Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1889-09-05

Oh yes and more than that memory is
hidden within the folds of that black gown
There is triple story of bereavement and
of anguish of soul keener than that felt for
the dead, but, as yet, ito not know it quite
all.
She is a mystery to me, and fail to com
prehend her many times, although | know
her history to be crowded with incidents
sad and tragical
The afternoon sun comes through the lat
tice in bright golden bars, and falls lovingly
on her dark hair, revealing to me that it is
not really black, as 1 had thought, but Of a
d eap brown color, but she is not conscious
OF the sunshine.
The scent of the fragrant roses comes up
from the little garden below, with the
breath of carnations and violets growing
plentiful there, but her soul is shut against
all that is beautiful in nature to-day.
She is so strange and lives within her
self, in such an atmosphere of deep sorrow,
that have never been able to penetrate 1t
and understand the heart throbbing out its
existence to the music of its dirges.
| would love to talk freely TO her this
afternoon, but am at a loss to know how to
begin. | am, at best, poor comforter; my
heart is sympathetic enough, but its emo
lions fail me in words In this, as in many
other things, | am very unfortunate, and
the good that / would do is never realized.
But finally venture: "Mriam, would you
enjoy drive on the beach, or shall it be
stroll in the woods to fill up this remaining
piece of day."
Out there beyond the trees, and swell
ing shoreward, lie the blue waters of the
bay, and beyond booms the broad Atlantic.
There is lovely drive along the sands, and
the weather is glorious, and this is why
offer myself and pony phaeton TO her, as ac-
cessOries of a pleasant afternoon by the
sea. But have missed 1t again, and my
suggestion CRATES on her optional pleasure.
Slowly the great dark eyes are lifted to
mine in sorrowful negative, and | know |
have swept an irresponsible chord.
am answered further by doleful shake
of the head; but she essays no word. Small
need; understand her.
She crunches a letter in her hand savage
Iva letter addressed to me, yet more hers
than mine-as if to remind me that its con
tents are all she has room for in her
thoughts, and that drive on the sunny
sands would only mock the shores of moth
ing to which her soul drifts this after
noon.
Then she gets up as if have annoyed or
disturbed her by my question, which pre-
sumo / have, and goes down the walk to the
little wicket opening out TO the clustering
trees in front of my cottage. The great
white lilies that droop either side the way
are hardly paler than she, or more inno-
cent.
The wind coming up fir SHY from the
water catches at her gov n, and losses her
long loose curls unit she shiyers. Per
hans il whispers n her of her far away
desolate English home which stretches out
its arms, tiguIatively, and begs for her
presence; entreats the proud, beautiful
face 20 shine once more within its great
manor.al halls. II that Is what the winds
| and waves are saving, their petition is met,
doubtless, with a cruel rebuff
Presently she comes back TO me, but, in
stead Of sitting down on the ottoman at my
feet, as half expected her to do, she drops
the letter into luy lap, kisses me hungrily,
whispers br 5kenly: Il can never do it
never" anu goes upstairs. make no an
| swer; there are no words left me adequate,
neither does she look for reply.
| I take up the letter, and although know
i IL by heart | must needs run over il again.
| 1t has come all the way from Hastings, that
beautiful city BY the sea, IN merrie old
/ England, aud is q call from desOlated
| Heatherleigh Manor "Do know aught OF
| Miriam Perciyal Fairfax If SO, tidings OF
| her will be thankfully received The grand
| old hall is waiting at her disposal as the
death of Sir Rupert Perciyal and his writ
ten request leaves her the sole legatee."
am not allowed 10 answer the letter; Miri
am win not have il so, and Heatherleigh is
nothing to me- OF course have told her
| she had better go, but with look Of horror
in those haunting eyes.of hers, she has re-
fused emphstically, as whispering with
white lips she tells me that she "hates her
ancestral halls" and that / have no idea
| what l ask of herr
Perhaps | don't, and the deep aversion