The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-01-23

uD0TaIUIUIo
to him, if you see him in your present state of
irTitated pain, is that in them everyone says so
much than they wish or mean; wild and bitter
words are exchanged which can never be for
gotten, even il they are ever pardoned, and
that which might have been a mere passing
sorrow, temporary arrangement, is deepened
and widened into lifelong enmity. | have
said TO you, before all that it is possible TO say.
| only entreat you now to be guided by IT. and
remain in England"
Her heart was hardened against her best
friend. Like almost every woman, she was
only capable of believing that those alone loved
her who wholly agreed with her and, without
reserve, sympathized in all her emotions. She
had even doubted her fathers affection for her,
because it had been critical and temperate in
judgment. Her heart now was sore, hurt, aP-
prehensive, full of anger and yet unbearable
Indignation; she would have liked her COM
panlOn to give herlimitless, unquestioning con-
ISOLATION and indignation likewise. She longed
10 weep her heart out on the breast OF friend; ;
to cry out against fate, and love, and earth and
heaven, and all the cruel treacheries of human
life, and hear some voice full of compassion
echo all her own cries. But Aubrey seemed 10
her only to rebuke her, only to palliate all she
suffered from, only to study the interest OF his
family and the conyentionalities OF the world.
Ii closed her heart 20 him. She was too full
of pain and anger both TO penetrate his motives
or even for an instant TO dream OF his self
| denial.
lie was powerless to persuade or TO control
her. All the influence which he had possessed
| upon her before was lost in the food of blind
! aud passionate impulses let loose in her by the
| pain OF jealousy. She knew well enough that
he was right; but she would not open her ears
| to mis- cOunsels or her heart TO his kindness.
II he had been less loyal to his cousin he
might have been more successful In his per-
suasions. If he had conjured her by his own
affection he might have prevailed upon her TO
return. But no SYLLABLE which could have
htpn inHn b- al
capped him. John Vernon risen from his grave
could not have spoken with more absolute SELF
denial than he did. And he gained no in
fuence, he made no impression; jealousy and
Indignation, and the bitter sense of ignorance
and wrong, we're all hardening her heart and
driving her on in strong self-wil, regardless OF
/ the issue of the fate which she provoked.
Every argument which he could use, every
inducement, cOniuratiOn. and even prayer
which he could call TO his aid he exhausted in
in vain. She knew that her husband and the
woman whom he had told her he loved more
than any other creature upon earth were some
where in Italy together. England in its dark
and early winter seemed to her only like that
ce-prison which holds the bodies of the
damned in the verse OF Dante.
Wearied, panied and mortified, Aubrey at
last desisted from his endeavors and remained
silent rs the train flew through the country
sIlences onward toward Dover.
81 am not my cousins keeper" he thought
| am doing now he would only misconstTue my
reasons, and rebuke me for meddlesome inter-
ferencep
There was no sound but that of the oscillation
of the train swinging al headlong speed over its
iron sleepers.
Neither spoke again till the journey was al
most done.
"You will not warn him that am going
awayl" she said suddenly once.
81 am not an informer, as ! told you once be-
l..r
no doubt 6nd some way to let him know that
you have left England"
1T does not matter" she replied as coldly,
and she thought, wretehedly. "He never
changes or pauses in his wishes for meV'
The silence remained unbroken until the
siackening of the speed of the train told them
that they were near the docks OF Dover. Then
Aubrey, stopped a little forward and resting
his gray eyes upon her sadly, said with great
gentlenesS yet with a coldness which she had
never heard from him:
III you have any true confidence in my
judgment and in my affection for you, listen
to me- Return here and wait till GuildeiOy
comes to you Of his own accord. II you have
patience that time will not be long"
She heard the wise words with the impa-
thence of q woman who knows beforehand
what advice she is about to receive and has be-
foreband decided to follow none of it, Aubrey
seemed to her cold, unsympathetic, cOnven-
tional; she wanted his grief and indignation as
ner support; she was almost unjust enough to
say herself that the clanniSh feeling of family
dignity made him think more OF preserving
his Cousins name from public comment than
Of her own personal pain. She was in that
state when every form of consolation or coun-
sci seems an irritant or amockery; when, as
Horace has it, anger being uabridled becomes
the violent tyrant OF the soul.
II have a right TO know. have right to
know" she repeated to herself They all
seemed to deny her that right; they all seemed
to think that she should submit TO stay in
tutelage and acquescence, asking nothing and
arranging nothing until her husband should, at
his good will and pleasure. deign to recall once
more the fact that she existed.
Their names were great, no doubt, and their
lives were before the world; but il he chose to
sully them and give them TO idle calumny il
was no fault OF hers.
There was brief and tempestuous winter
session then on, from which 1t was Impossible
for Aubrey to absent himself even day. Even
Il he could have done so, he might have been
the cause OF more harm than good, he thought,
if he forced his presence upon her in the
journey on which her heart was set. Even his
consin himself uncertain of temper and
capreious in his judgments, might look on
such interference with wrong Interpretation
OF It. He saw nothing that he could do, for
the time being except to leave her to her own
choice of action. Things might, perchance, be-
come better than he feared they would do.
He knew that il is OF little use to try to be
the providence Tor other lives The unforeseen
is sure to intervene and accident at every mo-
ment Overiurns the schemes and the wishes
of man with a fractiousness which no one can
prevent.
you must take your own way, my dear" he
said, with a sigh. Il hope you will never re.
gret it."
Then he accompanied her on to the vessel
and babe her farewell.
The night was cold but clear; a strong spark
gz nd a led He
held her hand moment in his as he parted
from her on the deck
81 am sorry | cannot come with you to Paris"
be said with great GOODNESS despite himself
still in his tone. But | must be in the house
tonight by II at latest. God bless you. dear;
since you will go, be prudent and be unselfish.
Women suffer much at times no doubt from the
selfshness of men, but sometimes think they
repent their own more bitterly when they give
way to it, And how often mere selfshness is
called love-"
Then he let her hand go, and left her stand
ing on the deck of the steamship under the
clear, cold skies.
His heart was heavy, as a special train car
ried him backward in his solitude to West
minister as fast as steam could bear him
through the night.
''lOu filled my barren life with treasure;
You may withdraw the gifts you gave;"
he thought, in the words of the unknown
writer 10 which he had taken causeless fancy.
"Nay, she has given he no treasure at all, and
she takes away nothing because she gave
nothing. The gift was given to IA life not bar
ren, but already over full and have no part