Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1889-07-21

soft south wind is blowing, the Wild How,
crs are blooming, the birds are singing, ana
the brooks are ripping over the peoples
with a song of murmurous content. h9w
1 should love to see the dear oia nome tnis
sweet Nav day. seem 60 see 1t Just as ~
looked in that happy old time. Tho WIN
dows ore standing wide open, with the
wind inst stirring the folds OF the white
cortains and the rooms are sweet with the
,,crf,,me of yellow iesSamine and the fra
s,rant purple and white lilacs, the bees are
drouinc over tho red clover blossoms I.
how bitterly | cried when Daisy, the white
cow. died from eating the dcw-wet clover.
That was the greatest grei l h"u ever
known. Aunt Mary was with. me then
dear auntie. ] fancy can see her now as
she bends over her beloved flowers, pull
inc ont a weed here and shipping on a
deed leaf or a dried blossom there.
"Ohi If ] could only awake TO find that
the events OF the last four years had oeeh
All troubled dream and hear Aunt Mary 5
gentle voice. half tender, half chidlng,
calling, Come. get mp, lazy bones the sun
has been up for an hour
"UoVV eladlvI would bc again that happy,
sleepy child But. alas, ! know those Joyous
DAYS are gone forever. Aunt Mary is dead
and Fred is dead, and am left alone WIN
an empty. aching heart, TO wear out my mo
in the dust and din Of tins dreary town.
Oh. Fred. why were YOU taken rom me
when YOU were my all and loved you So
Iloved you so ....
drops her dark head on hef slenocr hahuS
aud sobs like "a hurt child
"Marjory" ,.
II is mans voice. deep and musical. d,
She SPRINGS 10 her feet with a startled
CIV and faces the intruder-a tall: hand.
some, broad-shouldered young fellow OF
two and thirty. His clustering far mar IS
brushed carelcssly back from broad,
lofty forehead. and the almost woma,ni;sh
softpess of his deep blue eyes ~ behed by
the rather obstinate chin and the clear
cut. resolute mouth, half hidden 10y the
lone dropping. blonde moustachc. In an
instant the Crieving child Is gone, ana
A stately, dignifed woman stands IN her
place. ,.,- ".-,,,.
do Won enter my presence unannounceu
'John told me Won were IN the library,
ne saws. land seeing the door ajar came
straight in. Pardon me for listening, but
/ could not help overheariug YOU. DO
Won so love and long for the country
Her red mouth quiyers and her dark eyes
brim with tears.
mother and home" she SAYS. thlnk II
I could live there again i could DO almost
* he looks Mt her there leaps into his
blue ewes aloOk Of passionate love. Mar
iorv.n he says. clasping her slender hands
in his INV love, my darling, my beautiful
one. be nv wife and Won shall have the
fairest, daintiest home that love can create
and live among the birds and towers al
WAYS. Can't You love me, dear! love
Won so fondly, so truly, that words can
not exprese It. long 10 spend the rest OF
my life in your service, IN making the
world fair to you. and IN guarding you
from every care"
AS he pours forth the story Of his love
her eyes open with look of startled sur
prise. which changes 20 one OF quick indig-
nation. and Withdrawing her hands from
his. she cxclaims Indignantly;
''Bv what right do YOU address such
words to me? BY what right do you call
me Marjory?"
"Bv the right that every honest man has
70 tell a woman he loves her, he answers
quickly, for YOU ere rs free to be wQoed
and won rs any girl IN this town. And II L
can't call you Mariory VIII call you Mar
lie. / like that BETTER
As the quaint. pretty name falls teuderly
from his Inns She thrusts forward both
hands, with a white. agOnizcd face ana "a
cry of anguish. "Oh, don't, don't call me
that: Fred usedtO call me Marie. can hear
him now Marie. Marie, my black-eyed
love- Oh. how vain | was % my pretty
face because he loved it." and dropping
back in the chair from which she had late
Is risen, she sobs as If her heart would
break. oh how | loved him, how l
loved him" she walls. " so much that with
histender words in my ears. and his kisses
still warm on my lips. | have wept great
tears. and knew not whether they were OF
iOyor sOrrow.'
Maurice stands by with his heart heavy
and troubled at the grief which he has
unwittingly caused her. Not knowing what
40 say to comfort her he remains silent,
which under the circumstances Is tine best
thing he could do. Old memories are STIR
ring strangely in MarjOry's heart to-day,
and. woman-ike, her grief must ind re-
lief in tears and words. aud she pauses not
to consider that rejected lover IS hardly
the one in whose ears to pour the story OF
her devotion to her dead love.
Suddenly. with one of the quick changes
20 characteristic of her, she raises her
head and asks
MIR. Chester, did You ever read Jenny
sons Maud'l"
Yes" he saws wonderinely, II have
read il; bat dare say l have forgotten
every word of it."
u wish / could forget it," she cries
mournfully, "but | can't, and there are
portions of it that ring in my ears night
and day and crush me with the weight OF
my woe; and that verse,
Othst IL were possible.
After long grief and pain.
To find the arms OF my true love
Round me once again
"Tbe arms Of mvloveare gone from round
me forever, and the best part Of my nature
died with him. You ask me to love you.
sbe saws. looking at him with mOurniul
- - in mi
husbands grave. Gro and WOO some happy
Girl who can give YOU the first love OF her
glad. Young heart. and forget me. and for
get what has past. | have lived my life,
a. far as love is concerned; my dreams are
over, Henceforth there is nothing left to
me but "a deathless grief and the haunting
memories of happier things. am sorry To
have panied YOU" she saws, looking mo
his handsome face, which IS haggard with
grief and wounded love. Good by You
will forget me and know that it IS all fol-
the best"
He takes her hand with tender reverence;
he longs to raise II to his lips but he feels
that il would be almost q sacrilege TO IN
trude his love on the Young widowed heart.
He bids her goOd-by and leaves her with
ont another word. He has seen her almost
daily for months past, a stately, dlgnlhed
woman, and he has never imagined That
her grief was still so deep and so fresh III
her heart. But he has not given her up
there is too much perseycring resolution III
his nature for that.
81 knew that she was troubled" Inc
thinks. as he walks away. and should
not have spoken. l should have waited
until she was in a different mood. OF
course her trouble will come back afresh
sometimes, but il will pass away again, and
leave her herself. will not give her up, my
bonny love. love her too well for that.
/ will bide a wee, az the old song says,
and then | will try again. / am quite sure
she likes me-" he tells himself, with all a
mans vanity. Il will stay away and let
her miss me little. What a child she Is
in spite of all her protestations of a broken
heart! My fair, sweet darling | would
give the world TO DO able to call her my
own"
Some four years before the events Just
narrated Marjory Gray, then a beautiful
Girl Of sixteen. lived with her aunt, Mrs
MARY GRAY, who adopted her when she was
only FIVE years old. Mrs. Gray was her aunt
only by marriage, Marjory-beina
the child OF Mr.. Grays only brother. Her
mother died when she was a tiny baby. and
her father, always delicate man, followed
his wife, from whose death he never en-.
4 Il