Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-10-13
VII.
ABSENCE.

On Monday morning the post brought me
a letter. 1t was letter that had been ex-
pecting for good while; and, other things
equal, it ought to have caused me liveliest
pleasure. 1t was letter from Mr.. Archi-
bald Winthrop, a wealthy citizen of Boston,
inviting me to come and stay at his house,
and paint the portraits Of his wife and his
| two unmarried daughters. It ought to have
| afforded me the liveliest possible satisfac-
tion, for it meant good lot OF money, and
it meant also, what was more important,
the first serious step in my career. Yet. as
a matter of tact, it. afforded me no satisfac-
tion whatever, but only vexation and regret.
| OF course could not think of saying no to
| it; that would be to fly in the face Of Prov
| idence. But if / said yes to it, should
| have to leave New York, and remain away
for couple Of months at the shortest; and
for reasons which the reader will divine,
was 10th to leave New York even for seven
! night.
! However. like true American-the issue
| lying between business on the one hand and
sentiment on the other-I cast the choice in
favor of business; and two days later found
me aboard the afternoon express train bound
| for Boston The exterminator and had
had an afectionate parting; and had ex-
acted from him promise that he would
write tome, and let me know show things
went on" did not mention Miss Eezardy' g
name to him; but felt sure that when he
wrote to me his letter would contain news
| of her.
Of nv sojourn in Boston, which lasted on
| till after New Years, will only say two
words-it taught me the truth of the adage
about absence making the heart grow fonder.
I thought so much Of Miss Eczardy; her
beautiful pale face was SO often visible before
my imagination: SO passionatelv regretted
the wasted opportunity had had to make
her acquaintance; 1 so eagerly looked for
ward to my return to New York, when
might have another opportunity, hoped
and believed; that by and by began to
realize, what seemed very strange, that I
was not simply interested in her, but that /
was in love with her. Yes, that Twas in
love, head over ears In love, with young
woman between whom and myself never a
word had been exchanged, and who, doubt.
less, was scarcely more than half conscious
of my existence.
Meanwhile waited anxiously for the let
ter Muselle had promised to write me. But
days grew into weeks, and weeks were
lengthening into months, and no letter came.
This made me very restive and unhappy. I
tried to comfort myself by repeating the old
commonplace, that no news is good news,
but discovered that that sort of comfort is
very cold comfort indeed, Finally, few
days before Christmas I took the pen in my
own hand and precipitated active operations
by writing to him. / covered three pages
and seven-eights of fourth page with per-
functory tidings about myself and inquiries
about him; then / gave the remaining
eighth Of the fourth page to the genuine
point and purpose of my epistle. "Do write
to me at once and tell me everything that
has happened in st. Marks place since my
departure. And, by the bye, how are the
Eczardy's? Whst news from Bermuda OF
the doctors health? And Mademoiselle?
Is she always the same?"
looked for an immediate answer from
the exrerminator; but ten days passed be-
did come-but will copy it below:
"DEAR Mr.. ELIor-Your favor of q
ultimo to hand, and contents noted, Glad
to hear you get along all right Yes, thank
you, I am pretty well, and had very busy
season, wich commence now to slack up
little. The reason I didn't write to you be-
fore, I hadn't nothing to say, as nothing
had happened. But since your letter was
reed, q great deal has happened. DIR.
Eczardy is died down there in Bermuda, ]
always said he never could get we'll, and
his body come home on the ship and been
buried, and Miss Eczardy she pack up and
leave New York to 90 to Russia. All since
I receive your letter. The steamer from
Bermuda was due to arrive here on Satur.
day morning last wick, and she expect q
letter by it from her father, when instead
she got word he died down there, and hi,
cadaver is on board the ship in box She
went crazy. and had to manage the hole
business. We buried him in the cemetery
over on Long Island vile it showed, and
then she tole me she made up her mind tc
leave New York and 60 to Russia. She
pack up in hurry, and sail on the boat fol
Havre Wednesday morning. She tole me
now my father is dead got nothing more
to live for, so go to Russia and offer my.
self to serve the revolution. i strike one
blow in the same time to avenge my father
and help the struggle of Russian liberty,
and then die. Goodby.
"If you let me know "a hours before you
come back, have the rooms cleaned up nice
and fires to warm them. Otherwise every
thing is the same as always. Take good
care of yourself, and believe me, with the
highest esteem, Your devoted,
"a. MUsELLE."
|
Iremember what followed as one remem-
bers the delirium of sick bed. remem-
Der reaching Muscles house and hearing,
viva yoce, from bis lips confirmation Of
what he had written. Miss Eczardy had
gone to Russia, to st. Petersburg. She had
gone, she said, to strike blow for Russian
liberty, to avenge her father, and to die.
Then remember many days of great mis-
cry, and mental struggle and hesitation;
then / remember that at last | took
a resolution which brought me
something almost like relief.
remember long sea voyage across stormy
wintry ocean; a long railway journey across
France and Germany, and through the for
ests and over the SHOWS Of Russia. ! remem-
Der great strange city. where the people
spoke an incomprehensible language, and
where it was night nearly all OF the "a
hours; remember big bustiing hotel,
where the people spoke French, and where
the gas was kept perpetually burning. I re-
member walking the streets OF that great
dark city day after day-it may have been 9
fortnight, it may have been month. I re-
member that as walked those streets
peered anxiously into the face Of every
woman whom passed, hoping. hoping, hop
ing that somewhere among them / NIGH
meet her. But remember that all my hope
was embittered by the thought that no hope
, could have been more unreasonable, non'
more forlorn. Yet / kept on walking th'
streets; and clung to my hope in defiance o.
reason, as drowning man clings to straw
At last remember that one day, as
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