Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-06-25
,A~c <a nnrnfnrf h6fS0lf.

"What does 1t meanl There must be some me. | am sure think he loved me-and to eo without word, without a word-Ohl what can it meenY
 But DO answer came to clear away the mys-
 se Iegrss by gea neng uag hepss heart and soul into the part she had to play night by night, until she wrung tears irom the hardest and dryest eyes gs among those who the past blissful summer months away as if they had never been, and yet day hy day she studied the newspapers word by word, follow ing the movements closelyand lovingly of that in-fated expedition of which he was one. Her mother and sister never mentioned him. al- though they only guessed at what seemed to be the truth, they believed that he had delib- erately deserted her, and resented it as the one another they sometims spoke of him in anger and disgust that he had brought so great a change upon Violet, but in her pres- ence they never uttered his name. So the weeks stole by; Christmas came and went, the old year died and the new one took Its place. What sad New Year it was | Here at home anxious hearts hanging on the fate of the bravest soul that has lighted up the world for centuries, and in the desert between sent on hope utterly forlorn, with all and everything against them, season, climate, and providings alike, fighting for dear life in the full consciousness that they who had sent them there were as indifferent to their fate as they were to the fate of the hero watching and waiting for them at Kartoum-was the flower ofthe British Army.
 Itwas marvel that Violet Dallas kept up as she did through those terrible weeks, play ing her part every night, lying sleepless through half and sometimes through all the hours of silence, rising early to get the first sight of the newspapers, which could give her tdings of him who was more to her than all the world beside.
 At last came the news of Stewards march through the land of thirst, the battle of Abu krli, then the account of Abu Klea. And at the foot of the short account were half dozen l names among which that of St. Orme stood out before the girls weary eyes, as it were in letters of fire. For minute or so she did not dare to lookagain then she summoned up all her courage and saw, Lord St. Orme severe
 All thought of bitterness was at an end, then; she only remembered that she loved him, that he had loved her, and that he was lying wounded, even perhaps already dead, without a comfort or care to ease his pain, out in that accursed desert under the burning African sky!
 Oh what was it that had como between them? She thought and thought until her brain was. fit to burst. If only she had been his wife now she could go out to him. If only she had been his wife, why, he should never have volunteered for that hateful and ghastly service. Oh what was it that had come be- tween them? i- She went over and over all the months of their intercourse, recalling every tender look,
  her. What could have caused the change be- tween them? There were his little offerings still lying about the room-nOthlng costly, for he had never dared to run the risk of 8 refus- al by bringing her more than trifies. There were photographs and little frames, quaint little china figures, and some music; there were books of various kinds, a copy of "U Un- dine,' which he had brought because she had never read it), which was his very last gift ex- cepting the yellow rosebud which she had worn the day that she had waited for him in vain. The yellow rose-buds were gone, but the copy of |" Undine was there still. Dear, dear book that his hands had touched, that he had given her.
 In her sorrow she ran across the room and took it from its place, turned to the page where she knew he had written her name and -and-oh what was that? We'll, it was just an unopened letter in St. O1me's hand. writing, which fell from between the pages of the ' Undine" and lay upon the ground at her feet.
 She picked it up, yes it was unopened. She tore it open-ohl she could have shrieked aloud for mingled joy and grief as she read the precious words of truest love which it con- How had it happened? She tried hard to recall the exact events of that day, the last Switzerland. She remembered that she had been very late that morning, and had eaten her breakfast alone, how her mother had decked the room with St. Orme's flowers, and
 
 | lying on her little table by the window. Then, how Cecily and Mary had come laughingly in. and had asked her if she had finished reading l the book, and if she had found anything there, and if she had liked it? And, when she ! said, "yes, very much" they had gone away l laughing still.
 Oh! she saw it all now! They had meant ! two different things by the word "itw She 1 had meant the yellow rosebud, and they the letter! She saw it all so clearly now. How they had meant only to tease her for 8 little while, to let her be disappointed that there ! was not that morning. as there so often was. ! q word from him, and then be utterly 'over- ! joycd to find that there was letter after all. Pretty fooling pretty fooling !-but it had cost her all that made life dear to her, it had ! sent him out into the very wilderness in de- | spai, it had even, perhaps, sent him to his | death. How long she sat there frozen and fearless ! it would be hard to say. She was alone for | few days Mrs. Dallas and Cecily having gone away on a visit. The neat young parlor-maid 1 served her dinner, but she left it untouched; :; | in time she went to the Royal and played her l part, how she never knew, played it like | woman in a dream.
 Then home again, and all through the long ! and weary night with wide open eyes feeling ! like balls of fire, suffering all the pain and weariness of his wounds, and yet filled to the | full with widest joy and eXultation that her darling had loved her all along, had loved her ! as she had loved him, all along.
 And at noon of the following day, in the | Camp Of Abu kru, Lord St. Orme died. | It was months afterwards that Philip Mes- l sant, who had been beside his old comrade to the last, came unwillingly enough to give his l friends dying message to the girl he had l loved. l ...Tell her." Messant said, fixing his eyes l steadtastly upon her, 'that always loved her. feel now that it was some awful mis- take which came to part us. But tell her loved her to the very end.'
 X She told him then all that had passed, and I.ow she had found St. Orme's letter in the l''Undine' which had been almost his last gift
 "You were his friend, and cannot let you think that was false to him. she said. "But now you understand it all,
 ''And your sstcr?" he asked.
 "Knows nothing-she never will, it would
 shadow all her life, and it would do no good
 he is gone"
 Messant caught her hands in his, and held
 them in a hard grip.
 ''Mss Dalas,'' he said, huskiy, ''the dear
 old fellow said, with his last breath, that he felt there had been a mistake; that must be some comfort to you"
 'sYes, it comforts me-" she answered, "and some day he will come and meet me- and tell me what he would have told me here.,,
 And doubted you,' murmured Messant
 sadly
 "Never mind" she said simply, ''you know
 all now.''