Waterbury evening Democrat., 1890-07-15
THE ATHELSTONS;
VICTOR AND vANQUIsHED.
BY MARY CECIL HAY.

thls new aud untried path which lies be- fore us
 We have always known that we were to leave Tresean when we were grown up. and could make home for our selves so grandfather's decision at last did not take us at all by surprise. What will the home be like I wonder, that we are to make for ourselves-the home in the far city? Gerard was in London last week, and has, in a sort of way, pre- pared for us. He has an enGagement- n capital one, he calls it, though I can- not help hoping he will study painting, of which he is so fond, as well as sing every night and he has taken rooms for us in a house in Conduit street {; home-like in every way, as he describes them but. then, know how to allow for Gerard's pleasant exaggeration when he wishes to cheer me. And there, in the rooms in Conduit street, I am to "keep house" (if that can bedone in lodg- ings) for Gerard and might be won- dering what 1t would be like, only that Iknow so we'll it must be a happy life for me, because it will be spent with him.
 But, even while am thinking of this, there is an under-current of thought resting on the pitiful story of our mothers short and saddened' life, and will write it just as Aunt Jessie told 1t ms tonight, We had been talking, as said before, of our parting, and of grand father, and Gerard said, in his out spoken way, that grandfather's worst sin was letting his sister work for him as she dii', without the reward ot loving thanks or tender care
 "But like it, dear," insisted Aunt Jessie; five always lived in the old farm, you know, and always worked in it because I liked the work, as we'll as because I had it to do-hked it better than any other that could have fallen to me. and much better than doing nothing. So, Gerard, instead of being relieved, If it were taken from me, should be lost for occupation, and miserable indeed, dear"
 "But it will be heavier still when we are gone, auntie," said.
 "Yes," she answered, absently, her eyes fixed upon Gerard, not upon me {; "you lessen it for me much. But never mind I shall never work harder than my strength will bear, and if miss your help, 1t will only make mo think of you the more"
 This was all said to Gerard, l knew, for she never said those things to me i; but it was almost, if not quite, as pleas ant for me to hear them said to him as 1t would have been to have heard them said to me. knew, as I said before, that I never was much help to her, though I tried very hard. l think if she had loved me or encouraged me, might have succeeded better but when she dismissed me inditferently, as she often did, how could I help wandering about the farm with only my own soli- tary dreams q mean, of course, when Gerard was away) to bear me company And what wonder that, under all these, there lay always, as there lies tonight, . deep, deep craving foE something which my life has never known Do other girls feel this want, I wonder? Do other girls have to fight passively with this same almost indefinable craving for a something missing from their lives And through these solitary hours of mine there is always, too, dreadful shrinking in my heart-a shrinking from the untried future-which unnerves me terribly, and which I always dread Gerard seeing. An me ! it is strong and cruel within me tonight; and, even while l recall his bright, courageous an. ticipations, I can still only feel l AAAsAt ACthAAuA AA AAN ONh heart, that the future holds some vagne, unusual sorrow for me and for Gerard. For Gerard I could bear it so much more lightly if I did not feel that through our sorrow, however deep however keen, we must be together to suffer (even though half the world should part us) as tin all happiness that We may ever knowl we must be together to rejoice.
 But what was telling off Our talk tonight. l will not wander of again with that old habit of mine that is why l think it would be best to give up keep. ing diary.
 "But, Aunt Jessie," Gerard said "you will need no reminder of us, hope, as We shall never need a reminder of you; and the least that grandfather can do, after We are gone, Is to make everything lighter and pleasanter fol you. Perhaps he will condescend to dC so. Magdalen, I wonder how often hs deigns to speak to you or to me during year."
 "Gerard, there is a little excuse fol him" Aunt Jessie said: and I am going tonight, to tell you what the excuse is.
 "I wish, some day." Girard said, hi eyes bright and proud, "I could hay, grandchildren of my own, if only to hav the benefit of profting by his example Oh, what different grandfather one cal fancy Aunt Jessie, shall never b able to forget how he clouded and dead ened every bright and sociable though had as a child. Isn't it a woful mis take to fancy that children don't feel tn want of sympathy in their eldersp Blu but don't suppose ever shall hay children or grandchildren of my own yet, if l had the training of child, m, own life would have giver me lesson Aunt Jessie"
 Silly to put down these words, bu that they were part of this last nj ght' talk of Ours-sO earnest, so very earnest in spite of all our efforts to be light hearted.
 And then it was that Aunt Jessie tol us the story of our mothers life. And remember it all SO clearly and distinctl as of course I should-that can writ 1t just as she told if to ua sittinu so ali