Iuka reporter. (Iuka, Miss.) 1888-1894, 1889-01-17

~ II TX
R @ r. ter turned up and
WAW sent jealous shock
~. ~ through mo that
I've z, cfsre sent my heart throb-
bling and my brain
swimming with sudden dizziness.
might have expe cted to have seen it
there, but not the less did it affect me
when l did see iu-"Joseph Norris, In
dia Dock, New York" was the adj
dress-an knew that it was his. [
had dear little note in that same hand
writing next to my heart then-a few
graceful words thanking me for a book
had sent her-a little note that had
read over countless times, and kissed it
often, wondering would it displease her
to know how fondly I cherished it.
thrust the hateful letter out of my sight
and leaning my head on the table, lived
over again the hopes, the fears, the
wretchedness of the last twenty-four
hours.
The day before, while distributing the
mail matter, / came across letter ad-
dressed to myself, and on opening it
learned that through the generosity of o
distant relative, whose name I bore, 1
had been leftin California an inheritance
of $4,000. What change few strokes
OF pen had Notwithstanding Karl
Bergman, postmaster of a secluded
Eastern village, nto Karl Bergman the
possessor of competence, well invested,
yielding certain income ! And how
before my good fortune 1 had thought
OF Annie Merrill as one separated from
me by my poor circumstances, my salary
barely supporting my mother and my
self. and how could l ask any woman to
share my poverty. Now that burden
OF poverty was most Unexpectedly lifted
from me, I felt at liberty to tell her the
hopes never dared 10 entertain till now.
What would her answer be? That
would learn that very night. In the
same mail with my letter was one adj
dressed to her, postmarked New York.
Her correspondence all passed through
my hands, but had never seen that
writing before. That was no weak.
wavering, feminine style. 1t was large,
clear, decisive, writing of self
possessed man. Who could the writer
bef Armies uncle, DIR. Merrill, had
male correspondents in New York. But
this letter was the first that had come to
her since she came orphaned from the
great city year before, and had been
receiv d into her uncle's heart and home.
But other thoughts put the question of
the letter out OF my mind. / sent by
messenger few hurried lines to my
mother 10 prepare her for our good for
tune, and then counted the hours that
would pass before / could offer my in
heritance to Annie encumbered with it's
possessor. When l reached home |
found her there before me. MY mother
who had taken her into her favor from
the first, her sweetness and orphaned
situation proving passport to her heart,
had sent for Annie to communicate the
good news to her. She was strangely
quiz t / thought. and there was troubled
look in her blue eyes l never saw there
before. In fact, after awhile subdued
feeling stole over us all Annie's dis
quiet seemed to impart itself to us. [
was thinking how could venture to tell
her all my hopes. and my mother, guess
ing what my thoughts were, left us to-
gether most OF the evening, but NV
heart failed me. 1t was only when j was
walking home with Annie to DR.. Mer-
rills that found courage to speak. She
led me on by saying that must not
think from her silence that she did not
rejoice in the happy change in my pros
poets, but no one could be more sincere
in her congratulations than herself L
answered that my good fortune would be
valneless to me unless l could share it
with the girl loved.
" The girl you love ?" she repeated,
questioningly.
fo1t hos hand kra,,1,lo IN 49, -
''The girl love, answered, in tones
that she might have interpreted, but
failed to do so.
"She ought to be happy woman"
she continued. May / ask if know
herr"
"H you know her l cried. eff you
know her 0. who could she be but
goua Z"
"Me?"
She drew her hand quickly away from
ny arm and stood quite still before me.
Me 0, did you say me r.
And then l saw the moonlight falling
N her face, and it was not the face of a
irl shining with happy confusion when
he hears the story of his love from the
IAN whom she prefers. 1t was pale and
hooked, and then she hid it from me in
en- hands and burst into tears
/ needed no other answer. knew nv
nit was hopeless.
" Don't cry, dearl' said I, II never
fought to wound you."
" ! thought you knew" she went on,
bbingly, / thought my uncle might /
I'VE told You. / am to marry Mr.. Nor !
}. l got letter from him to-day. Oil
n you forgive me?" !
She stretched out her little hands i'm
oringly. / took them IN mine. and / &
ssed them-they were sacred to me n
ey belonged to another, and | kissed g
EN- while my heart was breaking. d
8 Forgive you my darling! r said,
would forgive You if you killed me, / s
nix Don't grieve, Annie, wi try i,