The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1889-06-01
AFTER MANY DAYS" "
A STORY OF MEMORIAL DAY.
BY ROSE TERRY COOKE.


You are not doing it just for m,
sake, Hugh7 said the sweet incisiv'
voice.
God forbid There is no question
of that, Marion.
could not love thee. dear, so much,
Loved not honor more.
l am one of Marion's me, as the boy!
call me now, by birth and breeding, fol
my great grandfather was sworn aide
and ally of the Swamp Fox. Hugf
Heriot, of that day, was his leader:
night hand all through that long hiding
and skirmishlng that so harnassed the
British from swamp and morass, Many
tale has my grandfather told me by
the big fireplace at Heriot Of those ole
days, till my heart and head were full
of patriotism. l was fed on love fol
my country from my first remembrance
do you think it will fail me nowl
Marion Lancaster's dark eyes flashed
back the look of her lovers. No bu
then Will it seem patriotism to them
Hugh-to your people at homer
1 don't Know. / nave a hoff1rraa1 hoff1rra11dfittI a5abt
sometimes. But it is my country l
have other-my own grand magnificent
country-east, west, north, or south. l
fight for its unity, against its separation,
for no latitude or longitude. If my
own people have lived so long in
Georgia that their good Scotch blood
runs thin with the languor of luxury,
have been here in these hills long
enough to get back the iron into mine
that lay only in abeyance. 1 must go,
Marion and 1 must 60 on the side OF
right. You could not keep me, dear,
and | know you would not.
A spasm of anguish quivered over
her beautiful proud face but her voice
was true and clear. 81 dare not keep
you, Hugh. Women have a sense oi
honor, too-a love of country"
Some of them, said Hugh bitterly
He was thinking of his classmate and
chum whose weak lovely little fancee
was doing her utmost to keep him oul
of the army, day after day. Hugh
looked at Marion with love and pride
in his eyes. You are the right sort, he
said, as he drew her more closely
against his shoulder. l wish l knew
how things were with Sandy, he went
on. Mother has no one else or
the plantation but Cornelia my
cousins, l know, have joined the army
Of the South. Georgians born anc
bred, though Aunt Carr was a Connec
ticut woman, like mother, they are typ
ical Southerners they have neither my
Scotch blood nor my Northern educa
ton. know well which way is theirs
| can't blame them, though | heartily
disagree with them.
Marion looked up at her lover with
something higher than emotion in hel
eyes his justice and candor amazed
her. In the seething passions of the
time she had never before heard one
just word uttered for those whose hon.
est convictions arrayed them on the
other side.
1t is we'll now for your mother tha
Sandy did not share your strength, she
said, thinking with woman's instinc
how lonely Mrs. Heriot would be with
out either son.
Hugh laughed. Perhaps it is just a!
well for me, Marion. Had we bott
been strong and well we should botf
have come North-mother is fanatic
about about New England education
and then we should both have fallen il
love with you, sweetheart. What a di
lemma for you ''
How do you know? said Marion, hal
smiling.
Oh, Sandy and are twins all Through
except for his delicate organization. H,
and | liked the same things, dreamed
the same things, read the same books
are so alike, even mother was at time
puzzled to tell US apart. Old DR.. Sever
ance used to say that we were, after all
only one boy, without physique enougt
for the two bodies we materialized into
| always felt ashamed, IN a dull sort o
way, to be so robust when Sunday coul(
not keep up with me but he is far tn,
sweeter- natured of the two. You woult
have loved him the better, Marion.
Never was the swift, indignant ans
wer.
So Hugh Heriot enlisted with
Northern regiment, parted with hi
sweetheart bravely, and LETT her to wal
as hundreds like her were left in thos
dreadful days.
Did we know then, shall we eve
know-we WHO came out scathless-
what those women suffered who, tiet
hand and foot, maddened by the poo
recurrent routine of daily life, filled will
vague imaginative terrors. had yet t.
live and do their petty duties under th
edge of a sword worse than the fablet
blade of Damocles2
Honor forever to that noble amy o
martyrs To them no less than tt
those who lost their lives on the actua
battle field should monuments arise ant
wreaths be offered. They were tn
beating heart that sent strong life bloot
into the battling hand, and, oh hoy