Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1889-02-15
HEPSIE'S VALENTINE.

only the blaze for company
Hepsie Seymour sighed and sat
down near the window of her apart
ment to watch the sunset redden the
western snow-clad hills before it drop
ped into the crisp February night.
Jane turned away from the hearth
after replenishing the fire, and tiptoed
out of the room and down the softly
carpeted stairs, cogitatine:
Il wonder what her sorrow may be, -
she murmured, running her hand
thoughtfully along the heavy walnut
balustrade. 1T must be love trouble
for every time st. Valentines Day
comes around she grows paler and
keeps her room, wanting to be alone. y
And the observing Jane was correct
in her conclusion.
Truly the blaze was all the company
Miss Seymour cared for tonight of all
nights. for out of the cleaning west
seemed to come tenderly uttered
Goodbye, Hepsie; | can never for
get"
And tonight. as the dusk Of Valen
tine Eve deepened around her, Hepsie
Seymour sobbed up against the win
dow pane: Il think he still remem-
bers. / have remembered until my
heart is cankered through with the
bitterness all its own"
The stars were coming out now, one
by one, and great shadows trailed
through the shrubbery and crept
around The Oaks
A panied face seemed to rise out Of
the night and search her soul with its
dark, yet kindly eyes, as once, on a
Valentine Eve, six years ago. She
turned to the hearth with sigh once
more. How | suffer- she moaned,
rocking to and fro, with the blaze for
company.
So the time which brings loving
avowals and sweet remembrances for
the world of happy-hearted youth,
and warmer pulsations to the hearts
of the elderly lovers, only brought an
agony of regret to the heiress of Oak
Hill.
This was why, then, that in her ele-
gantly-appointed rooms, with arms
folded over her bosom. she rocked
wearily to and fro, recounting the
brilliant and saddest of life's memo
ries.
Up from the valley came a chime of
silvery, musical notes. She paused.
Wedding bells" she murmured, inn
patiently, going back to the window
and throwing open the sash to listen.
six years ago tonight she con
tinued, Il sent my hearts truest and
best lover away because he was poor,
O, that l could recall the past and
welcome Horace back once more; but
| can not; woe is miner'
The bells ceased ringing; but Hep
sic, uetultsS vi lht COiu' Nllti uii,
stood silently clasping her hands, and
gazing far down the shadowy vale of
st. Catherine and time together.
Yes" she said. presently, Il have
writer, and, though he may spurn
my confession, coming so late "a it
does, ain glad / sent the letter. He
has made no sign; perhaps even now
he hates he for the wretched past.
No matter | have borne a great
deal: ! can bear more
Il can bear to be ignored by the
man whose love means life 10 me, be-
cause deserve it, but God pity mer'
She closed the sash and went back
10 the fire, kindled ''for company" :"
and sat down. The glow of the cher
~ flame fiickered over the soft, satin
gown and touched the tear-stained
face dreamily.
20, that he still loves mer' She
clasped her hands passionately and
continued: "All the wealth OF The
Oaks might go at one sweep of for
tunes wave did but the returning tide
but bear Horace Winters love to me-
But, alas | can not undo
God only knew; and with Him
all things were possible. 1t might
be yet-and tonight was the anniver-
sary-what is it, Johny'
The polite servant stood at the open
door with cap in hand.
There's an old man at the gate as
wants cold bite, ma'am, and cravin'