, as tiny black object struck
with cruel force against the glass. SIT has
broken my heart. am not young, Mr. Gid
con; am as old as you, %. Your mother
told me about you. All, it is worth all to
know her, The only spring of pure water l
have known in my desert"
Marie-she would tell me no other name
was at my mothers side always, following
her about like q child. Mother seemed be-
witched as well. Seeing that Marie was del
icate, she made her daily decoctions, petting
her like a baby.
So life went on until Thanksgiving week,
when there was q vacation of fortnight,
and Kitty Robbins came to visit us. The big
fisherman, her father, rowed her over, and
both he and Kitty, as saw, locked with sus-
picion on Marie When he was gone Kitty
came up into the tower where l was cleaning
the lamp.
is bleached" she said Kitty somehow then
looked sallow and homely; her voice rasped
me-the sharp nasal tones of most New
| England women.
SIT isn't" l answered, coldly. 'She has
been here since September, and the color is
| yet golden"
''Here all that time? Oh!' muttered
| Kitty, going down the stairs.
remembered the tone Kitty said sOh!'
| in A woman is foolish to show bad temper,
| especially if she is not beautiful 1 was so
| unhappy that fortnight Before Kitty ar
| rived mother and Marie came up to the
| tower every night to sit with me-Marie
l like an exquisite picture, in the blue gown
| with her rose leaf skin and her marvellous
| eyes. After all the years my heart goes out
| to her. Marie! Marie! You were so differ
| emit, so utterly different so foreign to my
| life. You came to us from the seattle sea
| that had bereft me, yet given me my bread
you brought me something out of the world
| barred to me, a simple fisherman. You gave
| me soul. Deny it those who dare. I was
| clod before you came. shall never, never,
| be clod again.
| What Kitty Robbins told mother I don't
! know but into mothers manner toward
Marie chill crept, the GOODNESS that comes
| to all good women toward a sister who has
| fallen. Mrs. Robbins and mother had been
| life long friends, and the suspicious Kitty
| planted in that kind heart fingered. The
| time passed painfully enough, Marie growing
| pale and silent, Kitty cold and proud, rarely
| speaking to the stranger. l was glad to see
Robbins come and Kitty go away, and it
was only when the boat was out of sight
that I remembered that 1 had not kissed
Kitty good-by, and everybody said we were
| to be married in the spring.
That night cold wintry wind howled
around the tower, buffeting the wet spray in
my face when opened the door. I stepped
out. In the glare of light l saw her-Marie
standing looking at the gloomy sea.
'You will get your DEATH" said, angrily.
''Come in" 1 dragged her to the fire, chat
| ing her cold little hands. She shivered and
coughed.
~ could see through the glass that you
and your dear mother had some trouble" she
said quietly "Dont speak, Gideon. You
have ink and pens there. Will you write
| letter for NEE"
81 never could. I had no education. l
| write like a clown. Do it yourself; or,
| rather, write no letter. You have said often
| that you never wanted to leave the island.
! You have picked out spot near the cove
| where you wanted to be buried-that, when
dead, you might still know of our coming
| and going We have told you how welcome
! you are, and yet-yet you talk of writing,
| which know means to go away"
"Men could never rule me, Gideon, you
| least of all. You, a child in heart and ex-
perience. You, dear son, wish I had a
brother like you, big, strong, bearded man,
who would protect me. Look at me kindly,
Gideon, out of those deep, dark eyes, where
can see your honest soul. Pity me. That
letter is so repugnant, so dreadful to me, that
I wish your kind hand to write it."
| So wrote
| Robert Julian:
| lam yet alive. Does this world still hold you
in its weary tolls? At the entrance to the Sheep
scot, where, wide and blue, with stormy waves
and treacherous REEFS it ends its life in the ocean,
is frowning headland and tower. In Hend-
rck's Head Light have been living an enchanted
life since September-a princess in a tower. 1
! wait for you. MARIE.
One day letter came for Marie, and that
night she came to the tower as usual with
mother "Gideon," she said, tread the letter
aloud; you and your mother must know the
worst of me-"
She stood away from mothers chair, hold
ing tiny hand between her face and the
lamp.
81 have no right to read your letter." I
said, rudely.
''Read it!n and II obeyed.
DEAR MARIE-I have been at deaths door for
two months, but am now recovered. He was I'M
hurt. shall come for you, weather permitting
and breezes favorable, the Goth of December.
JULIAN.
7 "Your father, dear?' asked mother.
"No; I am an orphan. Six years ago I
was married toto an Englishman. l did
not love him; my father, who lived only a
year after my marriage, forced me into it.
My husband was twice my age. We were
unhappy. I reached the end of all suffering;
my heart became stone. When my baby was
3 years old it died and I ran away. How
can tell yous To be revenged on my hus-
band l fled with the man he hated-Julian,
who has written me the letter that Gideon
holds"
1 dropped the paper as if it stung me.
''And you," l said angrily, ''got me to
write to your lover" Mothers face grew
cold and stern.
"Wasyo meaning to go again with him,
this other one?" she asked.
Eyes; there was nothing else. I never
loved him. Hear me out. My husband fol-
lowed us, found us hidden in quiet seaport