Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1889-04-03

life was an event to be chronicled and
set aside with her few red-letter days.
Those two miserable young things peo-
pied my DAYS and danced through nv
nights till developed nervousness and
felt myself growing thin.
Finally Mr.. Newman came home,
sooner, on the whole, than I expected. l
saw shadow on the path one afternoon
as sat sewing, and looked up to find
him coming up the walk.
| ran to the open door for him, and
Immediately began my inquiry. He
had not given up the house Tor good;
she had made deposit for the rent,
and was coming back some time, he did
not know when. She had been called
away very suddenly, and had left no
address, as they intended to travel. He
didn't ask single question, but he
looked SO round and comfortable and
sympathetic that I found myself telling
him the whole story-all my pangs and
terrors.
He grew excited visibly as I went on,
and finally very red and very earnest;
he burst out, Thunder and gums, Miss
Clarke God bless my soul, Miss
Clarke it's shame, and if there 'saany-
II,
depend on me-"
We chatted for a while, and he left
me feeling calmer than had since the
letter came. Mary Clarke had doubt
lesslv written to her Jack before she
left, and things were going smoothly be-
ween them. Like fussy old woment
generally, had had my stew for moth
ing-the heartache, the signs, and all
that were the inventions of my own
sentiment. [ began to be very much
ashamed, then to feel injured and in
dignant, as people do who become con-
scious Of having their sentiments trihed
with.
This was Monday. was just getting
into my usual quiet mode of life when,
Thursday, coming home from market, l
found another letter for Miss Mary
Clarke, in Jacks unmistakable hand
it was addressed K Street, and had
been forwarded to me by the chief at
the post-office, who had known me ever
since was child. and he had given
me shilling bits. I hesitated a few
moments, and then opened it. feeling
justified in seeking any clue to this
strange complication. I read the fol-
lowing lines:
am coming home to you, my darling to you
your letter. Yours, JACK EMERY.
Write to me at Chicago. care Brown Bros
Write him
Wouldn't write him /! almost lost
my own identity. / thought myself
that other woman, young, and entered
into the fullness of lie and love. In my
excitement / even wrote dearest
Jack" and was going on to say / don't
know what wild and tender things; and
/ f,1lI hoo TO
sir" and middle life, and soberly told
him the story of the two names; of Miss
Mary's disappearance, of my endeavors
to find her, and of the information Mr..
Newman had given me, and ended with
the hope that the interest and interfer-
ence OF an old woman might be par
doned.
As / came from posting my letter, /
went to Mr.. Newman's Office to tell him
the latest news about my lover, and
found him on his high Office stool, look
ing like mature cherub in lrreproach-
able linen. with a palm-leaf instead Of
wings. | stayed longer than l thought,
for when l reached home my clock
licked reproachfully and sulkily at me;
and Tabs temper was almost spoiled
with waiting for her dinner. When,
oh, Mary Clarke, spinster, have you
been so behind time before?
I had decided that Miss Clarke's let
ter must have been written just before
she left town 80 suddenly, before she
even suspected that she was to go, and
that if she had written on her depar-
ture to give Jack her new address, her
letter had either arrived after he left
Texas, or had been lost, as so many
letters are in the loose arrangements for
mails, that are so aDominally usual in
those Western places. In few days
Mr.. Emery's reply to my letter came.
My dear Miss Clarke-How can thank you?
/ am left without a clew to my darling's where
abouts save what you give me. cannot under
in Boston almost soon my letter reaches
you. May l come and talk with you? letter
sent to 40 State Street will reach me Immediately
on my arrival.
More gratefully than can ever tell you,
Yours JACK EMERY.
I sent letter to 40 State Street., you
may believe, and early the next even
ing he came-this young fellow whom
| had so long in my thoughts. Not very
good looking, but tall and manly, with
honest gray eyes looking from his
troubled face.
the sunset, the sky in the west pale,
clear yellow, faint red streak here and
there. and the edges of the lowhanging
clouds tinged with light-sat talking till
the gray clouds and the twilight wrap
ped us in. He told me then as much of
the story as [ ever knew, very simple
one and simply told. They had been
schoolmates. He had loved her. She
was unsettled. too young to know her
own mind, and grew distant. He went
off engineering and despairing; she
found she loved him after all, and now
this separation had occurred.
81 shall use every means of finding
her." he said. 81 cannot bear to think
how she will interpret my silence after
her letter. It is the uncertainty that
wears on me-" And as we parted he
took both my hands, saying, dear Miss
Mary, cannot bear to think how much
worse it might have been but for your
great goodness. / cannot thank you; I
can only bless YOU"
The long summer wore away, and de-
spite all Jacks efforts not word did he
hear of the Clarkes. They had COM
pletely disappeared. The boy grew
more and more detected, and we sat for
long hours in perfect silence sometimes
ubop he xUoc wit |, mo ho with hic ouao