Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-08-23


 nrst tune l ever saw happiness so completely outlined on her usually sad face. I had seen LOOK similar once long ago when we were wandering among the hills and rest inc beneath the shade of tree while we gazed oceanward; but this was really han py anticipation.
 Il presume you have reference to Allan Percivai" she questioned, a rosy flush sweeping up from cheek to brow
 "4es,. answered. smiling. "I met him In England, and he seemed very much pleased to hear that you were at my home Tn Rhode Island, and he gave me a letter saying: Give it to her with your owu hands know you will be very happy With him, Miriam, he Is so noble and good. ' !, sald this last at a venture, but not amiss, for her sweet face was almost trans hgured with the joy that shone from the windows of her happy soul. ''Now, when you are calmer," added, 'I will give you the letter." '0N The Hush has gone from her face, and she IS sitting over there in the ftful sunshine cam as summers morning, outwardly at least. Fl am calm," she says, presently, looking away out over the frosty iandscane' but there is little. happy tremor in her voice, and know the love-light is in her eyes.
 take the portrait from her lap and 20 of upstairs. l hear her sigh as l shut the stairway door behind me, and my heart throbs for the denouement.
 Down in the bottom of my trunk, where I placed It weeks ago, find the letter which l was to deliver "with my own hands. .' "Allan," say, happily, "the darkest hour IS Just before dawn, you know" and I go downstairs light of foot and light of heart. Why shouldn't I, when I was the medium of so much life happiness, and I had so longed to bring it about, too? It seems to me that as pass down the shad. owy staircase that the face of my dear, dead friend, Lady Percival, smiles out of tue semi-darkness, and I fancy I hear a sweet, soft voice, long since hushed in death, say: "Blessings on your devoted head, my friend, for taking such good care Of my dear daughter; for proving to be such tireless watch and ward over her best interests"
 Miriam looks up as enter the room with a bright smile, and can not help uttering the words which come involuntarily to my lips: "Why! is this Miriam; always so sad, so sad9" She doesn't reply. only reaches an eager hand for the letter which a moment later lay on her white palm.
 turn away as the taper fingers break the seal. Somehow it comes to me that the inclosed is sacredly hers; that I, even I, nave no right to intrude on it's perusal. 1 take up my crocheting and, stirring up the coals anew in the grate, seat myself at the opposite window on my fancy work intent. The wind sweeps down from the hills and whirls the snow into miniature mountains and valleys out there in the front lawn, where last summer she stood so ught up with sorrowful vengeance among the lilies. Would she ever have such sad again as on that day2 1 did not know. Would she ever almost hiss through her pearly teeth that she hated her home-her Heatherleigh home2
 Most likely, if should be foolish enough 70 broach the subject again. But I will not; have moro sense now.
 A rustic of paper and a sigh, and look lp to see Miriam bury her face in the letter written on Allan Percivars knee in Heath srlelgh Park can not tell whether she Is happy now or not, but watch her furtively and pretend that do not care to be enlight- ened in the matter.
 The better way to find out some secrets 8 to dlssemble and play perfect indifference Q the import, and according to the natural oerversity of things, they will unfold them 'elves before your disinterested vision.
 Some persons are like oysters; undertake % be familiar with their affairs and they shut up, shell-like, and you are left vic- i'm to your own over-inquisitiveness
 fancy Miriam Percival Fairfax is one of hese, and so 1 work away with needle and tray and black zephyr as if made my liv- ng by my endeavors in this line, and glance lp about every tenth stitch over my glasses O note any change in the occupant of the leep, easy chair.
 l hear another rustic of the letter, and ook up to find her doubling it over her lnger and looking at me with such Q re- leved, sweet expression that again let the words slip from my tongue that rise: "Love 8 transforming you, Miriam, from Q sad aced, revcngeful Percival to 0 bright, 'eautiful woman"
 'Hush!" she said, with smile Would 'ou not like to read Allan's letterl There is lothlng in 1t that you need not know, and lnce you have been so faithful and thought ul and true, why, it is your due-only your ue"
 She offers me the missive I take my hair and go over and sit down beside her, nd she lays the open letter in my lap. dust my glasses better, lay aside my cro- heting and read as Allan Percival has written:
 Miriam. my love, the unexpected meet az with Q friend of yours in the park at Heath. rleigh gives me m opportunity of sending you letter. The great burden of my life is, dear
 
 'hole soul, or not. Iremember of giving you ly address when I visited you Tt the Rest ut you have not written to me as yet The ove born Tn the dark days of threading the val. 'y of death is not to be put aside easily, and I lust beg of you, dearest, to say if you have hanged your mind, or if you have by our long eparation found that you love me even little. II was poor when we parted, but I am now Q independent circumstances, having fallen cir to landed property in and near Trouville rom my mothers family. tell you this, not ecause l merely wish to speak of my afiu- noe, but 1t may be that you think am think. ,g of your wealth, though can hardly see why ou could imagine Percival dissembling. ''If you have found that you can love me, ohi liriam. darling. bid me como to you. If not, eep the locket gave you at the Rest as tie fit of only relative. remain yours,
 ALLAN PERCIvAL." Fl must answer it." she said, when had ntshed. "Allan will be SO disappointed if do not. He is noble and true, as you said," he goes on to say, "and l find, after such 'ng separation, that can never be happy 7ithout him."
 Then that Is the problem she has been rying to solve all these months of separa- she could forget her anguish pr the dead enough to be happy with the wing. She doesn't say this, but I divine 1t 3 be the case, nevertheless. We'll, she has olved it, sitting here in the winters sun hine, and the rose will bloom where the ue hath grown, for love can never forget