The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1890-05-28
How do you know" said Marion,

except for his delicate organization. He
and liked the same things, dreamed
the same dreams, read the same books,
are so alike, even mother was at times
puzzled to tell us apart. Old DR.. Sever
ance used to say that we were, after all,
only one boy, without physique enough
for the two bodies we 'materialized' in
to. always felt ashamed, in a dull
sort Of way, to be SO robust when Sandy
could not keep up with me- but he is far
the sweeter-natured of the two. You
would have loved him the better, Mar
ion"
"Never!" was the swift, indignant
answer.
So Hugh Heriot enlisted with
Northern regiment, parted with his
sweetheart bravely, and left her to wait
as hundreds like her were left in those
dreadful days.
Did we know then, shall we ever
kMow-we who came out scathless
what those women suffered, who, tied
hand and foot, maddened by the poor
recurrent routine Of daily life, filled
with vague imaginative terrors, had yet
to live and do their petty duties under
the edge of sword worse than the
tabled blade of Damocles?
Honor for ever to that noble army OF
martyrs! To them, no less than to
those who lost their lives on the actual
battlefield, should monuments arise
and wreaths be offered. They were
the beating heart that sent strong life
blood into the battling hand, and, oh!
how often persisted with it! not in the
pallor and decay of physical death, not
in the rest and shelter of the flower
strewn grave, but in the broken heart,
the joyless life, the desperation Of
memory, the dying, yet behold we
live" that death in life that is the
greatest if not the last enemy!
If there were other women who suf-
fered more than Marion Lancaster in
this dire suspense she did not know it,;
it seemed to her no heart could be more
torn with anxiety, more tortured by
the silence that yet thrilled with dread
full possibilities than hers. She did
not consider that her love for Hugh
Heriot was a young passion scarcely
rooted in her breast; that she was
bound to him by none of the strong
ties of those who had sent their hus-
bands out to war, and crouched on DESC
late hearth-stones with clinging chill
dren about them, who might the next
hour be wailing orphans; she thought
she suffered all she could, and as week
after week grew into month after
month, and the second year came lin
gering on, she grew thin, pale and list
less.
For Hugh Heriot had yet no fur
Tough; the few times Marion had heard
from him he had spoken of his inten.
ton to apply for one at the years end,
but he had enlisted for the war, and
felt that while his strength lasted he
must fight; he was more needed on the
field than even Marion needed him.
Yet after that first year began there
were no more letters, and, after the
battle of Lookout Mountain, the lists
of killed and wounded came in so slowly
that it was long week before the
very last" showed among the list OF
missing" 'Hugh Heriot, Major c.
Tenth Infantry
"Missing!" Can words expound wha,
that one word meant in those days?
Not the sharp blow of Wounded,
which implied possible life, and even a
hope of immediate repair to the sufferer
and all the gentle ministries to relieve
one and console the other, blessed in
giving or taking. Not the stun and
desolation of Dead" that left no worse
to fear, nor tantalized with the ignis
fatuus of hope; but that one fatal word
that tortured but did not slay; that
bound the victim to the stake and piled
the fagots, but delayed to light the fire
till the waiting grew to be madness.
Marion was hearted imagi
native girl, and Missing" meant to hel
long chapter Of surmised agonies. Ir
her waking hours she figured SO many
and such dreadful possibilities that hel
sleep renewed and exaggerated, she
painted such sufferings for her los
lover, such terrific and harassing stu
ations, that it would have been pos
tive relief to her to know of his death
yet she would not admit it to herself
She lost all that held her to life, when
just as the war ceased, her widowed
mother died suddenly and without one
farewell word. Itwould have been better
for Marion had necessity forced her tt
exertion, but she had enough money tt
live on comfortably, and SO she shu
herself in her tiny house with her OLD
servant, and made herself solitary
mourner. Her beautiful and abundan
brown hair grew white as snow, ant
her eyes lost their sparkle; but bel
health gradually asserted itself anew
her constitution was strong, and she al
most lived out Of doors, either in hel
garden. which was her sole amusement
and pleasure, or walking over the
breezy hills of the country about She
had never been half so beautiful wher
kHugh Heriot knew her as she was
eight years after. when, one exquisite
morning in May, she stood by her doc
clipping boughs of hawthorn from hel
one cherished tree, and placing then
beside the apple blossoms she had al
ready gathered in large basket. There
too we're sheaves of pale narcissus
trails Of heaven blue myrtle, punches
of the later snow-drops and gorgeous
tulips; for it was Memorial Day, aht
never since its first observance ha(
| Marion failed to carry whatever bios
SONS she could find to the cemetery