Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1889-02-08

She understood it, entered into n kind of I'M
spoken agreement with her father not to do
50 and that agreement Harold had under
stood and respected Since their last letters
to each other they had met once or twice
casually or at church and interchanged q few
different words, though their eyes spoke
another story, and touched each others
hands and parted, and that was absolutely
all But now that she had como TO this mo-
mentous decision, she felt that he had O
right to learn it, and SO once more she wrote
to him. She might have gone to SEQ him or
told him to meet her, but she would not
For one thing she did not dare TO trust her
self on such an errand in his dear company,
for another she was too proud, thinking that
if her father came to hear of it he might con-
slider that it had clandestine and underhand
appearance.
And so she wrote With oil she said we
need not concern ourselves. Tho letter was
passionate, more passionate than one would
perhaps have expected from a woman of Idas
calm and stately sort. But mountain may
have heart OF fire, although it is clad in
SHOWS, and so it sometimes is with women
who look cold and Unconditional as marble.
Besides, it was her last chance-she could
write him no more letters and she had much
to say.
"And so l have decided Harold" she said,
after telling him of all her doubts and trou-
bles 81 must do il there is no help for it, as
think you will see. have asked for the ten
days respite. Well, Ireally hardly know why,
except that it is respite. And now, what is
there left TO say to you except goodbye l
love you, Harold; ! make no secret Of it, and
shall never love any other. Remember all
| ifn tI.t I hnz- e.,
gotten you, ard never can forget. For peo-
pie placed as we are there is one hope-the
grave. In the grave earthly considerations
fail and earthly contracts end, and here l
trust and believe we shall find each other-or
at the least forgetfulness. My heart is so
sore l know not what to say to you, for it is
difficult to put all feel in words am over
whelmed, and my spirit is broken, and l wish
to God that / were dead. Sometimes l cease
to believe in a God who can allow his crea-
lures TO be so tormented and give us love
only that it may be daily dishonored in our
sight; but who am that / should complain.
and after all, what are our troubles compared
to some we know of Well, it will come to
an end at last, and meanwhile pity me and
think Of me. Pity me and think of me- yes,
but never see me more. AS soon as this en-
gagement is publicly announced, 60 away,
the further the better. Yes, go to New
Zealand, us you suggested once before, and in
pity of our human weakness never let me see
your face again. Perhaps you may write to
me sometimes--if my-if Mr.. COSsey will
allow it. Go there and occupy yourself; it
Will divert your mlnd--you are sJlll coo
Foung a man to lay yourself upon the shelf,
mix yourself up in the politics of the place,
take to writing, anything, so long as You can
absorb yourself. l send you a photograph OF
myself, have nothing better, and ring
that night and day l have worn since l was
a child. l think that it will fit your little
finger, and hope that you will always wear
It in memory Of me. And now it is late and
am tired, and what is there more that a
woman can say to the man she loves, and
whom she must leave forever1 Only one
word-Good-by IDA"
When Harold got this letter it fairly broke
him down. His hopes had been revived when
he thought that all was lost, and now again
they were utterly dashed and broken. Ho
could see no way out of it, none at ALL He
could not quarrel with Idas decision, shock
Ing as it was, for the simple reason that be
knew in his heart that she was acting rightly,
and even nobly. But oh! the thought of it
made him mad. 1t is probable that to man
Of imagination and deep feeling hell itself
can invent no more hideous torture than that
he must undergo in the position in which
Harold Quaritch found himself. To truly
love some good woman or some woman whom
| he thinks good-for 1t comes to the same
thing--to love her more than life, TO hold her
dearer even than his honor, to be, like Har-
| old, beloved In turn, and then to know that
that woman, that one thing for which he
would count the world well lost and would
sven sacrifice his hope Of heaven, that light
that makes his days beautiful, that starry Joy